Time Passages

Another night of abridged sleep. I got 5.5 hours, so I guess that's not too terrible, in this time of the plague. And I have nothing but time to nap today. Even the idiot White House, which was just saying all would be fine by this Sunday, is now saying this is the week we really all need to stay home. Oh boy.

We were going to have our long time cleaning lady Miriam back this Wednesday. We've been sending her weekly checks, and telling her to stay home, and thought this would be her return, but now have decided to give it another week.  Someone asked me why I keep sending her checks. I replied that maybe there are some folks who can live in 7 figure houses and not pay folks who have served them, but I'm not that guy.

Anyway -- as I lay in bed after my 4 am wake up, I tried to fall back asleep thinking of my parents. It occurred to me: one week from today is my dear Mom's birthday -- or was it? She always told us it was April 13, 1920. Then, when I took over her affairs, her Medicare card said some other date in April -- maybe the 11th? That was classic Mom -- when she liked something or someone, her mind was made up -- facts be damned. And she loved the number 13.

So sticking to her chosen birthday -- next week she's have turned 100. Wow. She was 41 when she had me -- a so called change of life baby. Dad was 42.

I reflected back on her early life -- a very happy childhood, though poor, in the Bronx. She had a warm and loving family. She used to tell me tales of her father, whose name was Goldsmith, though he worked as a silversmith (roofer) packing up an old car and driving to "the country," which were the Catskills, and having wonderful family picnics. My Mom developed an absolute love of grilled hot dogs. They remained her favorite food, long after her finances changed, and she was privileged to travel the world, and eat at fine restaurants. Nothing like a good kosher dog from the grill, with mustard and sauerkraut. 

She had a childhood boyfriend from across the street -- a bookish boy, not at all into sports. He was drafted into the Army 4 months after Pearl Harbor Day, and they kept their relationship going through letters, and the occasional long distance call. I would have loved to have seen those letters, but my Mom tossed all "that old crap" when she moved to Florida.

They decided to marry while my Dad was stationed in Pasadena, and I picture my Mom, who had never been out of the NYC area, boarding a transcontinental train, alone, for a 4 day trip. What an adventure it must have been -- greeted by her beloved at the end of the line.

A rabbi chaplain married them, and they began their life together. They found a bungalow up in the hills off Colorado Boulevard, and Mom got a job as a secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably, at the time, fully involved in the Manhattan Project, though Mom never knew, or spoke of it. She did speak fondly of the Dean, though, a true Southern Gentleman. I want to say he was a Vanderbilt man.

Living in this WASPy world, Mom was sensitive about her Jewishness. But she recalled the day before Yom Kippur, and the Dean told her he'd see her after the holiday. Mom wasn't religious, and told the Dean she'd be working, but he responded that Jews were the older brothers of true Christians like him, and she NEEDED to honor G-d on the holiest day. Mom never forgot that.

She got pregnant, in April of '44, and took the long train home to the Bronx to have my sister. The war was still raging, and my Dad had no idea where he'd be -- better for Mom to be home.

Years later, he told me not staying in Southern California was a regret -- he loved it there. He wondered whether a guy like him might have found work, post war, in the entertainment business -- as a writer or editor. Instead, his fate took him back the the Bronx, and three jobs to support his growing family.

But back to Mom. She was so blessed with a wonderfully sunny disposition. She always saw the bright side. In her later years -- she kept negativity away from her aggressively.

I was always a news junkie, and after Dad died, my senior year of college, I would come to Delray for the weekends. I noticed the paper wasn't delivered. Mom said all the bad news saddened her -- she stopped reading it. I had to drive to the local Stop N Shop for my daily news fix.

Later, she stopped watching all the news. Her TV had old movies, nature documentaries, and, to my great amusement, basketball. Her companion Max, from Detroit, was a huge Pistons fan, and turned Mom into a fan, too, but she liked the Heat. I remember a surreal moment when she asked me about Glenn Rice...

Mom was wise. I wish I could follow her wisdom, instead of sucking up every horrible detail of the plague. When will it peak? Will Miami escape the horror going on in NYC now?

I envision Mom, if she were alive and with us -- just insisting the TV show animal shows. Wifey would have complied.

My reverie about Mom included her death day. I knew her end was near, and was on my way to Miami Jewish Home early on April 27, 2013. There's that 13 again. I stopped for gas on NW 2nd Avenue, and got the call from the staff -- she had died within the hour. I drove over, and went to her room. The crew had been through -- cleaned it well, though that sickly smell of disinfectant hovered over.

Wifey came, along with Edna, who was in town visiting her parents. Wifey wasn't answering her phone, and was wheeling her father, a fellow resident, over for a visit. Richard had an awful fear of death, and I didn't want him to see Mom. I met them in the hall, and Wifey returned Richard to his building, and came back.

And then Barry was there -- to visit Sunny -- not knowing he would be there to support me in her death.  And so it was a small vigil of shomrim in her room -- Wifey, Edna, Barry, and me. The burly guy from the funeral home was there pretty quickly, and put Mom into a blue velvet sack, and gently wheeled her out. She was so light, he didn't need any help.

We went over to nearby Soyka, and D1 joined us. D2 was up at UF, in Gainesville. We toasted Mom, and her life.

It's funny -- my parents had three kids, and somehow I was the only one to see both of them dead. Sometimes I envy my sisters this. Sometimes I don't.

Mom made to 93. She had a wonderful, happy, and very fortunate life. I have a feeling she'd say about the current plague that the world has seen worse, even in her lifetime, and will endure.

I suspect she is right.