Noémie Sylberg, widow at 39: "The day my husband's cancer was announced, I understood that it was a nightmare from which I was not going to wake up"

Noémie Sylberg is not a writer.

If she starts writing, one day in 2021, it's to get rid of what's in her stomach and head, to throw up the past year, she says today.

That day, as she types on her laptop propped up on her lap, she sits next to her husband in their bedroom.

He is lying next to her, in a coma, stretched out on a medical bed.

That year, Noémie Sylberg, 41, recounted it in

(Éditions Hermann).

Her husband fell ill in January 2020 at age 42.

He was first diagnosed with an innocuous stomach flu, then sepsis following unbearable pain in his wrist.

The infection and the associated suffering are a prelude to the drama.

In May, Marc learns that he has cancer.

He died a few months later, on January 19, 2021.

At 39, Noémie Sylberg, mother of two children aged 5 and 3, is a widow.

What forces do we deploy to move forward when everyday life changes overnight?

How do we accompany the condemned?

How do we prepare for his death?

In her book with a fine preface by Delphine Horvilleur, Noémie Sylberg tells her love story, the fight against illness, grief and mourning.

Then happiness and appeasement, possible, after the tragedy.

Encounter.

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Madame Figaro.-

The ground opens up beneath you.

Throughout my life, I've been blessed to be spared from drama and brought up to believe that things always work out.

The day the cancer was announced, I hit a wall, I understood that I was not going to wake up from a nightmare and that we would not find a solution.

I knew that nothing would be the same in my life, that I would no longer have this innocence;

as if a whole filter in my life disappeared.

How do we manage to move forward when we know the other is condemned?

For the first few weeks, I couldn't.

I was downcast.

I woke up in the morning crying, I went to bed crying at night.

In the car, alone, I was screaming like an animal because the pain was unbearable.

I was ashamed because he was dignified, modest and courageous.

I felt that I had no right to complain, at least not more than him.

We learned that he had cancer at the end of May, I “got up” in July.

I don't know how I got there, but I had no choice;

you had to succeed.

The day the cancer was announced, I knew that nothing would be the same in my life, that I would no longer have this innocence

Noemie Sylberg

You write that the ordeal of illness is also that of splitting.

How did the latter materialize?

I had to live in a dissociated way because Marc wanted to keep his illness a secret.

Apart from a few relatives, the family, no one knew.

So I had to say nothing, when I used to spend my time talking to my friends.

At work, I had to let nothing show, act as if everything was fine.

As a mother, I had to be happy, while gradually informing them of their father's state of health.

My role as a wife was no longer the same either.

Marc and I used to do everything together, but during his illness he sometimes needed to be alone, out of modesty.

I felt useless, I was just going to get medicine, it was unbearable for me.

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Hasn't the secret isolated you?

Didn't it reinforce a feeling of loneliness?

I would say on the contrary that it gave me a lot of strength.

It taught me to be dignified, to smile, not to complain.

I think it allowed me to be well no matter what.

And then anyway, we may be surrounded, the truth is that on a daily basis, we are alone.

Even today, I am lucky to have friends and a family who are real ramparts around me, but it is I who raise my children alone, who manages the annoyances.

I am as surrounded as I am alone.

"Living after Marc", by Noémie Sylberg Gali Eytan

How did you manage to make the children live a light daily life, when yours was no longer light?

I had promised Marc that we would be happy.

He was so much that it's a bit like I had to take over.

“Doing well” with my children was then my obsession.

Not to mention that in general, I don't like to be pathos.

I don't go to the cemetery, for example, and even today, every time I mention my husband, it's to say something funny.

That doesn't stop us from being sad and crying sometimes, of course.

It happens that my son gets up at night and tells me “I want dad”.

When we are angry, my daughter can say to me “it would not be the same if dad were there”.

I find it very natural.

I often tell them that the

When one learns that the other is going to die, it is impossible not to think about the aftermath.

At night, I was doing his funeral oration, I was wondering if I was going to be able to love again

Noemie Sylberg

The disease that condemns requires mourning for the patient while he is alive.

How do we prepare for death?

When one learns that the other is going to die, it is impossible not to think about the aftermath.

At night, I made his funeral oration, I wondered how I was going to raise my children alone, if I was going to be able to love again.

I wondered: if I meet someone and I end my life with this person, with which of the two would I be buried?

This is how you begin your mourning.

I was able to prepare myself and enjoy him every moment.

When I was near him, I sometimes closed my eyes saying to myself “Remember this moment all your life”.

I wouldn't be the same today if Marc had died suddenly.

How did you talk to your children about their father's state of health during his illness?

As they were only 4 and 2 years old when he fell ill, and as at this age, children do not have the same notion of time as we do, I took care not to say too much about it and especially not too early.

Gradually, I told them about what they could see.

At the beginning, during the sepsis, I told them that dad had a very bad wrist, then that he had difficulty breathing and that he was at the “doctors' house”.

When Marc started chemotherapy for his cancer, I explained to the children that their father had a disease in his stomach and that it hurt him.

And then gradually, I started to say that sometimes the doctors did their best but they didn't always succeed in treating and curing people.

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How do we find the right words?

In particular, I was helped by a psychologist.

When Marc fell into a coma one Monday morning, I called her to ask her if I should tell the children and she advised me to use certain words.

When they came home from school, I told them I wanted to talk to them.

I explained to them that their father was in a coma and that he was not going to wake up.

I saw a clear change on my daughter's face, she was shaking, so to reassure her, I added that they were going to be able to kiss her, tell her they love her, draw her a picture.

When I went to the bedroom to make sure the kids could come in, I found he was dead.

It was a winter evening, it was late, I didn't want

they say goodbye to him that way.

I preferred to tell them the next morning.

It's the only time I lied to them.

We turned off the lights, I made them come to her feet, I told them they could kiss her, my daughter dropped off a drawing.

The night was nightmarish.

Marc was dead and somehow it was a relief;

I wanted him to free himself from his suffering.

The children were 4 and 2, so I made sure not to say too much and especially not too soon

Noemie Sylberg

How did the announcement go?

The next day, when I woke up, I looked at my phone as if to revise the words advised by the psychologist.

I told them that dad's heart had stopped, he wasn't breathing and that meant he was dead.

I cried.

I told them that we were going to live very difficult times but that I had promised dad that we would be happy.

How do you keep Marc's memory alive with your children?

I don't feel like I'm bringing it to life, he's always there, I feel like I'm permanently connected to him.

I quote it all the time and my children too.

This helps prolong the few memories they have.

Everyone has a book that contains photos of friends and family.

They have “dad’s box” which contains all the memories, and they slip drawings in there for Father’s Day.

We also have very cheerful videos of him, of the family.

I also had his funeral filmed, if they ever want to watch it.

And then there is this letter, written by Marc and which I read to them during the Christmas holidays.

Inside, he gives them the keys to happiness, tells them about his passions, about what made him happy every day of his life.

Through your book, you affirm that it is possible to be happy when you survive a tragedy.

Yes.

By writing this book, I understood everything I needed to be well.

I had to take care of my sleep, go out, see people, fall in love again.

Since then, I try to be nice to myself, to listen to myself, to have the minimum of constraints.

I consider my life complicated enough as it is, so might as well lighten it up.

Today, not a minute goes by that I don't think of him and miss him, but I'm happy and I don't force myself to be.

I am sure it is possible.

In any case, it is essential to give yourself the opportunity to be happy, and above all not to forbid it.

Not a minute goes by that I don't miss him, but I'm happy and I don't force myself to be.

Noemie Sylberg

Precisely, how to allow oneself to love again?

That takes time.

During the year of mourning, “to redo my life” was unthinkable, I only wanted to be dedicated to him, only to his memory.

Then things changed after a year and a half.

I talked to the children about it, I told them that dad was okay with me having another lover.

Marc and I had broached the subject during his illness, we barely mentioned it - he wasn't able to talk about it any further - but that was enough for me.

I needed to get his approval.

And today, I feel no guilt.

Marc will always occupy this extraordinary place in me.