A Yahrzeit

 Today is my beloved Mom's yahrzeit, the anniversary of her death. My friend Rabbi Yossi always asks if I wish prayers to be said during morning services, and I politely decline -- Mom was not at all religious. But I honor her memory each year -- her yahrzeit comes 2 weeks after her birthday, and so it's easy to remember.

She spent her final 11 months at Miami Jewish Home. My friend, and former office manager Mirta used to visit her. Wifey's best friend Edna had given Mirta a side gig -- visiting her father, who was at the same place, and just sort of overseeing things. She did the same for my father in law Richard -- which resulted in comical scenes with Meyer and Richard sitting out in the lovely garden, with the much younger woman, comparing notes about their days as ladies men.

My father in law, indeed movie star handsome in his days during and after his stint as a dashing soldier in the IDF, used to say, in his Yiddish accent, that he would never throw a rock in a kindergarten in Haifa, lest he strike one of his bastard children. Wifey was always relieved she was never contacted by a fellow Israeli claiming to be her half sibling. It's probably a good idea for Wifey to not take and register that 23 and Me stuff -- who knows what secrets from the 50s would emerge?

But anyway, Mirta would visit, and later on I would use money from Sunny's Special Needs Trust to pay her. The Trust money would all go back to the state when Mom died anyway, to pay the Medicaid lien, so why not get it to a friend instead, at least on a small basis? Mirta would have gone for free, but I insisted.

And the strange thing is, Mirta said this wheelchair bound, somewhat cognitively impaired woman had, according to Mirta, the biggest impact on her life of anyone she met. Sunny's unfailing optimism, despite being stuck in a nursing home, resonated with her. I mean, Mom impacted her family greatly, but not so much in those final months. For Mirta, who never really knew her as a young, vital woman, it was those last days. Mirta grew to love her.

Well -- on Mom's last birthday, April 13, 2013 (lots of 13s) we gathered for a last party. The Ds were there, as were my Florida sister and brother in law, and their former daughter in law, along with her lovely girls -- now finishing grad school and starting college. Sadly, Mom's favorite grandchild stayed away -- he claimed that seeing his grandmother in her declined state "freaked him out." Whatever.

Also my Tampa niece and her husband were there, with their 2 lovely kids. We ate pizza and cake. Mom was awake but disoriented -- she raised a glass to everyone and said "Happy New Year!" We laughed. Vintage Sunny -- find a way to have everyone laugh hysterically.

After that day, she declined. About a week later, she was mostly unconscious, and struggling to breathe. I met with the nurses and social worker, and said it was time for the on campus hospice to take over. Uh oh, they said -- there was a problem: Dr. Levin didn't "believe in hospice" on account of the fact that he was an orthodox Jew and felt life must be fought for at all costs.

He called me, and we spoke. He had a comical, Jackie Mason accent, even though he was Israeli. "David -- we can put in a feeding tube, and then a ventilator -- she can live on!" No, I replied -- that was precisely AGAINST her wishes, and I was her surrogate. If he wouldn't write the order, I told him, I'd have another doctor take over her final care and get 'er done. He relented with "Well -- at least we had the conversation of alternatives." We did -- I was happy to assuage his guilt. Putz.

And then came the miracle drug: morphine. It quieted her breathing -- got rid of the awful struggling for breath. On April 12th, I knew the end was near. Mirta stayed on late -- she made sure the morphine kept coming, even though the staff grew lazy at night. We spoke near midnight and I told Mirta to go home.

I got up early the next morning. The plan was Wifey was coming later -- her BFF Edna was there, to visit her parents -- and Wifey to visit her father. A fun movie is "Hotel For Dogs." Not so fun was "Hotel for Dying Ancient People," but that's what we had.

Barry had called -- he wanted to come visit Sunny, too. I told him where to meet me.

I drove to Little Haiti, and was getting gas next to Miami Jewish. As I was paying, my cell rang. It was the social worker -- Sunny had just died. I told her I was literally 5 minutes away and would be right there. I arrived to a strong scent of disinfectant -- I was grateful they dealt with the final bowel movement. Mom was peaceful on her bed -- looking so tiny. I thing she has shrunk to about 70 lbs. It was, indeed, time to pass on.

Barry came in, and of course my black humor chided him for always being late -- this time to miss seeing my Mom alive. We hugged. And then I heard Wifey and Edna coming loudly down the hall, pushing my father in law in his wheelchair. He was freaked out by death. I tried to wave my arms, but the two women were, as usual, engaged in the kind of conversation where they block out everyone. Finally I yelled -- "Wifey -- turn around -- she's dead!" They got the message and returned Richard to his room in another building, and then came back.

The large man from the funeral home came, and put Mom in a blue velvet body bag. I kissed her head the last time, and Barry, Edna, Wifey and I stood at attention as they wheeled her out.

I called D1. D2 was up in Gainesville. She and a grad school friend met our party at Soyka -- the cool restaurant a few blocks from MJH. We ate, and toasted Sunny. And that was it for her final day.

She was cremated, and her cremains (I love that word) were shipped to me. They arrived the day before Mother's Day, appropriately. D2 had come back from UF, and the Ds and Wifey were out shopping. I put the box with the cremains on top of a desk and when they returned, said "What -- you don't greet your Grandma Sunny?" They were creeped out, of course, but stopped in their tracks -- first time we had the remains of a dead relative in our house.

My Florida sister was on a cruise, I think, and my California sister was dealing with the aftermath of  a crisis involving her oldest. So I made the executive decision -- Sunday -- Mother's Day, we drove to Mathesson Hammock, which has easy access to Biscayne Bay, part of the Atlantic, where Mom wished to join Dad, whose cremains were spread there 3 decades before.

It was against the law to spread ashes like that -- you're supposed to be a few miles off shore -- but Mom was a famous scofflaw and would have appreciated the final gesture of lawlessness.

We walked into the mangroves, and I spread the cremains. And then, something quite miraculous happened. A flock of beautiful white butterflies flew gently past us. I'd never seen their like before, or since. We accepted the spiritual gift of that from beloved Sunny.

So -- as per wishes, she's in the ocean, like my Dad. Whenever we're at a coastline, we speak to her. D1 lives a few blocks from Biscayne Bay, and always says hello to her grandparents, and introduces them to the beautiful little man. And that warms me.

I honor your love to your family, Mom. We'll all miss you terribly and forever.