To Die in the Time of Pestilence
Watching my wife wither away had been hard enough. Then the pandemic hit.
My wife, Rudaina, died at 9:30 p.m. on July 20. I was holding her hand.
I have lost my parents and two siblings, but this was the first time I saw death come into a room and felt a life slip from my hand, ravaged by cancer. Minutes after, I kissed her forehead and was seized with fright and rage. “She is COLD,” I shrieked and collapsed on my knees with my head against her side. A nurse in her mid-20s knelt beside me, making the sounds mothers do to console a troubled child. I put my head on her shoulder.
I stood over Rudaina’s bed for three hours, talking to her, weeping, moaning, and pleading with her to wake up. The nurse tried to answer my incoherent questions. I was confused, lost, and angry. More
