A beautiful thing

Jake and his Grandma, September, 2012

My mother's memorial service, held, finally, on Sunday March 3rd was beautiful; just what I needed. Although up until five minutes before it started I was feeling all jangly and out of sorts, grumbley about how it didn't feel right to be doing it at that exact time, a month and a half after she had passed.

I had been up nearly all night finishing and polishing my eulogy, wanting it to be just right, to properly honor the mother I had so loved.

When I stepped up to the podium to begin the service, Ethan was standing right beside me. He had asked to do so, telling me he wanted to support me, to be there for me in case I was overcome with grief. Sometimes I am astounded by his sweetness and depth.

I welcomed the assembled guests, a mix of family and friends, including, thankfully, one set of old, old friends of my parents, nearly the last left standing.

I read my eulogy: Some Heart: Sylvia Steinhardt's Eulogy and then opened up the podium to everyone who wanted to speak, starting with Ethan.

He spoke about where he was when he found out his Grandmother had died and how he felt. It was spontaneous and heartfelt and lovely. Clearly there is yet another storyteller in this family.

Then my brother Bruce spoke, filling in his side of the story of what it was like to suddenly have a step mother as an older teen, and how wonderful Mom had been, in spite of all the challenges. He spoke so lovingly of her, reminded me that I had forgotten "seltzer" in my list of things she loved passionately.

Then my fourteen year old niece Greta (my cousin Annette's eldest daughter) read a poem she had written for my mom. I was awed by its beauty, and am sharing it here:

To Sylvia

My most vivid memories of you
are summertime; flowers
stretching palms for sky,
a green new world
growing into its skin.

I wore golden, dangling earrings
to go see you.
You thought they were beautiful,
and you told me so.
Again. And again.

Your memory was a visitor
that didn’t stay for long,
But you knew who we were.
Your hands were for holding,
your eyes were an embrace.

I like to think
that wherever you are in the universe,
you will continue to find
new stars in the sky.

by Greta Wilensky

(Now you can see why she's been winning poetry slam contests.)

And then Jake, who had been sitting next to me, taking this all in, told me he wanted to speak too, and pointed to the podium... I asked him “Are you sure?” and he said “Yes.” Firmly.

So up we went. I had absolutely no idea how much of what was going on he had comprehended, and what he was going to say. If he had recited a favorite scene from SpongeBob it wouldn't have surprised me.

But no. He stood there silently for a moment, clearly working hard to come up with what he wanted to say.

And it was stunning and beautiful.

“I love my grandma” Jake said.

Pause.

“I see her in the hospital” (what he often called the nursing home, it being more like one than any other home of hers he had known)

“2012” (which was the last time he saw her)

“Mommy loves Grandma” (very true indeed)

And he was done.

My heart just filled to the brim – that he had understood we were all sharing our experiences with his grandma and he had wanted to participate, to be a part of it, and then that he had found his own words to do so, not a scripted phrase among them.

Well, I was floored, and so proud of my boy.

After that, I honestly cannot tell you in what order people spoke. I remember who spoke, remember their words, their stories, their love.  I deeply appreciated the tremendous amount of humor that everyone brought to their stories of Mom, which was so fitting because she was such a warm, funny, full-of-life person.

My cousins Jess and Annette spoke together, sharing what a warm and loving presence their aunt Sylvia had been in their life.

My niece Rachel, my sister-in-law Bern, Jess's daughter Ilana, my friend Emma, my husband Danny all shared lovely memories of my mom.

And my Uncle Walter? Brought down the house. He loved my mom, his big sister, so very much. Generally an earthy as well as intellectual man with a bawdy sense of humor, he has been ailing lately and may have been somewhat further disinhibited by medication he is taking.

He told more tales of Mom that frequently included phrases like "and then she bedded the boss, and was soon running the joint." But as these were delivered in tone so clearly full of admiration for her, he had tears of laughter streaming down our faces as he filled in many details of her adventurous life, pre-Dad.

When it was over, my friend Julie came up to me and said she absolutely wanted my uncle to deliver her eulogy, when the time comes.

Everyone contributed their stories in what felt much more a celebration of her life than a mourning for her death. And that was exactly right. What she would have wanted.

So many people came up to me during the lox and bagels brunch in the social hall afterwards, telling me they had never been to a memorial service that was so funny, so haimish, so relaxed and enjoyable. Those that hadn't known her well - like some of my recent friends and my husband's family members - told me they felt they really got to know her.

And that was just perfectly who Mom was: funny, warm, informal, wanting to know people and to be known.  I feel we truly honored her that day, sharing her essence as well as her stories.

I now carry this day around with me, along with all the other parts of my mother that live on forever inside me.

My mom is gone, but her love, and the love she continues to spread among those who knew her, lives on. As it should be.

It was a beautiful thing.

Mom & her brother Walter, October 2012

All the other (good) stuff

Baking cookies with Ethan

You would think from what I've written about them lately (not at all) that I didn't still have kids, so consumed has my blog been with my mother's death.

But it's perhaps because I do still have kids (two, in fact) and I so strive to be present and cheerful with them in my daily life, that I come to this space (my own) to let all the heaviness leak out.

It is nearly two months since my mother has passed and time has not stopped, not even for a second.

Ethan is now in the final months of fifth grade.  Each time I bring him to or pick him up from school, I look at the tiny kindergarteners swirling past and marvel that he was once so small and that we looked upon the "big boys" back then and found it unimaginable that our sweet little five year old munchkins would ever become THAT.

He is worried about the future, about middle school - both getting into the one he wants (a unique New York City problem, I know) and about what it will be like when he is actually there next year, with new faces and routines and a whole higher order of academic pressure.

He is sad that his Saturday basketball league is about to come to an end. And that the Knicks really suck right now. And that his grandma is dead. (And probably about in that order.)

He grew a whole inch in the last two months.
 
We bake cookies together. A lot. I used to bake with my mother all the time. (Some of the recipes we use are hers.)

Jake & Belt at The Croods screening

Jake is a wonder.

I went into his recent parent teacher conference with trepidation, knowing he'd had a hard time adjusting earlier this year, and what I heard brought tears to my eyes. Happy tears.

They said that all the trouble at the beginning of the year seems to be behind them. They haven't needed the behavioral plan. He doesn't work just to earn iPad time at the end of his day. He is calm, engaged, participating, and if he starts to get out of line (throwing the word "stupid" into every sentence, perhaps, as he is wont to do) all they have to do is threaten to separate him from the group.

"I'm sorry. I'll stop." he says. AND HE DOES.

Furthermore, they all expressed their love for him so clearly. "Some days I just want to take him home with me, I haven't had enough Jacob time!" said his assistant teacher. That she already has a one year-old at home makes this doubly miraculous.

Jacob is having a burst of language and connection that is lovely to experience.

The other day he came into the room, uttering a very conversational "Mom, can I talk to you for a sec?" He stopped when he saw our cat lying upon me, purring. "Cocoa loves you!" he said.

SO much going on in those three simple words: being interested in and observing his environment, correctly interpreting what he saw, understanding the emotions involved, and commenting on it, in original language.

If you know anything about autism, you will know how beautiful this was, indeed.

He is also actively seeking to participate in situations, after observing others doing the same. (Again, awesome!)

Watching me, my friends and family sharing our memories at my mother's memorial service, he asked to go up to the podium himself, and then spoke a few very heartfelt, very appropriate words about his Grandma (more on that soon).

This past Monday I was invited to a mom-blogger family press screening of the new animated movie "The Croods" that Jake has been excited about since the ads and trailers for it stared popping up months ago.

We had a great time - it's a very enjoyable movie - and afterward there was a Q & A session with the  writer/directors Kirk De Micco & Chris Sanders, and Catherine Keener - the voice of the cave-mom. After answering The Moms' questions, they invited kids in the audience to come down and ask some of their own.

Jake and I were sitting near the back. He watched some kids ask questions about various aspects of the script or the production, he listened to the creators answer. And then he told me he wanted to go up and ask his own.

We made our way up to the front of the theater. Catherine Keener saw us standing by, and got up herself to hold the microphone for Jake as he asked: "How did you get the idea for Belt?"

(If you want to watch Jake yourself, it's the bottom video here at exactly 10 minutes in. It may look like I'm prompting him, but it IS the question he told me he wanted to ask as we were waiting our turn. He just suddenly forgot it when the mike was in his hand, and I had to whisper it in his ear.)

I was so proud of my (autistic) boy that day.

(And every day.)

Jacob, me & Catherine Keener at The Croods

So just in case you were worried that I had lost myself in grieving... I haven't.

I try to leave it here.

And in occasional tears on my pillow.

I haven't forgotten that I have two wonderful, alive, full of life boys.

And oh yes, a husband, too.

(Hi, honey.)

So expect me to be bouncing back and forth here between mourning my mother and telling tales from all the other myriad facets of my life.

I'll try to remember to throw in the good stuff as often as I can.

And ask you to forgive if the tears outweigh the laughs for just a little while longer.

To know her was to love her

Mom and her brother, Walter, November 2012

My mother was one of those special people, beloved by nearly everyone she met.

She had a warmth, a natural curiosity about people. Spend five minutes with her and she'd know your life story, the names of your children and where your ancestors came from.

She was also genuinely gracious, sincerely grateful to everyone for everything done for her.

In the hospital, in her very last days, she even whispered a "Thank you" to the nurse giving her a shot of vitamin K. The nurse turned to me, her face alight, and told me she had never been thanked before for giving a patient an injection.

That was Mom.

Mom & me, Mothers Day 2012

The staff at the nursing home were shocked when I called to give them the news. "Oh, no! Not our DDF!" they all cried.

That was her particular nomenclature: I have been her D.D.D. for years - Dear, Darling Daughter  - (and she my D.D.M.). And the women who looked after her at the home had become her D.D.F. -  Dear, Darling Friends.

My father, as much as he loved his family, was defined by his life's work: his photography.

My mother, like so many women (especially of her generation), was defined by her relationships, the people she loved and who loved her. And at this she excelled, oh so well.

Mom and her Grandson, Simon, November 2012

Granddaughter Rachel visiting with Mom, February, 2012

Mom found so much joy in parenthood, and found that joy doubled as a grandmother, seeing her feelings replicated in me. She loved watching me revel in my own children, yet another bond between us: we were both mothers.

Mom and Jake, August 2012

Mom & Ethan, on her 89th birthday, September, 2011

Mom made friends everywhere she went. At Carnegie East House, the assisted living community she had moved into with my father, and where she continued to live as a widow until her disastrous, hip-breaking fall last May, she had two close friends of a similar temperament: smart, funny, artistic, literate, left-leaning and bohemian. Not your typical "little old ladies" by any stretch of the imagination.

They called themselves "The 3 Musketeers" and took every opportunity to laugh at the foibles of old age and their situation, vowing not to become like some of the farbissinas* at the joint.

Mom and her friends at Carnegie East, 2011

The reason I chose the specific facility I did for mom's rehab stint (which then became her permanent nursing home) was that at the time, my Aunt Eva, her sister-in-law, was herself rehabbing there, as it was less than a mile from her Port Washington home.

Mom & Eva at the nursing home, June 2012

Even after Eva returned home, being so close to mom's brother Walter meant that he visited often, allowing them to spend much time in the last few months of her life. Also my cousins and their kids got to stop by and visit with my mom - their dear Aunt Sylvia - whenever they came to town.

Mom & niece Annette, July 2012

Mom & grand-niece Greta, July, 2012

Mom & Walter, October 2012

Mom so appreciated Walter's visits, always showing off the flowers he had brought (as he always did), marveling at how nice it was to have fresh flowers in her room.

Mom & niece Jessie, November 2011

Mom & grand-niece Ilana, November 2011

My mom: making friends everywhere she went...

Mom & Santa, December 2010

...to know her was to love her.

I certainly did.


* Yiddish for embittered sourpusses.

October Thoughts

Mom, on the last day of September

It's the first of October... and what will this new month bring? Certainly more visits to my mother, twice or thrice weekly, sometimes with a boy or two in tow, sometimes not. (This past Sunday, with.)

Mom & Jake on Sunday

The air took a turn for the crisp today, and I was so ready for that, as my thoughts are gliding towards the autumnal too: a little sad, the bitter mixed in with the sweet. These are the days of waning and I feel that in nearly all things right now.

None more so than when visiting Mom.

She is so diminished, I don't even know what to do with my feelings when I see her. I just try to care for her as best I can. I hold her hand and look into her eyes. We talk a little but not so much, the deafness being a barrier as well as the cognitive dimming.

I take her out into the courtyard every time I come so she can get fresh air and see the trees and flowers, birds and squirrels - what passes for nature in a paved suburban enclave. I massage her shoulders - feeling the muscle melting away, more bone and less flesh each time - and try to make sure she is being properly taken cared of.

But "Mom"? Pretty much not there any more. Just a sweet old lady with a few of her memories (and fewer by the day).

Ethan is a soccer player now

And yet there is also this: Ethan woke up earlier than usual this morning, at the same time as Jake. Unable to fall back asleep, he joined us in the living room, and instead of his usual cranky not-ready-to-be-awake self, was incredibly helpful with getting Jake ready for school.

Ethan remarked upon the still dark at that wee hour, pondered the breaking dawn. He also kept track of the time and kept himself rather on schedule to get ready for school, too. And that was just the beginning...

I had a trying day today. Literally. An Impartial Hearing is in progress with the city's DOE over Jake's schooling, and today was an in-session day. I obviously can't talk about any of the details of it, as it is... in progress, other than to say: it's about as much fun as you imagine it to be.

The hearings are in downtown Brooklyn, and we are keeping our babysitting down to a minimum these days, which meant that Dan was in charge of the boys this afternoon until I could wend my way back to the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I came home to find quite a scene: Ethan was in the middle of patiently helping Jacob with his homework (had gotten half his own homework done already, too).

You could have knocked me down with a feather. If you are at all aware of the normally fractious relationship between my boys (just this weekend, for example) you will be stunned at the miracle this event represents.

And then? And then? And then...

Ethan made dinner for himself and Jacob. Nothing elaborate, rather basic - organic hot dogs grilled in the toaster oven, cut up fruit, baby carrots, bread / rice crackers. But still, he took the initiative,  volunteered, followed through. Incredibly proud of himself afterwards (and rightly so).

So maybe another thing this month that's autumnal and waning is a good thing: Ethan's nine year-old obnoxiousity giving way to some incoming ten year-old maturity. A mightily welcome October surprise indeed.

And I'll leave you with a little more bit of October:

A live performance from The October Project - an old friend of mine's band from the 90s. They're lovely if you've never heard them. Haunting alternative rock. Had a few albums out. Enjoy....