A Mother’s Day remembrance

Memories of mom fuel family connections

Posted

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).

I pictured her hustling to the train in the early morning. (No one in my family was ever late for anything.) There was once a sewing store on Avenue M that was her go to place. She met Patrice Munsell, the opera soprano, there one afternoon and repeated every word she said to her for years. She adored each operatic moment on the “Ed Sullivan Show” on television.
I am a young girl again on this street of memories as I picture mom holding my hand whisking me to school with my Dale Evans lunchbox. She scolds me for jumping on each sidewalk crack and hugs me goodbye when we get there. She passes each store and thinks aloud about “doing some shopping” on the way home. I remembered her strength and confidence in everything she said and did. She had an air of self- assurance that even a young child could admire. I had the best mom of anyone. I was proud to be her daughter.
A drive to the old neighborhood that shaped you as an individual may be more befitting than a mere cemetery visit. Everyone you knew and loved becomes alive again in your mind for a moment’s time. Than you take a deep sigh , enjoy the memory and promise yourself you’ll return next year.
After 16 years I can now spend Mother’s Day with my wonderful family in good spirits. My son and daughter have fond memories of grandma too. My granddaughter is named after my mom. She is our wonderful Annie.

Weinberger lives in North Woodmere.