On the morning of my daughter Lauren’s wedding, I was in the Frank E. Campbell funeral home haggling over the price of caskets for my mother who had died the night before. It was Saturday, March 21st, 2020, and New York City had been shutting down in stages all week. My mother’s body too had shut down in stages.
A wonderful and moving piece. I lost my mother last November so the whole thing about organising the funeral is still fresh. You captured the whole unreal process of losing someone very well
This is truly a perfect essay, David. I was in equal parts moved and amused. Also feel the need to tell you that I share your sense of humour where the bizarre will send me over the edge into fits of laughter.
I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It’s clear in your essay that your mother’s memory lives on in you and that she continues to be loved intensely.
As you know, I liked your mom very much, and remember that she could find humor in the most unlikely of places. Over thirty years ago, when she and I worked to teach Russian immigrants how to speak English, she would refer to each one of the students (only to me) by using a name she had temporarily assigned to each. One might be ‘Marilyn’ because she looked vaguely like Marilyn Monroe, or one might be ‘Wayne,’ because of his fleeting resemblance to one of her favorite hockey players. Every assignment of secret nicknames carried both humor and compassion; each would have flattered (and embarrassed) the recipient of his or her moniker. She would smile proudly when she arrived at the most cleverly appropriate name, and then share it with me, sotto-voce.
One of my only contributions to the overall goal of instructing English was to introduce the idea of calling the toll-free number of a catalogue company, such as L.L. Bean, essentially to outsource conversation practice for these Russian immigrants to unsuspecting phone agents far and wide. Although wasteful of these companies’ resources, it proved to be very effective. “Please to telling of sweater pages 15,” one of them might say nervously into the building’s pay phone (long before iPhones). Your mother was giddy with delight one day, as she bolted up the steps to tell me, “I just saw JFK on the phone talking about trousers!” She hadn’t realized that there were other people listening who surely thought she was off her rocker. She and I looked at each other for a second and burst into hysterics.
You showed great courage, strength, and Love under extraordinarily difficult circumstances David---your Mother and Family most certainly were and are grateful to you for all that you did during that time
That was beautiful! My heart really goes out to you, and at the same time, you remind me of how fortunate I was that my 94 year old mother died before Covid, in 2016.
Your mother was a wonderful person. I always admire humility and practicality. That was my mother, as well. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years before, but most of those years were still good. She had a sense of humor that never died, even after she lost my father, four years before her own death.
She missed him, but she also remembered him, and spoke of him as if he was still there, but off visiting a friend. I had to put her in the local nursing home briefly after she fractured her ankle, and I still remember going to her room to see how she was doing. She was actually doing fine, but told me my father wasn’t there right now because he was down the hall visiting a woman. Then she smiled at me and confided that it wasn’t anything to worry about because they were just friends.
Thank you for sharing this intimate family story. Beautifully written. Sometimes humor appears in strange places and difficult times but helps us get through the darkness.
As always, you write beautifully and fully capture the time. For is, it was bizarre in an entirely different fashion. Life-long residents of Westchester, we had just helped Kim's daughter and SIL buy a house in Rockland County with the plan that we would move in and occupy the lower floor. Kim was due, as long planned, to retire at the end of March. I had spent 3 months remodeling our new home and we moved in February 1, knowing Kim would have to commute across the Tappan Zee Bridge for a month. As it turned out, commuting traffic was quickly diminishing and for the last 2 weeks of her 20 year career, Kim worked from home. Now, the drive from our old address to the new one was only 40 minutes, but neither of us knew Rockland and here is where it got strange. Retirement is a time when you can choose to stay home, if you wish. However, being told you may not go out puts you in a different mindset. Secondly, at a time when we might have taken rides and wandered around to get to know the area, we stayed home. We had no choice but to rely on GPS to find stores that would bring the food out to the car. Meanwhile, Covid entered the house upstairs and the four of them got it but we did not. Among the four of them, there have now been 9 cases of Covid but neither of us has had it, thank God. Strange time, indeed, and the impact is very much still with us.
Note to all of us of a certain age: My father, a rabbi, encouraged all of his congregants to make their own funeral arrangement well in advance, to take the burden off the children and ease that time. Both my parents did that. My father died first and years later, when my mother died and I was "the one," I only had to make one phone call from the nursing home and then show up at the funeral., I was, and am, grateful for that. It was a great gift to me that I didn't have to make any arrangements at a time when it was really not what I would have wanted to do. I recommend this for everyone, for our children's sake.
What a great piece. Only 3.5 years out but those unforgettable few days seem like a generation ago. The Hezekiah will never ever never be forgotten! I love you My Brother.
This is a very moving and loving piece. I will always have fond memories of your mother, and continue to appreciate the role she unknowingly played in the lives of myself and so many others.
A wonderful and moving piece. I lost my mother last November so the whole thing about organising the funeral is still fresh. You captured the whole unreal process of losing someone very well
This is truly a perfect essay, David. I was in equal parts moved and amused. Also feel the need to tell you that I share your sense of humour where the bizarre will send me over the edge into fits of laughter.
I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It’s clear in your essay that your mother’s memory lives on in you and that she continues to be loved intensely.
I love you, dad.
As you know, I liked your mom very much, and remember that she could find humor in the most unlikely of places. Over thirty years ago, when she and I worked to teach Russian immigrants how to speak English, she would refer to each one of the students (only to me) by using a name she had temporarily assigned to each. One might be ‘Marilyn’ because she looked vaguely like Marilyn Monroe, or one might be ‘Wayne,’ because of his fleeting resemblance to one of her favorite hockey players. Every assignment of secret nicknames carried both humor and compassion; each would have flattered (and embarrassed) the recipient of his or her moniker. She would smile proudly when she arrived at the most cleverly appropriate name, and then share it with me, sotto-voce.
One of my only contributions to the overall goal of instructing English was to introduce the idea of calling the toll-free number of a catalogue company, such as L.L. Bean, essentially to outsource conversation practice for these Russian immigrants to unsuspecting phone agents far and wide. Although wasteful of these companies’ resources, it proved to be very effective. “Please to telling of sweater pages 15,” one of them might say nervously into the building’s pay phone (long before iPhones). Your mother was giddy with delight one day, as she bolted up the steps to tell me, “I just saw JFK on the phone talking about trousers!” She hadn’t realized that there were other people listening who surely thought she was off her rocker. She and I looked at each other for a second and burst into hysterics.
You showed great courage, strength, and Love under extraordinarily difficult circumstances David---your Mother and Family most certainly were and are grateful to you for all that you did during that time
A great piece of writing. I want to hear more.
Very touching and warm hearted. Your mother seems amazing and clearly lives on. Thank you.
Wonderful essay. It was very moving for me.
Thanks for introducing us to your mother. I'm glad the terrible sadness became an opportunity for the family to come together.
That was beautiful! My heart really goes out to you, and at the same time, you remind me of how fortunate I was that my 94 year old mother died before Covid, in 2016.
Your mother was a wonderful person. I always admire humility and practicality. That was my mother, as well. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years before, but most of those years were still good. She had a sense of humor that never died, even after she lost my father, four years before her own death.
She missed him, but she also remembered him, and spoke of him as if he was still there, but off visiting a friend. I had to put her in the local nursing home briefly after she fractured her ankle, and I still remember going to her room to see how she was doing. She was actually doing fine, but told me my father wasn’t there right now because he was down the hall visiting a woman. Then she smiled at me and confided that it wasn’t anything to worry about because they were just friends.
Thank you for sharing this intimate family story. Beautifully written. Sometimes humor appears in strange places and difficult times but helps us get through the darkness.
A wonderful essay, with just the perfect balance of humor and heartbreak. Your powerful writing evoked laughter and tears in me.
As always, you write beautifully and fully capture the time. For is, it was bizarre in an entirely different fashion. Life-long residents of Westchester, we had just helped Kim's daughter and SIL buy a house in Rockland County with the plan that we would move in and occupy the lower floor. Kim was due, as long planned, to retire at the end of March. I had spent 3 months remodeling our new home and we moved in February 1, knowing Kim would have to commute across the Tappan Zee Bridge for a month. As it turned out, commuting traffic was quickly diminishing and for the last 2 weeks of her 20 year career, Kim worked from home. Now, the drive from our old address to the new one was only 40 minutes, but neither of us knew Rockland and here is where it got strange. Retirement is a time when you can choose to stay home, if you wish. However, being told you may not go out puts you in a different mindset. Secondly, at a time when we might have taken rides and wandered around to get to know the area, we stayed home. We had no choice but to rely on GPS to find stores that would bring the food out to the car. Meanwhile, Covid entered the house upstairs and the four of them got it but we did not. Among the four of them, there have now been 9 cases of Covid but neither of us has had it, thank God. Strange time, indeed, and the impact is very much still with us.
Note to all of us of a certain age: My father, a rabbi, encouraged all of his congregants to make their own funeral arrangement well in advance, to take the burden off the children and ease that time. Both my parents did that. My father died first and years later, when my mother died and I was "the one," I only had to make one phone call from the nursing home and then show up at the funeral., I was, and am, grateful for that. It was a great gift to me that I didn't have to make any arrangements at a time when it was really not what I would have wanted to do. I recommend this for everyone, for our children's sake.
What a great piece. Only 3.5 years out but those unforgettable few days seem like a generation ago. The Hezekiah will never ever never be forgotten! I love you My Brother.
This is a very moving and loving piece. I will always have fond memories of your mother, and continue to appreciate the role she unknowingly played in the lives of myself and so many others.