My mom passed away May 14, 1999. Five days after Mother’s Day. It took many years for me to find consolation in the phrase “Happy Mothers Day” even though I am a mom myself. My kids would bring comforting gifts but my heart wasn’t in it. My own mom was gone.
My parents were buried in the Star of David Cemetery, along with so many of their generation who left Brooklyn to retire, bought condos in South Florida to relax and enjoy their remaining years.
My mom became quite the athlete in her 70s and 80s. She would walk three miles at the crack of dawn then rush to put on her bathing suit and rubber cap and swim her 30 laps in the condo’s grand pool. Her daily routine kept her strong and physically healthy. Dementia was her downfall. She had a silly kind of disease. She would sing and recite poetry. It came to a point where there was no talking to her .She would croon a tune from a Broadway show in response to anything you asked her. Our family would accept it and just go on loving her. It was astonishing how an accomplished accountant who ran an office on 34th Street in Manhattan could become Andrew Lloyd Webber’s self proclaimed singer of songs. It was a sweet silliness and at times made her even more endearing.
My way of paying respects to my mom is to visit Avenue M and E18th Street in the Midwood section of Brooklyn. The street where I grew up is the perfect setting to pay homage to her. My husband and I take our annual drive to my old neighborhood so that can say a pretend hello to both my parents.
I can picture my mom walking down Avenue M with her groceries from Waldbaum’s after a hard days work in the city. She left the house at 7 a.m. and returned at 5 p.m., like clockwork. I would meet her to help her carry her much beloved fruits and vegetables. (She was way ahead of her time with nutrition ... she didn’t believe in bakery goods and sweets. That was dad’s thing).