Nes Gadol Haya Poh

On Friday, I attended the funeral of an amazing woman who passed away in her sleep last Monday morning from a brain tumor.  Tiffanie Kalmbach was the same age as me, born on Ellie and Ariel’s birthday, but in 1967.  We bought our home in Piedmont from Tiffanie and her husband when the girls were only one year old, three years before I too, was diagnosed with cancer.  Tiffanie battled brain cancer for 15 years, and for the last couple of years tried to recover from a stroke, which crippled her entire left side.

She lived her life with dignity, grace, spunk and humor.  At her funeral, it was said many times that she never had a drop of self-pity, deciding instead to fully live and appreciate every day.   As I was listening to the eulogies and the subsequent conversations at her life celebration following the funeral, it kept striking me how incredibly remarkable this woman was.  Although I don’t wallow in self-pity, I have had my moments of anger, sadness and feeling sorry for myself.  That she did not have these emotions was just stunning to me.  She was so brave and so strong.

As I sat through her funeral, my sadness overwhelmed me.  Why was this vibrant woman, so full of life, taken from us and her beautiful family at such an early age?  What is the meaning of it all?  How will her kids fare without her? How long will it be before my family sits at the synagogue mourning my loss?  Will anyone come to my funeral?  (Yes – that concern did go through my mind – much as I’m embarrassed to admit it.)

When I called Pat in tears, he kept saying “Eve, this is not your story.  She fought valiantly for 15 years, but you are going to be around for a lot longer.”  He’s right.  I plan for mine to be a miracle story.

This past year has been a rollercoaster – discovering the growth of the tumor in my spleen, removing the spleen and being told that there was no more cancer to be found, finding out 2 months later that the cancer had grown back and was aggressive and inoperable, then finding out that there was a potential study that I could participate in, then finding out that my tumors had to qualify for the study, then finding out that my tumors did qualify for the study and, most recently finding out that the study seems to be working.

Throughout Chanukah, as we danced the hora, sang Chanukah songs, ate latkes and opened presents, the dreidel game was particularly poignant.  The letters on the side of the dreidel: Nun, Gimel, Hei, Shin – stand for Nes Gadol Haya Sham – “A great miracle happened there (Israel).”   However, in Israel, instead of a Shin, the dreidles have the letter Pei for the word “Poh” meaning “here” – since the great miracle (the oil lasting for 8 days instead of 1 day) happened in the land of Israel.

On one of the nights of Chanukah, as a dear friend was leaving my home after having celebrated with us, she turned to me and said, “Eve – Nes Gadol Haya Poh.”  Because, indeed, with me continuing to live my life at warp speed, with my body finally returning to its pre-chemo days and with the study appearing to keep the cancer in check – a great miracle has happened here.

I hope that you all have had, and will continue to have, a wonderful holiday season – full of light, love and plenty of "Nessim" (miracles) in your own lives.