This is going to be a hard one, could actually be the reason I've been unable to write the last few days, too consumed with what I had to tell you today. For those of you who don't know, Jeffrey is an identical twin, I say that in the present tense, even though for the last 7 years he has lived without his biological other half. Jeffrey and Howard, Beffie and Bowie, Zip and Zap, The Boys, The Twins; for 44 years he was a twosome, a shared identity and a shared life. On October 15, 2004, cancer took Howard away from Jeffrey, and left him what is often called a "twinless twin." The way I've come to see it, Howard now exists within Jeffrey, instead of beside him.
Like any great loss, there are days when it seems unfathomable that 7 years have passed; the details as fresh and sharp as if it were yesterday and other times when it feels like it’s been a lifetime since I heard their laughter in stereo (if you knew them, you know exactly what I mean). If you ever need a reason not take a single day for granted, this would be a good story to hold with you. November 15, 2003, my son David's Bar Mitzvah, perfect in every way, except for the cough. Howard had a cough, a little one, almost a tickle, but it had been lingering. He had a doctor’s visit scheduled, but no one was overly concerned. Fast forward through a few weeks of tests and scans and hospitals and Howard was diagnosed with Kidney Cancer. In December he had surgery to remove the kidney and learned that it had already spread to his lungs. Everyone was hopeful, he was a 43-year-old healthy male, and he would be a survivor. What we soon learned was that kidney cancer does not generally respond to chemotherapy and because of the metastasis he was not a viable candidate for possible new treatment studies. He fought back and found new doctors and new drugs and gave it everything he had until he decided that it couldn't have him. If it wasn't helping (and it wasn't), Howard refused to let the cancer take the last few months he would have with his family. Jeffrey struggled knowing that Howard would be leaving him soon; I think those were the worst months of all. At least while he was getting treatment there was hope, but then there was just counting, the days or months they had left. I can't tell you how often they were together, other than those months were about his brother and I took care of things at home. Jeffrey took whatever time he needed with Howard and we did our best to comfort him when he was here. If I lost him for a little while it was OK, sadly I knew it was only short term. For me and the boys the hardest part was not only witnessing Jeffrey's unbearable sadness, but also watching Howard, his mirror image, start to look less and less like his twin. As it was written in a college essay a few years later, this was a preview for a movie you never want to see.
They went fishing, something they both loved and didn't do often enough. Jeffrey chartered a boat and they spent a day on Long Island Sound laughing and crying and talking. I have no idea if they caught any fish. I also have no idea what they talked about; I knew that when I married a twin there were parts of my husband that would always belong only to his brother. I do know that they picked a secret word that would be the "code" if Howard ever "visited" him from the other side, and no, he hasn't and never will share it with me (not that I would ask either). I also know that Howard gave Jeffrey the eulogy he had written for himself and asked Jeffrey to read it when the time came. Jeffrey held that sealed envelope in a lockbox in his closet, never once thought about looking inside; those were words he did not want to read one second sooner than he had to.
When that day came, just 11 months from the "cough" to the "coffin" - before you think, "Jill, that's awful," I will tell you that (a) Jeffrey heard it first and laughed, and (b) dark humor got us through a lot of this. If you can manage to laugh through the worst of what life throws at you, it leaves less time and space for the tears. And as long as I am looking at the "lighter side”, imagine arriving for a funeral and not knowing that the deceased had an identical twin (the accompanying photo shows you how much so), pretty unnerving for a few people when Jeffrey took his place to read Howard's words. You may be wondering how he managed to read his brothers goodbye, and I will tell you he had two secrets. The first one was a safety pin in his hand that used throughout to lightly stab his other hand in an attempt to feel a different kind of pain and the second, he chose this day to lay to rest their lifelong "brotherly" competition of which twin had the bigger ...., for once Howard couldn't answer back and yes, Jeffrey really ad-libbed that at the funeral. Humor was his protective armor to defend against the worst of the hurt.
In the years since, Jeffrey continues to laugh and cry whenever we talk about Howard. Birthdays are the hardest, they spent them all together. I am always careful to not "celebrate" the day when he misses him most, they are bittersweet at best. Remarkably the loss of his shared soul, did not leave Jeffrey missing anything, it may have even made him stronger. In his words, "I'm living life for him too”, and he continues to live it to the fullest for the both of them. He tries to be there for Howard's children whenever possible, but worries it may be hard for them to see a face that is so much like the one they are missing. I would never share any part of their story, but I do want to say that my niece and nephew, barely teenagers when they lost their father, are happy and thriving. Their mother, courageous and brave and stronger than she thought, continued the life and family they had spent twenty years building. Those children, now young adults, are the result of two parents who gave them love and life and support, both still there, guiding them along in one way or another.
I'm going to back-up a bit and tell you that I grew up with "the twins", (friends of my older brother) no romance then, I was the "little sister." It was after college, Howard got married first, then Jeffrey and I tied the knot, and then we became a foursome. I can't explain what it was like when we were together, but obviously I loved Howard for many of the same reasons I loved my own husband and the same held true for each of us. We were four people bound together through life and genetics. Our kids were the same way, they marveled in the uniqueness of their shared fathers. We always wondered if they could tell them apart when they were babies, it was hard for most adults. I had a pretty good handle on who was who, except if they were walking in front of me, but face to face there was never a question. We had our moments of family conflict, but they always ended with group hugs, until the one that didn't.
In December of 2000, my father-in-law passed away and the Jewish tradition of Shiva was at our home. This usually one-week long period is a time for mourners to visit with friends and family. It is comforting and stressful all at the same time. Anyway, Howard and his family were obviously here (their home was a few hours away), sleeping at my mother-in-laws house. The kids slept here, so we had 5 kids under 12 and no less than 100 visitors every day, in and out, all day long. This followed a difficult few months while he was sick and we all know that the family who lives closest carries the daily burden (we also get the daily benefits). Good or bad, it's just the way it is. I hope I've properly illustrated my potential stress level, because this is when I made a very costly mistake. It is the single biggest regret of my life thus far; an off-handed (bitchy) comment to Howard and my sister-in-law about the "balance" of family responsibility. It set off a verbal showdown between Howard and Jeffrey, and ended with them packing up and leaving. Eventually we made peace, but something changed that day. By the time cancer entered the picture we were back to a better place, but I have always felt that my words took parts of those last years away from Jeffrey and Howard. We have talked about it countless times, obviously today, and I know Jeffrey doesn't blame me; this is a burden I put on myself. In a way I'm glad it still hurts, it reminds me every day to think before reacting. Words that flow so easily out of our mouths in times of anger are the most dangerous and unfortunately, the ones that stick. There was certainly know way to know that this silly fight would take away so much, and that is exactly the point. I've learned that what I say can hurt me and others long after the words have been spoken. If only I had learned that lesson a bit earlier, today would be a tiny bit less sad.
For Jeffrey, today is no different than any other day. He cried when I read him this blog, but for him every day is a day without his brother, makes no real difference that this is the day he died. For me, this was a chance to share a painful story and a painful lesson and to make a silent wish, like I've done every morning for the last 7 years, to keep the other twin healthy. I have witnessed the other side in high definition, and haven't taken a single moment for granted since.
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