(given at the Tribute to Lillian's Life on June 4, 2013)
Although intellectually I knew that this day would come sometime, emotionally I must admit that I denied it. My mother was so smart, tough and stubborn; I figured she would somehow get around it, and that she would be in my life forever.
But now she is gone and I am so very sad. In addition to being my mom, she was my best friend. I say this knowing full well that many people hearing or reading this tribute thinks THEY were her best friend. But, really, it was me … at least over the last few years.
Mom grew up as one of ten children in Hartford, Conn. She was 4th in line, part of the older generation, often taking responsibility for her younger siblings. Their family was not well off, and as a result, mom was not able to go to college. I know that she regretted this lack of education. She was incredibly bright, yet she always felt a bit out of place amongst her educated friends, and she was determined that we would not miss out on that experience.
She married well when she found my dad. They have had a wonderful life together, and have taught us what it means to have a great marriage, a real partnership, a deep and enduring relationship.
But mom got a bit of a raw deal in that she often had to move to places she didn't want to go. First, she and dad moved to Ohio, where they lived in a log cabin five miles out of town. My mom was miserable; she had a new baby yet was away from her beloved mother and close siblings. Then rather than taking her “home”, which is what she wanted, dad took her to Benton Harbor, Michigan – the middle of nowhere, as far as she was concerned. She had to start over … again. She hated it at first, but eventually she developed some wonderful, close friends.
In fact, I've never known anyone who had more best-friends than my mother. Adele, Myrtle, Faye, Sondra, Bernie, Lea, Sybil ... names from my childhood.
They moved to Palm Desert when dad retired, and I believe that was the first time she was content with the choice of where to live. They were both healthy; they spent time traveling, attending cultural events, golfing and enjoying visits from us. It was the happiest of times. More best friends …. Saul and Gail, Barbara, Thema, Jerry and Joyce, Roberta, and so many others.
But, as my folks aged and started to experience health issues, we asked them to move to the Bay Area. Once again, mom was being told to move somewhere she didn't want to go. She totally refused, until somehow my husband Lenny talked her into it. I think she was always amazed that I had landed such a great guy as Lenny, and she simply would not risk upsetting him, so she and dad moved to the Vi.
I know she was not happy about the decision to relocate here, but, as throughout her life, she quickly made a million close friends. She would say "I don't know anybody here", yet when you walked through the dining room, she stopped at every table to chat. And so, more best friends: Judy, Mel, Beverly, Harriet, Ruthie, Gabi, Belle, Rhoda, Phoebe ….I’m sorry if I’ve missed some names. Decades and decades of best friends.
Mom took great joy in experiencing the world. She loved to travel, she loved the theatre, she loved visiting museums, she loved the movies, she loved reading (then listening to) books. She loved parties, sitting on the beach, shopping, swimming laps, flea markets, farmer’s markets, crossword puzzles, knitting, tulips, cookies … well, you get the idea. She lived every single moment. When I was planning her 90th birthday party, I asked her what was her favorite color, for the decorations… she mulled it over a bit, then answered “rainbow”. She simply wanted ALL the colors; she wanted to experience ALL of life. So, in honor of mom’s wishes, today we have all the colors.
Theatre was one of mom's greatest passions. She would go see any play, any time, and I think she enjoyed every play she ever saw (although when I asked her last week, when she could barely talk, if she ever saw a play she didn’t like, she responded clearly and emphatically: Sweeny Todd). When dad was working in the scrap metal business, the highlight of the year was their annual trip to New York for the industry convention. They went to theatre every night.
But you can't talk about my mother without talking about bridge. Mom enjoyed games of all kinds. All you had to do is ask who wanted to play a game, and she was there. Bananagrams, poker, Mahjong - you name it. But, most of all, mom was all about bridge. She channeled her intellect into bridge in an intense way. She was competitive, earning a Silver Life Master designation. I know mom was very proud of me - my degrees, my business success, my family - but honestly, I think her greatest thrill was when I took up bridge in college, and her greatest disappointment in me was when I didn't keep it up. Even as mom lost her vision, she continued to play bridge. Once the bidding was complete, Gabi or mom’s partner would read the cards of the dummy to mom. Then, the players would call out the cards as they played them. Mom played the hand by memory. And she still won.
Mom was a good mother but she wasn't one of those doting mothers, who lived her life for her kids. She took care of Michael, me and Ann, encouraged and supported us, but also expected us to be independent.
Mom adored her three grandchildren: Bradley, Jenny and Marina. She made clear from the start that she was to be called Bubbie, not grandma, which made her feel old, and simply was too “goyish” sounding. She was very proud of her grandchildren’s many accomplishments.
There are endless funny stories about my mom. I'm afraid it would take me hours to tell you all of them. She was witty until the very end. She was not the least bit sentimental; she was a big fan of taking your knocks, and moving on. And she definitely was stubborn. Let me tell you a few of my favorite stories.
Our most famous family story is when mom went to the bakery to get a birthday cake for dad. On the counter was a giant sheet cake, with “Congratulations, Gloria” written on it, alongside a picture of a stork. The baker was on the phone arguing with a customer. He hung up, and said to my mother, “can you believe it? A lady just cancelled this giant custom cake.” He continued, “You know, I would sell this cake for $3.” “Sold!” cried my mother, and that year my father got a birthday cake saying “Congratulations, Gloria”. Of course, years later, he got even when celebrating her Life Master status in bridge, and he showed up at the club with a cake, proudly saying “Congratulations, Gloria”.
When we launched the PalmPilot, my partners Jeff and Ed and I brainstormed how we could show that the Pilot was so easy, that “even your mom could use it”. One of us had the idea to invite our moms to launch it with us. So, the three moms came to the conference, circulating through the crowd taking orders for Pilots at a special, pre-launch price. They had caps on saying “Donna’s mom”, “Jeff’s mom”, “Ed’s mom”. We set up a contest for them, with a prize for who would sell the most. Ed’s mom took this very seriously, and worked away at it, but my mom and Jeff’s mom worked for a few hours before they decided that enough was enough, and, contest be damned, they went on strike, preferring to go sit by the pool. To this day, I run into people who tell me that they bought a Pilot from my mom.
When mom and dad left Benton Harbor for retirement, they bought the model unit of a condo in Palm Desert. It was entirely furnished, down to the plates and the placemats. I remember saying to her, "mom, surely you will want to bring your stuff from Benton Harbor, the stuff you have accumulated over a lifetime, rather than use these things?" "No," she responded quickly. "I don't want that stuff anymore. It’s old. I want new stuff."
After she started losing her mobility due to Parkinson's, she was susceptible to falls. She was not steady, but would want something, and just get up to get it, with all of us rushing to her side to help her. "Where you going?" became our constant cry. After one of her falls, she was bruised and in pain, and dad and I tried to talk with her about using a walker. She said no - under no circumstances was she going to use a walker. We argued and argued, and she was adamant. Finally, dad confronted her directly, saying "this is just vanity - that's all this is about, isn't it?" "No it isn't", she responded resolutely. "Well," he probed, then "why won't you use a walker?" "Because," she said, enunciating slowly through clenched teeth for emphasis, "because I DON'T LIKE THE WAY IT LOOKS."
After another fall, one that required stitches, mom was in the nursing home to recover, and they put an alarm on her so that they would know if she got up. She immediately named her alarm "The Spy". In order to go back home, she was supposed to pass an assessment. She asked the nurse, “who will do the assessment?” The nurse said, vaguely, “the staff”. Mom pressed the point. “Exactly WHO will do the assessment?” Again, the nurse dodged, saying “a physical therapist”. Finally mom explained. “Look, I need a name. I need to know who to suck up to.”
We had a long planned trip to Japan just before mom got pneumonia. When we were getting ready to leave, she was fine, but I was worried. The night before I left, I asked dad to send me an email every day to say how she was doing. Mom glanced at me, then at dad, and said "just write her that I'm fine - she'll never know". I immediately pointed out that with my sister Ann coming here, I had an informant. Without hesitation, she replied "Ann has a vivid imagination."
We started bringing in caregivers to help during this past year. First Yolanda, and then Enriqueta and Marcia ... her new best friends. They laughed and talked and visited together. The caregivers were vigilant ... "where you going?" they would call out when mom got up... and they teased each other relentlessly. She told me, just a few weeks ago, "you know all these gals start here and they're so nice ... but then they turn weird." Enriqueta and Marcia – you have been an awesome source of support and love, particularly over the last ten days.
I can tell funny stories all day, but would rather focus for a moment on values. Through that stubbornness and strength was a woman who believed intensely in doing what was right. This was an absolute for her - no shades of grey. These clear values sometimes were oppressive when I was young, but I now see them as her greatest gift to me.
Just a few examples …..
If there was a new person in the neighborhood, you were to go over with a gift of welcome.
If there were people alone in the community, say for the Jewish holiday, you were to invite them to your home.
If you received a gift or an act of kindness, you were to send a handwritten thank you note. Right away.
You visit the sick.
You take care of the elderly - she took care of my father's father in his later years.
Family should be top priority. I just learned from my Aunt Dolores that when mom’s own mother died, mom and dad offered to take in the 15 year old Dolores and her twin Deanna. At that time, mom was a young mother, with a two year old and a newborn (me), so I can’t imagine how she could take in two teenage girls. But, you do what is right.
And, as I said earlier, she sure was stubborn. She had a specific place that she had to sit at the table at a restaurant, with her back to the wall, able to see most of the room; she got to pick her seat first. I learned from her that “the mom gets five votes” (of course, we follow this practice in my family as well). She simply could not tolerate having an illness; she pretended it wasn't there. She was devastated about losing her vision; she insisted on visiting expert after expert - surely someone could fix it. Just a quick story – one big shot eye doctor kept her waiting for four hours. She was furious by the time she saw the guy. The doctor said to her, “let go of your anger”, to which she responded, “I’m holding onto that anger as long as I can!”
She was never going to be ill; she was never going to be old. Maybe that's why I thought I would never lose her - I believed her.
Mom asked Ann to call me in Japan from the hospital. We had only been there one day. I already was asleep, so was quite groggy in trying to attend to our conversation. But mom was clear as could be. She urged us to stay in Japan even though she was sick. She said, "it's just a cold". She wanted to know if we were having a good time. Maybe she just wanted to hear my voice. Or maybe she wanted me to know that I could go on, that I would be fine without her.
And I will. We all will, all of us best friends. Although we will miss her greatly, and I know I will think of her every day, we will carry within us the spark that she left us by being in our lives: her humor and her wisdom, her honesty and her values, her love of us and of life, of experiencing all the colors.
