We begin in the emergency room: chest pain, shortness of breath, a call to 911 and a friend brought us here. The doctor emerges, "...don't worry, it looks like a reaction to the dialysis, too much pressure on the diaphragm"

Twenty minutes later, he returns, white-faced, "...I don't know how to tell you, I am so sorry, your husband is dead."

My deepest fear, my greatest dread. I had worried a lot but could not believe these words. Perhaps they are wrong. "I love you, I love you. Please don't go!"

I call the children. How will I tell my daughter, seven months pregnant? A friend dials numbers and stays with my husband's body as I take the phone. He calls the Chevra Kadisha burial society. I tell the children. We cry, scream, and hug each other. Our friend stands by, never turning away.

We return home and friends are waiting with love, food and cups of coffee. Someone has a magic travel agent to get us on a flight to Israel. We are driven to the airport that is crowded with friends and neighbors--how did they all find out? Busloads of kids from my school appear. I am carried by a force greater than my own.

Not at first, and only recently, could I see our Father in Heaven protecting me. After all, He took my husband, but my friends and community reflect G-d's love. All helping in a small or big way, their love and care carried me through the ordeal. Don't minimize the importance of a cup of coffee or ride to the airport. It's not only the act itself, but also the message of love that sustains the mourner.

Next to me on the plane is seated an angel, a dear family friend, psychoanalyst, rabbi and mystic. His first wife had died, and he understands the shock, pain and rage. Even in my bitterness, I see this chance meeting as an act of G-d. He doesn't flinch, make nice, or tell me everything will be OK. He listens, cries and shares his memories of my husband, and speaks about his own wrenching pain when his Elana passed away. His wife meets him at the airport and they accompany us to Lennie's funeral.

Shiva was overwhelming, soothing, upsetting, surreal. One friend simply moved in and never left our side.

Here are do's and don'ts of shiva calls. Visitors, with good intentions, can say painful things: 'Your husband was so good... G-d needed him.' (I thought, did G-d need him more than his family?) 'You're a wonderful woman, you'll find someone to make a new life' (What am I, a Barbie doll that needs a new battery?) Of course, that comment could be appropriate some time later. 'G-d was good.... He didn't let him suffer anymore...' (Who made him sick in the first place?) "Why didn't you make your husband lose weight?" (That hurt most. How many times had I said that to myself and to him?)

The real doozy was someone who consulted a biblical concordance which listed the word "kidney" (he died of kidney failure) pointing out that most verses with "kidney" deal with sin and conscience. (Was my husband being punished?)

What really helped during shiva?

--A rabbi who stayed after minyan and everyone left to make me a cup of coffee.

--People who waited patiently for me to talk, especially the children, whom my husband had treated and who came to tell stories of his kindness and caring for them.

--a woman, I do not know who she is, who took my hand in hers. She said, 'Our family loved him so much, I don't know how we'll go on without him, and it will be a million times harder for you" and we cried and cried together.'

--The people who sat quietly and listened as I told over and over the story of his death, the stories of our courtship, and the funny, sweet and tender memories.

--The people who told me that he had shared stories about me, expressing how much he loved and admired me and how grateful he was that I was his.

--The people who did not offer false consolation or try to make excuses for G-d.

--The biggest gift to a mourner is just to be there, not flinching from their pain.

Following shiva, a widow copes with many issues as she realizes that she now shoulders all of the family responsibilities. Courts, wills, lawyers and accountants- new people, generally unsympathetic, who may be unknown to the widow, now enter her life. Those who visited during shiva are busy with their own lives, as she runs endlessly from task to task, alone. - What can you do? Find out what she needs: teach her to balance the checkbook, run an errand for her, accompany her to Social Security or the tombstone maker. If she says no, because she doesn't want to impose, use humor and charm. I was cajoled into coming for dinner with: 'It's not your company we want- we just love your chocolate mousse!' Another friend convinced me to accept a ride 50 blocks out of the way by saying, 'Listen, I want to spend time with you.'

The 'Shloshim Memorial' is an opportunity to show that the deceased and his family is not forgotten. Praying, learning and giving charity in his name helps keep his presence alive. The children and I chose a project: Israel will have the first wheelchair-accessible playground created for physically-challenged children. Lennie had such love for children and cared for the disabled, that we are certain his soul will rest somewhere between the swings and the seesaws. Each donation received, often with loving notes, sustains us, and gives us strength to continue.

- -courtesy, The Rabbi's Newsletter.