My mother Mildred Gersh (1921-2016)

This is how I will remember my mother: smiling, cheery and ready for a game of bridge, canasta or Jeopardy on television.  She had been a New York Board of Education school teacher (6th grade) who rose in the ranks from sub to full-time to District 11 Reading Coordinator to Assistant Principal. She was very proud of her career and her publications.  She edited one of the first primers that characterized boys and girls in equal roles - the burgeoning 1970s feminist strategy to achieve gender parity. An early feminist she was.  I remember attending one of the first NOW demonstrations with her in NYC.  Before she left Florida "to go North" to assisted living in New Rochelle, she cast an absentee vote for Hillary Clinton.  (She loved Hillary - while I loved "Your Guy" [Bernie Sanders].)

My mother lived Hadassah.  That's not a typo - she lived it and loved it (most of the time). She belonged to Hadassah Chapter Orah-Sunrise in Broward County, Florida.  In recent years the membership dwindled to such a degree that their chapter had to merge with Hadassah Florida Broward. Things were never the same, she said during my last visit to her condo apartment in Phase IV - all pink and mauve and almond Formica to go with her summer-y, tropical retirement.  Last fall, she had ceased to contributed her reports on the state of Israel and international relations.  She was no longer in charge of the educational programs for meetings.  In the photo above, she was ready to leave the apartment for a Hadassah Luncheon. It was mid March 2016 during my Spring Break.  She returned from the luncheon with a pendent bestowed on the women honored at the luncheon.  On Sunday, May 20, 2007, she was selected by Orah-Sunrise Chapter as their "Woman of the Year" for the annual Hadassah Regional Luncheon, celebrated along with her sister Hadassah chapter honorees for that year.  (It was one of the few Hadassah functions I agreed to attend thus far.  She bought lifetime Hadassah memberships for all the Jewish women in her family.)

She also loved to knit and crochet, especially for her family - from the newest arrivals (either by marriage or birth) - to the oldest son-in-law.  Among her greatest fans and collectors, her granddaughter Natasha models her Hanukah gift for December 2014 in a photo sent by email to Grandma's account.

The arts were nurtured by both my parents, who enjoyed dance and classical music concerts, theater, museum exhibitions, and books. My mother kept up their Florida subscriptions until 2015.

The last photo of Mom in United Hebrew Rehab/Nursing.  It was on Thursday, August 4, 2016 - her birthday.  She was 95.   My cousin Lydia and I spent the late afternoon with her.  I regret that I didn't take a photograph while she was dressed in her lovely floral blouse and navy pants. She wasn't comfortable during the early part of our visit, but she smiled and asked questions - expressed interest. She seemed genuinely pleased by the birthday cards we read to her one by one.

Lydia arranged her birthday cards on the little bulletin board next to her bed.  The Yorkie is Zachary, my cousins Wendy and Arthur's dog.  She loved all the cards.  And we loved sharing her birthday with her.

My mother died on Saturday, August 6th in White Plains Hospital.  She had been taken to the hospital on Friday, August 5th, the day after her birthday.  She contracted a uti - and was delirious.  I visited her in WPH that evening and the nurses assured me that the antibiotics would kick in soon - she would recover.  She didn't.  Her heart stopped around noon the next day.  And my heart stopped too when I found her about 1 pm.  I wasn't ready to good-bye.  

Too short a stay with us.  Too long in discomfort.  I miss you, Mom - may you be now at peace in a comfy chair, like the one I remember you sitting in when I left you in Florida on June 4th - in the pink and smiling.

Sandwiched - written July 6, 2016

Written July 6, 2016:
I am a sandwich.  My mother is 94 and my daughter is 24.  When I call my mother, she recites her physical problems, going into detail.  When I call my daughter, she recites her existential problems, going into detail.  I am a sandwich, servicing both with a patient ear and sympathetic sighs.   "Yes, it's horrible for you.  I agree - this is very sad/terribad/the pits."  

I am also a sandwich between by my sibs.  The middle child between a domineering big sister and self-center younger brother.   To my extreme horror, the two decided to move our mother from her glorious condominium in Florida to a hotel-room size apartment in an assisted living residence in New Rochelle.  I am heartsick.   My mother needs twenty-four hour care.  My sibs did not sign up for this. She loved her caregivers.  Now she is lonely and very depressed.

Isn't this elder-care abuse?   My sister has power of attorney and her son is a lawyer.  My brother is an MD, who drugged my mother into submitting to their plan.   (It was called "anti-anxiety" measures.)

My mother just called me to say that she can't find her blue blanket.  She is alone.  No one is answering her buzzer.  She hasn't been alone in her Florida apartment since September.

The four adults (my brother, his wife, my sister's son and his wife) -  who put her into this predicament - live 15 minutes from her new abode.    I live 35 minutes by car on the other side of Westchester.  But she called me at 9:30 pm this evening, because she is afraid to "bother" them.

Oh yes, it is horrible for her.  It is very sad/terribad/the pits.
I wish I were able to take my mother back to FL and make her feel better again.