She was brain-dead, so said the doctors, and connected her to a monitor to get their proof, so that they could sign her death certificate. But late that night the machine showed quite the opposite.
The two lines on the monitor above her head were nearly level when I placed my hand on my daughter's tummy. As I touched her, one side suddenly erupted in violent, irregular waves, then the other one did the same. I took off my hand and the graphs relaxed.
We were at the Intensive Care Unit at Sheba hospital. My daughter, Yael, had been shot by an Arab terrorist the previous night.
I hesitatingly touched her tummy again, and once more, the two graphs reacted; only this time they danced harmoniously. They continued their dance not only to my touch, but even responded to my waving a hand. So in order to stimulate what was going in her brain, I conduct an orchestra right in front of her shut eyes, massaged her all over.
The monitor showed she saw every move, and felt my tickling.
At dawn break she 'saw' her boy friend coming from afar, and greeted him. She recognized all her friends and family through that monitor. It was obvious that she was seeing and feeling. We were very lucky to have had that machine. Through it we could almost communicate.
The chief of the ward called us in. He chose his words very carefully, and then concluded, "there’s nothing we can do for her anymore…”
“What are the reactions we get from her? She is responding!” The question stack in my throat and choked me. "These are not what we would consider normal brain waves.” “Why didn’t she respond like that when you first connected her to the monitors?... could it be, that the alternative treatments she received help her?” These treatments will not bring her back to you. She will not be the same Yael you knew.” I still did not believe: “I beg you to let us carry on with it...Do not disconnect her yet.”
But on my next shift next to her, I found that Yael's blood pressure was sky high. Somebody had raised her adrenalin: then all her systems started to collaps
“You have done every thing you could for her", said my husband, "There is nothing more to do; we have to disconnect the machines”. I listen attentively. Quietly. I knew he was right. I wiped off my tears.
”All right, but hurry! Now!” A strange composure has overcome me. He went to sign the papers and allowed me to be with Yael alone.
Her hand placed in mine, I kissed the beautiful long fingers, closing my eyes, and sang her her old nursery rhymes. One after the other, I remembered how I held her tenderly in my arms as a two months old baby, rocking her back and forth. Her eyes were following mine. The world summed up in the two of us: with a feeling of complete wholeness, peacefulness. My baby's delicate little fingers searched in my mouth for the magical secret of word formation. The songs emerged, sung, and went by, as if by themselves, then came back again, like a quiet prayer. My face was lifted up, my eyes shut, and the tears were running, running.
The same wholeness and peacefulness prevailed at that moment. Only Yael and I; my beloved daughter was passing on to another world, and I was singing away as I saw her off.
Kissing her hands, my face lifted, eyes shut, tears dripping silently and seeping in between my lips. Warm, salty. I found myself singing her a Hassidic song, that had probably been sung in Safed, her old hometown centuries ago;
All this world is just
A very narrow road, A bridge to another world. And the essence, my friend, is clear Not to fear, Don’t you fear, my dear.“
“Do not be afraid my Yaeli, Yaelinka, my baby, my child, my beloved. You have nothing more to do here, Yaeli. Fly… fly to the blue light.”
She flew and returned, to tell us she has found the Blue Light. I became her medium and together we wrote her book "My Life Is Based On A True Story". I wanted to share with you the beauty and importance of departing in peaceful harmony. Experience is a great tool: You may use ours. Read Yael's r book – it is amazing.