We always celebrated Mom's birthday on April 13. Thirteen was her lucky number. Years later, when Wifey and I took her to a funny doctor's appointment, we learned she may instead have been born April 14th. Typical for Mom -- details weren't important -- feelings about people were.
It was a funny appointment, because we had to hide its significance. She was long under the care of Eric, my brother of another mother, and in her 90s she had developed lesions on her legs. Eric thought, correctly, it was Kaposi's sarcoma, a cancer common in the immunocompromised and very elderly. He wanted her to see his friend, a South African oncologist, for a consult.
The problem was, we knew seeing the "C Word" would freak Sunny out, so Wifey and I wheeled her into the office, hiding the sign that said "Oncology" from her until we could get her into an examining room. The affable doc saw her, confirmed it was indeed what Eric suspected, and said the alternatives were to do nothing or give her radiation. I chose the former -- seeing no point in putting her through more misery as she was clearly on her way off this mortal coil anyway. But we learned that maybe April 13 wasn't the day.
No matter. That's how we celebrated, and today is that day. She'd have been 103!
For her last birthday, we gathered at Miami Jewish Home on a rainy April Day. My family was there, along with my Florida sister and brother in law. My nephew's ex wife Cathryn came, with her pretty daughters, and my Tampa niece, her two kids, and husband were there, too. My sister of another mister Mirta was there, too. She would visit Sunny a few times per week, and told me Sunny had a more profound impact on her life than anyone. That warmed me. We shared cake and poured Mom some champagne. She raised a toast and said "Happy New Year Everyone!" Yes -- the end was near, and sure enough she died two weeks later.
But what a life she led! She fell in love with the bookish boy across the street in The Bronx, and left the tri state area for the first time ever, to take a transcontinental train to LA to marry him. She did, and they lived in a bungalow in Pasadena where Dad was stationed -- keeping Japanese subs from torpedoing Southern California. Mom was the secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably typing for and bringing coffee to Manhattan Project geniuses as they planned the A bomb which finally ended WW II.
But by then, she was back in The Bronx, having my oldest sister, in January of 1945, followed by my younger sister in June of '48, and then me, a "change of life baby" in July of 1961. My siblings and I bookend the Baby Boom -- from pre hippie, to hippie, to yuppie.
Mom raised us all with unconditional love and support. She was no helicopter Mom -- just encouraged us to all find our lives and enjoy them. In 1979, she did something totally uncharacteristic: she took control of her life with my Dad. He was 60, and happily still working. I was getting ready to graduate from high school. And Mom flew to South Florida with her sister Lorraine to move my grandmother from her South Beach efficieny to a West Palm nursing home. While there, the two sisters bought condos in Delray -- having decided they were going back to the future -- 4 of the 5 siblings would again live close by, to recapture those happy post war days before they moved to suburbs on Long Island and Rockland County north of the City.
My Dad kind of shrugged his shoulders and complied. He then contrived to get me to follow -- sending in an application to U Miami. They sent me a half tuition scholarship, and I figured -- why not? Most friends were headed to NY area colleges, or in Kenny's case a Midwestern one (Wash U) and I thought I'd give the land of palm trees and Latinas a shot.
Well, Dad died just 3 years later, and all of the sisters and brother moved away -- Kings Point was not for them -- they wanted nicer homes. But my Mom stayed, and LOVED her condo surrounded by a huge parking lot, with just small stips of green. She stayed there, happily, for 30 years after Dad died.
She would fall, and Delray EMTs would help her up in those last months. Wifey joked she was sort of like a turtle who was on its shell, and simply needed to be righted and then crawl on.
But in May of '12, a bad fall put her in Delray Hospital, and Eric told me her albumin was consistent with starvation -- she simply wasn't eating enough to live. And so it was off to Little Haiti -- another chapter of dark humor.
I had fetched D2 at UF, and the plan was to drive her grandmother to Miami Jewish on our way home. I put Mom in the front seat of D2's Volvo, and D2 happily played on her laptop in the back seat. About 20 minutes into the trip, I glanced at Sunny and was convinced she had quietly died. I said nothing to D2 -- but was internally troubled. What I had wrought upon my rising college junior daughter? The thought that she was essentially in a hearse???
Luckily, around Hollywood, Sunny woke up and asked where we were. Whew! Psychological daughter trauma avoided!
We got her settled in, and headed for home. The next 11 months she was decently cared for, and grew close to Mirta, who was amazed at her upbeat demeanor -- even in a nursing home.
My favorite was wheeling her to a gazebo under ancient live oak trees. They had an ice cream machine, and we would share chipwiches. "Oh David. These are the most delicious ice creams I ever ate!" And so it went until a fortnight from the end.
Her only sadness was asking after her first born grandson -- the favorite. He apparently couldn't bring himself to visit her on account of her decrepit appearance "freaked him out." Whatever. At first I made excuses about "how busy he was," but later would just change the subject. Other than that, she was happy. It was easy to redirect the conversation with a 92 and then 93 year old.
I think Sunny thought her life may have been over when my Dad died. He did everything for her. But instead, she had another great 3 decades. She traveled the world! She had a fascination with China since reading Pearl S Buck as a child, and she visited. There were multiple trips to Israel and Europe. Cruises all over -- Alaska -- and the Carribbean. I even sent her and my California sister on a short cruise from LA -- following a visit to the Central Valley.
She got to know her youngest grandkids -- my Ds. They adored her humor and quirkiness. She saw the older grandkids marry. She welcomed great grandkids! Yes -- the cliche is that it's all about the dash -- the one between the date of your birth and the date of your death. And Sunny's dash was bursting with life.
So she'll be on my mind today. She was a beautiful woman -- especially in her younger years -- and the fact that she loved and adored me so I'm sure gave me all the confidence I needed with the ladies. When a son gets that much of his Mom's love and attention, he knows he's of great worth.
It's a lesson D1 learned well -- she FAWNS over her boys. The little guy is a marshmallow -- the older one lacks nothing in self confidence. I just with they got to meet their great Grandma Sunny. The little one's name is after her -- she lives on that way.
Sail on, Mom. Hopefully I'll get to the ocean later today, or this weekend, and feel her spirit. Happy birthday, my dearest Mom.
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