(^76) | marieclaire.com.au
PHOTOGRAPHY SUPPLIED BY JODIE SUSSKIND.
Three weeks after we got home from France,
my boyfriend of seven years, Kelly, proposed to me
in our living room. He explained that he wanted to
propose in our first home because it’s where we’d
done everything together. After I said “Definitely
yes,” we sat and cuddled for five minutes before
I called Mum. She screamed with excitement –
finally we had some good news.
Mum was over the moon about my engagement
and immediately went into wedding planning mode.
Since I was 22, I had always
dreamt of getting married in
the South of France in a villa
in Antibes. It was going to be
beautiful. We pencilled in
September 2020 to give us
enough time to save and plan.
While we were wedding
planning, Mum started
immunotherapy. Kelly and
I went with her to her first
immune session and sat there
for two and a half hours while
she was pumped with
medication. It made her
nauseous and gave her
diarrhoea and vomiting. She
was so sick. She couldn’t keep
any food down and lost 10
kilograms in a short amount of time. At home, she
couldn’t move from the couch. She was just wasting
away with a bucket beside her. I’d never seen her that
helpless before. It was brutal.
Mum had been doing immunotherapy for
three weeks when we had our engagement party in
October. She was 45 minutes late and I remember
being upset with her. When she arrived, I felt
so bad because she was struggling. That day was
really hard for her, but she stayed at the party for
three hours. Sitting on the couch, she was so graceful.
The next month we found out that the
immunotherapy wasn’t working and her body
was rejecting the treatment. She pulled me aside
and said, “All I want is to see you get married. That’s
something I need to see before I go.” When I told
Kelly, we agreed we didn’t care where we got married,
CLOCKWISE
FROM ABOVE
LEFT Susan and
her four children at
Jodie’s engagement
party; Susan in
France the day she
found out she had
a tumour; Susan
signing Jodie’s
marriage certificate
in hospital the day
before she died.
we just wanted her there. We brought the wedding
forward to Tuesday, January 29, 2019, and booked
Chiswick restaurant in Woollahra, Sydney, for the
ceremony. Tuesday is a religious day for Jewish
people to get married and it was also our eight-year
anniversary as a couple. Mum was avid it was a sign.
I tried to go dress shopping on my own and
walked out crying. It felt so wrong without Mum. I
ended up going online to Net-a-Porter and finding
an Etro dress I loved – and she loved, too. When it
arrived, I tried it on at Mum’s house. “It’s perfect,”
she said when she saw me in it. I knew it wasn’t
the typical wedding experience, but I was just so
grateful she got to see me trying on my dress.
But Mum’s treatment was not going well. The
weekend before the wedding, she went into palliative
care because she was struggling with her breathing
and wanted to get it fixed before the big day. I went
to visit Mum in hospital on Saturday and the doctors
raised the red flag: “She’s not doing
great.” They told us to consider getting
married as soon as possible.
I called Kelly and said, “We’ve
got to get married now.” Kelly, his
parents, the rabbi and my dad rushed
to the hospital. My parents hadn’t
spoken in 10 years, but when my dad
walked in, Mum looked up at him and
said, “Mazel tov.” It was like an air of
forgiveness. It wasn’t the day we’d
dreamt of – but we knew it was do
or die – literally.
T
he room smelt like
hospital disinfectant. Ten
of us crammed around
Mum’s bed, we pulled the
blue curtain around us
for privacy, but you could still hear the nurses and
other patients outside. Mum signed the marriage
certificate, with oxygen tubes up her nose and a
patient band on her wrist. It was the last thing she
ever signed. There are photos of Mum sitting up in
bed clapping, looking so dignified. I just kept
thinking, “I hope this brings her peace.”
After the ceremony, I wanted to stay overnight
with Mum, but I couldn’t do it. I was so tired. Kelly
and I spent our first night as husband and wife
together at home trying to sleep. I cried. He cried.
The next day, I went back to the hospital at 8am
and Mum had cornflakes for breakfast. I played her
Abba’s “Dancing Queen” and she swayed in bed. We
didn’t know that would be the last day. They just kept
injecting more morphine into her. She slept for four
and a half hours, which really freaked me out. We
sharon
(sharon)
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