Being the good mother that I am, I was trying to model for Madeline how to be more organized. I said, "Madeline, come look how I organized my underwear drawer. See, I rolled them all up and put them in a neat row. You should try that with your underwear drawer."
Madeline immediately looked at me and replied, "Mom. Life's too short for me to be rolling up my underwear."
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Rabbi Stanley Kazin's comments about Mom (Shirley)
We buried Mom yesterday. She died December 10, 2008 at age 83. The rabbi, Stanley Kazin, told all of us at the service how Shirley asked him to lead at her funeral twenty years ago. He was the rabbi in residence at Lutheran General Hospital. Mom was in for a heart bypass. He gave her back everything she gave him. They hit it off right away. As Stanley said, "You always knew where you stood with Shirley. And she took it as well as she gave it."
During one of her other visits as a patient, Mom spoke to him (paraphrased):
Mom: "Rabbi, I want you to speak at my funeral when it happens."
Stanley: "Shirley, you're only 62. You're young. You're going to live a long, long time."
Mom: "That's ok. But I really like you as a rabbi and a person. You're now my rabbi and I want to you to be the one that speaks."
Stanley: "Ok if that's what you want, I'll do it. But I'll probably die before you, so when I do, you can follow me up to heaven and speak to me there."
Mom: "Don't worry. I don't like you that much."
They saw each other many times over the years as Mom fought Parkinson's disease for 14 years. Bill, Mike, and Cliff met Stanley as well during that time.
Thank you Stanley. All of us really appreciated everything you did and said. It was the most heart-felt service any of us have ever been to.
During one of her other visits as a patient, Mom spoke to him (paraphrased):
Mom: "Rabbi, I want you to speak at my funeral when it happens."
Stanley: "Shirley, you're only 62. You're young. You're going to live a long, long time."
Mom: "That's ok. But I really like you as a rabbi and a person. You're now my rabbi and I want to you to be the one that speaks."
Stanley: "Ok if that's what you want, I'll do it. But I'll probably die before you, so when I do, you can follow me up to heaven and speak to me there."
Mom: "Don't worry. I don't like you that much."
They saw each other many times over the years as Mom fought Parkinson's disease for 14 years. Bill, Mike, and Cliff met Stanley as well during that time.
Thank you Stanley. All of us really appreciated everything you did and said. It was the most heart-felt service any of us have ever been to.
Mom's (Shirley's) Favorite Gestures
As Parkinson's advanced, Mom couldn't talk very well. She used two gestures as a shorthand for phrases she had often used before.
One gesture was to make a fist and punch it into her other open hand. That meant something like "You better watch out. If I could get up from here, I'd give you what for."
The other used on her two sons, Mike and Cliff, and occasionally her husband Bill, but never on their spouses or the grandchildren (8) or the great-grandchildren (13). It was a raised fist that was shaken. When used on her sons, it meant "You're a good for nothing, rotten bum and don't think you can get away with anything. I'm going to straighten you out so toe the line and do the right thing."
Mom used to threaten her sons for as long as they can remember. But they were always empty threats because the boys knew they could always call her bluff. She loved them far too much to ever do anything to them and once they were older than four, there was nothing physical she could do that would make an impression on two boys anyway.
When they were young (actually for all the rest of their lives) being a good Yiddish mom, she used guilt instead: "It's ok. Go ahead and do anything you like. Don't worry about what it will do to your mother. Don't worry that it may kill her."
But that backfired. By the time you were 8 or 9 and had been responsible for almost killing your mother multiple times, you became inoculated against guilt. After that, you couldn't feel guilty about anything. After all, what could be worse than killing your mother?
One gesture was to make a fist and punch it into her other open hand. That meant something like "You better watch out. If I could get up from here, I'd give you what for."
The other used on her two sons, Mike and Cliff, and occasionally her husband Bill, but never on their spouses or the grandchildren (8) or the great-grandchildren (13). It was a raised fist that was shaken. When used on her sons, it meant "You're a good for nothing, rotten bum and don't think you can get away with anything. I'm going to straighten you out so toe the line and do the right thing."
Mom used to threaten her sons for as long as they can remember. But they were always empty threats because the boys knew they could always call her bluff. She loved them far too much to ever do anything to them and once they were older than four, there was nothing physical she could do that would make an impression on two boys anyway.
When they were young (actually for all the rest of their lives) being a good Yiddish mom, she used guilt instead: "It's ok. Go ahead and do anything you like. Don't worry about what it will do to your mother. Don't worry that it may kill her."
But that backfired. By the time you were 8 or 9 and had been responsible for almost killing your mother multiple times, you became inoculated against guilt. After that, you couldn't feel guilty about anything. After all, what could be worse than killing your mother?
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