In a deeply personal rehearsal for The Hollywood Reporter, Tony-nominated ‘Moulin Rouge’ star reflects on the “empty, dark abyss” left behind by his wife for more than 20 years, who died due to ALS complications in December.
There is a void.
Where there was sunlight before.
There is a void.
Where there used to be a wedding.
There is a void.
There is now a dark, empty chasm that has replaced the warm, comforting glow of the sun, a bridge over which love has freely crossed.
And I can’t get through the darkness. I want to go over this, jump over it. I feel like she wants me to do it. But I am not prepared, I am not equipped. It seems impossible.
Rebecca Luker passed away due to ALS complications on December 23, 2020, at the age of 59. Thirteen months after diagnosis. Becca was complicated and serious, insanely beautiful and silly, and funny and sexy and strong and stubborn and brilliantly talented. She was my wife. We have been partners for 23 years and married for more than 20. Lucky me. When we started dating, people said to me, “ARE YOU dating Rebecca Luker?” I knew what they meant, even if it hurt. She was always shocked by these observations because she told me she was the lucky one in the relationship. Is not true. I went.
She came to New York to sing on Broadway. And she did that for many, many years. But she also came to New York to escape, as she used to say, the difficulties of a girl growing up in the south. The fierce independence that brought her to New York was the same force that made her very political. She organized buses to Washington in 1992, when Roe vs. Wade was challenged. She painted signs that said “Broadway For Choice!” and I was just as proud of it as any show you’ve done.
She continued this progressive trend throughout her life, most recently in Twitter feed regularly defending women’s rights, ending racism and promoting their favorite candidates. She was a political expert, reading The New York Times From cover to cover when we met and, more recently, calling CNN and MSNBC early in the morning. She protested Trump and his acolytes and could debate with anyone about American politics, quoting facts and figures with an encyclopedic mind.
That same mind that remembered all the candidates at every race also served it well as music. She could memorize a letter in 20 minutes. In contrast, it takes me a week. She read music easily and was able to make the most beautiful sounds without even trying. This does not mean that she didn’t work hard, she did, but she was easy with music and lyrics. They liked her and she liked them and they merged into each other very easily.
When he described her singing, he used to say: “She opens her mouth and her heart falls apart”. That’s exactly how I felt. I don’t know of any other singer who has had the same effect on me. She had some innate connection with her soul when she sang that made the listener instantly feel the deepest emotions. It made you understand why poets wrote about purity and beauty. It was just so obvious. This is perfect. So special. That connected.
When we started dating, we had a fight at her 71st Street apartment and it ended when she threw a watch at me, one of those old wind-up watches that sat on a side table. She got so angry that she shot me, realized what she had done and cried out loud: “I LOVED THIS WATCH !!!” Fortunately, I bent down. She slammed the door and ran to the bedroom. I timidly followed her into the living room and asked her why she was so upset. She was crying in bed and, while wiping her eyes, said, “Because we’re breaking up.” I explained that we weren’t breaking up, that we were just arguing. She said that she had never done this before in her other relationships. I told her I did it. And we argued over the years, but mostly we did our best to talk about things. I can honestly say that we never went to bed angry at each other. We both made sure of that.
In the beginning, there was tension between us because I didn’t trust her. I came from a particularly difficult marriage and I didn’t trust someone’s reserve position to be kind. But Becca’s was. I didn’t know how to deal with his overwhelming acceptance of who I was, with warts and everything. I’ve never met anyone like her. Despite all the rejection of her roots, that southern sweetness was innate and allowed her to be completely herself at every moment. I quickly realized what a treasure it was and forgot. But that was Becca, always herself. Whether she was meeting presidents, famous actors or talking to Paddy, the homeless guy who lives on the block, she was always the same person. Nothing pretentious. Just warmth, kindness. His heart shone out of her like a beacon. She literally had a glow around her.
We had both been married before. Ours was the “second and last”, she would say. My divorce took about three years before it was finally official. My lawyer called me on a Tuesday, hung up the phone, looked at Becca across the room and said, smiling, “Let’s get married.” She replied without hesitation that she would love it. Then, the next day, we received our marriage certificate. In New York, you have to wait 48 hours after getting the license to be able to get married. On Friday, we went to City Hall and got married in a quick ceremony (along with hundreds of others) to a lovely Puerto Rican woman who was a judge of peace. People called me Mr. Luker all the time and I loved it.
Rebecca went from show to show, recorded album after album and worked hard. But it never felt like a chore. She was living her dream and knew it. We were both. We would meet after our respective shows at Joe Allen and have hamburgers and a round of beers. We couldn’t wait to see each other. And it was like that for years. She was a wonderful stepmother for my children, Alex and Zach. They loved her as their own and she loved them unconditionally. For God’s sake, her stepmother was Maria Von Trapp, of course they loved her. We bought a little house in the Pocono Mountains and made fires on cold nights, swam in the lake in summer, prepared incredible meals for friends, laughed a lot and enjoyed our lives a lot.
We had the usual difficult life problems that people go through. Life was cruel and kind. But the constant was this feeling that we felt safe together. In the past five years, life’s issues have become more problematic and we have gone through a lot of stress. And it was then that she fell ill.
She stumbled one day running for the bus, she said she “got off straight”. She couldn’t explain. Then, two weeks later, it happened again, this time by twisting his left ankle. She went to our PT, many health professionals, but her ankle and foot were getting weaker and weaker. She had surgery for spinal stenosis and we were sure it would solve the problem. But his entire leg started to get worse.
More doctors were followed by other specialists as their symptoms worsened. We were both terribly concerned about what was going on with her. I remember taking a shower on a Sunday night and having the terrible feeling that when I got out of the shower, she would tell me she had ALS. I just felt it in my gut. And she certainly told me that her doctor had called (on a Sunday) to say that this was a very real possibility. She was sure he was wrong, but I was amazed. Two weeks later, they were sure.
Over the months, she grew weaker and weaker. His entire left leg fell, then his right. She never made it to the plateau. It was just a steady decline. Your hips, your diaphragm, your shoulders, your elbows, your forearms. When her hands stopped working, she cried out in frustration. She said it was what she feared most. She couldn’t help me do anything else. She loved to cook and was a wonderful chef. I learned to cook by watching her and now she couldn’t even help me cut a tomato for our salad. His hands just didn’t work.
She struggled so hard and held each muscle for as long as her body allowed. And although her body failed so obviously, she was still hopeful. The doctors told us that she “had the slow-evolving type of ALS.” But they were obviously wrong. She was progressing so ridiculously fast that it took everyone by surprise. But she still hoped that some new experimental drug would come and save her life. She kept saying, “I see myself growing old, being an old woman. I just know that.”
Two weeks before she passed away, she finally started talking about her own death and asked how it could happen. She was in such denial until then. She spoke to her doctor and rejected the offer of a tracheostomy because she knew it would mean that she would never speak or swallow again. She was extremely weak, but she told him that she did not want to live attached to such a machine. She said to him, “If I don’t have my voice, I don’t know who I am. My voice is all I am. I’ll take my chances.” I started to sob next to her when she said that. I have never witnessed anything so brave in my life.
In her last week, ALS picked up the two things she loved most of all; his ability to taste food and his voice. And then, in a way, she lived and died on your terms. If she couldn’t do the things she loved most, then she was ready to go. She fought so hard for so long. And she didn’t complain, she remained positive and kind until the end.
When she was dying in the hospital, I told her everything I wanted to say to her. Her eyes were half closed, her pupils dilated, but I kept them open and spoke to her carefully. I told her that she was the most amazing wife, a wonderful mother for our children, and that she left the world a better place because of her music and her beauty. She heard me. I know she did. His eyes focused directly on me. She tried to respond as tears streamed down my face and she was able to recognize what I said with a sudden tug of air from the back of her throat – which must have consumed every ounce of strength she had.
She passed away about an hour and a half later. I cried like a baby, holding it. They asked me if I wanted to close her eyes and I did. She was my wife, I would do everything I could for her as long as they allowed me to stay. I took the fucking respirator she’d been attached to for the past two months, released it from him, and stroked her beautiful face and hair. I left the hospital numb and I’m still like that.
The amount of love we received during your battle was unbelievable. A rotation of about 25 friends was here almost 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for months. They stayed up late at night to help me put her to bed and arrived early each morning to help me get her ready for the day. There is simply no way to thank them properly. All angels. Our community really came to my girl. I will always be grateful.
Since Becca passed away, the show of support and love has continued. It’s proof of the kind of person she was.
Two days ago, the beggar, Paddy, stopped me to tell me that Rebecca was in her daily prayers. She had been kind to him. Even in her wheelchair, she was kind. I was so moved by your words. It just had that effect on people. She made you want to be better. You just knew that she was a special human being.
And then she sang … and you realized that she was actually an angel.