My mom had old-school heart and soul. Born in love and stayed there. Went back to school as my brother and I were growing up and learned braille and became a teacher of blind mentally retarded (as they called ‘em back then) kids in New York City public schools. Had many of the same kids year after year. Another family for her.
Followed the migration path to South Florida when older. Volunteered at Aventura Hospital. Helped out at the little library in her building. Drove friends who couldn’t drive to the market and the doctor’s office. Got lonely and sad as friends and family died or moved away. Moved to the Imperial Club retirement community where they served three meals a day and there were lots of people around. Played bingo and watched CNN. In her nineties, transferred to the assisted living floor to receive twenty-four hour care.
“So how’s the family?”
“Everybody’s fine Mom. And we’re coming to see you! Me and the kids are coming down in a few months.”
“Oh that’ll be wonderful! I wish you could come more often but I know you’re so busy. When are you coming?”
“We’ll be there soon Mom.”
* * *
There’s an old far away black and white photograph that sits on my kitchen table: There’s my mom standing straight and tall holding me in her arms with my brother (four years older) standing by her side. Judging by her smile and by the way she carries herself, all is well. I love looking at it just to feel the love I imagine she felt for my brother and I.
* * *
After taking a phone call from a hospice nurse, I took a red-eye to South Florida to be with my mom as she lay dying. After checking into a hotel, I took a cab to the hospital (same one she volunteered at for years) and took the elevator up to the 7th floor.
“You should go in and speak to her. Maybe she can hear you. You never know about these things.”
At first I didn’t recognize her. Her face was drawn and stiff and much thinner. She wheezed a bit as she slept. She’d been “sleeping” for two and a half days and they didn’t know if she’d ever wake up again. I sat by her side and read a “New Yorker” as the world turned. She died that afternoon while I was staring down at my magazine. All of a sudden no more wheezing. The quiet snapped my head up to look and I knew.
* * *
That was two and a half years ago. It’s funny how I don’t remember the crazy stuff that happened between us; or my own mean-spirited thoughts when it came to her. I mean I can remember them – but they’re all flimsy and have no energy; like none of it was real or ever happened. All I’ve got left is a feeling of love. That, at least, is real.
My mom. I couldn’t ask for better. That would be insane. She wasn’t better – or worse. She was… my mom!
Here’s my song, “Mom:”
