My Mother's Eulogy

About 10 years ago my brother Alan suggested that our parents write autobiographies so their grandchildren could have a first hand history of their lives when they got older. In typical fashion, my father took the task so seriously it began with his conception and fetal development. It turned out to be 21 pages long. Naturally, my mother was upset that my father didn’t mention her until page 10, for which he no doubt paid dearly. In contrast, my mother’s was a page and a half. I’d like to share her story written in her own words with you right now. Please keep in mind this was written 10 years ago to her beloved grandchildren Sam, Sarah, Ben & Max.

Your Grandma

This bio wasn’t written to make you sad, just to let you know a little about me.

The first twelve years of my life were not with loving parents. (My mother died when I was born and my father when I was about six or seven.)

My sisters and brother who were in their teens helped raise me. They did their best but money was tight. In fact, when I see what my grandchildren have, I often say that I hope they appreciate and cherish it all and love their parents - not for the amount of things they have but rather for how fortunate they are to have such loving and caring parents.

I was born on October 10, 1929. I have two sisters: Penny and Ruth: and a brother Jack who passed away recently. I did not know my mother since she died shortly after I was born. (They have all passed since she wrote this).

My father (Abe) remarried when I was about four – to Bessie. I remember her as being very good to me. My father died suddenly when I was about six and Bessie went back to her mother’s bakery store in Newark, New Jersey. After that, I lived with my sister Ruth and her husband Vito. Penny also lived there and took care of me while Ruth worked. Penny was very young. I also lived with my brother Jack and his wife Pauline for a while, but they had two children and it was hard for them. Penny and I just went back and forth and my siblings did their best to care for us.

Since Penny was stuck with me all the time it was tough for her growing up. They all finally felt it was too hard. I was about ten when I went into the Jewish foster home system and went to live with an older woman and her husband; their names were Becky and Reuben Blatt. Their children were grown and married. Aunt Becky was very good to me. As a result, I finally began to have a stable family life and friends.

It just so happens that the building we lived in was right around the corner from where Grandpa lived and that is how we met. I was fifteen; Grandpa was seventeen. I was doing very well in school and graduated at sixteen. Grandpa and I started dating and went together for four years before we married. (Just a side note- If you haven’t noticed Dad – you’re included on page 1 of her life story).


I have been married to Grandpa for fifty-two years (present day it’s almost 62 years now), and these are the important years as far as I am concerned. We married young, I was twenty and Grandpa was twenty-two. We lived in a single bedroom apartment in the Bronx. We both worked, he as a teacher and I as a secretary in the Empire State Building.

When Grandpa went into the Air Force I stayed in the Bronx, but was very lonely and eventually followed him to Geneva, New York. I had a good time. Grandpa was an officer so I had all the benefits and use of the Officers’ Club and its facilities located on a beautiful lake. While there, I became pregnant with Alan. We were thrilled, very young, no big amounts of money, but very happy.

Alan was born in the Bronx at Mt. Eden Hospital. Grandpa was already out of the Air Force and we had returned to our one bedroom apartment - no dish washer, no washing machine – but it didn’t matter; we had Alan and each other.

Grandpa went back to teaching and I stayed home and learned what it was like taking care of a baby. They didn’t have courses then for parents on how to care for infants. We didn’t have babysitters because we couldn’t afford them, so I was a full time mom and loved every minute of it (as far as I can remember).

Alan was a good baby, ate well (which was all that really mattered to my mother), played and participated in everything we did. Karen was not born until Alan was eleven years old so he always had our full attention, and was a happy well-adjusted kid.

We moved to an apartment complex called Edgebrook in White Plains after we went into the day camp business. Alan was three years old, made friends and we lived there until he entered junior high school at which time we bought a house.

When Alan was eleven years old we were still living in Edgebrook when Karen was born - a beautiful baby girl weighing five pounds. We were all so happy; Alan gave out bubble gum cigars to his friends.

Alan went off to college at eighteen; Karen was seven years old. She missed having him around.
Karen and I spent a lot of time together; we were very close. In our neighborhood (we now lived in a house) there were no girls her age, so she did everything with me. I still believe we are very close and I love every minute of it. (I couldn’t agree more – she truly is my best friend, closest confidant and greatest supporter).

Alan and Karen can tell you about their growing up and what they remember and as you get older you will appreciate it.

All I can say to my grandchildren is that Grandpa and I love you. Each of you has a special place in our hearts. Your parents Alan and Karen are the best thing that ever happened to us, so treat them well and make them as happy as they made us, and you will be on the right track.

That was my mother’s life story in her own words – short and sweet.

I think it’s important to note that my mother was what present day psychologist’s call a “motherless daughter”. As such, she had no role model to teach her about what it would be like to be a grown woman, how to be a loving wife or nurturing mother. For most, this is a recipe for disaster. Against all odds, she excelled at all of these roles. No surprise really – she always looked forward and never focused on her past.

Being a control freak, she started planning for her death (and my father’s) earlier than most. My mother was in her mid twenties when she bought 4 cemetery plots in Valhalla, NY. Considering it was just the 2 of them at the time, my dad found the whole idea pretty scary. No stopping her though. Last year, she and my father went on what she described as a fun filled road trip with their friends, Linda and Richard, to check out a VA cemetery in south Florida. She really had a blast most likely due to the company of good friends. She delighted in telling me how they decided to buried there instead of Valhalla for the obvious logical reasons.
There was a great Jewish deli around the corner (which my father has been ridiculed relentlessly for ordering egg salad instead of corn beef), great shopping, and my Aunt Roz bought plots at a cemetery nearby, not to mention they mowed the grounds unbelievably sharp and even. She also loved that their coffins were buried one on top of another so there would be no waste of space. When I asked her if she realized she would be dead, which rendered deli’s and shopping unnecessary she laughed and said it was important to her. She also made sure to note that Alan and I could probably make a mint on the 4 plots in Valhalla that she bought 60 years ago.

She always lived her life on her own terms - with humor (often hilarity), integrity, sometimes brutal honesty, and the utmost love for all the people she held dear.

Since her passing was so sudden and still so surreal for us, I take comfort in knowing that because of her lifetime of strength and honesty, in the end nothing had gone unspoken between us. A heartfelt “I love you” ended every phone conversation we ever had and filled all of our interactions. While I will never fill the void of her loss and will think of her every single day of the remainder of my life, I know that she would find a way to haunt me if I didn’t encourage everyone here to celebrate her life rather than focus on mourning her loss.