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Yes, when someone is ill and says, "Let me make it through the holidays," (Passover, Purim, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, etc.), it is probably more than idle wishing. Our loved ones have made a subconscious postponement process and literally will themselves not to die until after a certain occasion. Professor Phillips has called this the PASSOVER EFFECT.
The late writer/Pulitzer Prize winner, Art Buchwald, was told that his kidneys were kaput and he declined dialysis. He checked himself into a Washington, D.C. hospice to live out his final days. He planned his funeral (with a priest, a rabbi, and Billy Graham), to cover all bases. The book jacket of "Too Soon to Say Goodbye," says that he strategized how to land a big obituary in The New York Times: "Make sure no head of state or Nobel Prize winner dies on the same day." (He didn't want them to use up his space.) He also wrote, "The beauty of not dying, but expecting to, is that it gives you a chance to say goodbye to everybody." Did he will himself to live long enough to complete his 33rd book?
In 1996, comedian, Alan King, wrote an autobiography. On the last page he wrote, "I'm hanging on. I still have 8 x 10 glossies, Max Factor #10, a pressed tuxedo, pierced ears, and will travel. So if there's anybody out there who has a bar mitzvah coming up, or a deli opening, or a gathering of any kind with more than 20 people, give me a call."
On a more personal note, my brother, Paul, a "gute neshome" (good soul), has pancreatic cancer. One year ago the doctors and the Hospice ladies told him to make final preparations. Rabbi Charles Rudansky, from the Metropolitan Hospice of Greater New York, visited him. The "mavens" were wrong! In a month from now, Paul will be attending the wedding of his son, Sam. The "mavens" were wrong.
Did he will himself to live?
And, finally, the most touching story about the "Passover Effect," is found in Rabbi Robert A. Alper's 1996 book, "Life Doesn't Get Any Better Than This":
Years ago I heard a story about an elderly woman who was dying of cancer.
Almost completely confined to her hospital bed, she grew weaker day by day. But her spirit was strong, endearing her to the medical staff. The woman had a goal: Her granddaughter was to be married, and she was absolutely determined to attend her wedding.
She was willing to do whatever was necessary to get there: took all her medicines, endured some pain, attempted to leave her bed whenever possible, just to fight off the debilitation of a progressing disease.
And she succeeded. On the day of the ceremony the nurses swarmed around her as if SHE were the bride. They dressed her, combed her hair, applied makeup, and sent her wheeling down the corridor accompanied by her children in their gowns and tuxedos. A festive sight. A melancholy sight, too.
That evening the woman returned to her hospital bed, exhausted, elated. Her favorite night nurse stopped by to offer congratulations, not only on the wedding, but on her having beaten death's timetable.
"You must be very happy tonight," the nurse offered. "You did it, You really did it!"
The woman, surprisingly, was not about to
simply accept the good wishes. Rather, she
looked up from her pillow, thought for a
moment, and said, with the slightest glimmer in her eye, "Yes, I did. But
you
know: I have another granddaughter...."
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