a springtime exit, with love

As the spring blooms riotously proliferate, as the birds' joyful songs crescendo...my grandmother's dearest wish is finally granted.

Early this morning, Mama slipped from this life into a mysterious realm that lies just beyond our ken. I am so relieved for her that she got what she had been so desperately wanting. I am so grateful now that I seized the opportunity to visit with her last December, when I flew to New York for her brother-in-law's funeral. Because her excruciating hip pain had lately confined her to a wheelchair, Mama was unable to attend the graveside service. When, on my way to the gravesite after the funeral, I spotted her sitting alone in a parked car in the cemetary, I immediately climbed into the driver's seat for a little one on one. Mama wanted to hear all about my family, just as she did in our weekly phone conversations. But all she had to say about herself - a topic she usually preferred to avoid - was this: it's just not fair that Harry is gone and I am still here, not living, just suffering, in so much pain. I don't know why I have to live so long.

I told her how sorry I was. There was simply nothing else to be said about it.

It was painful to hear her lament, but it was really nothing new. In fact, I knew before she spoke exactly how she felt. First, her dear husband, Sam, and then, eleven years later, his last remaining brother, had left her behind. For two solid years, if not more, she had told me consistently that she had lived too long, and advised me against following in her footsteps, as if I had any choice in the matter.

Remarkably, I remembered, jut after hearing the news of her demise, that my grandmother appeared to me early this morning around the time of her death. She had wanted to remind me that she loved her family just as much as Papa Sam had done. She had just assumed a different role; she had a very different way of showing it. Papa was dominant, gregarious, effusive and assertive in expressing his love. Mama was more shy, quieter, and more comfortable expressing her love and devotion to family by cooking up a storm...and by giving gifts of exquisite jewelry.

At Hannukah, she was fairly consistent in presenting me with pretty but practical sleepwear. But at birthdays, she stepped it up, big time. While Papa presented me annually with a transfer of stock from them both, Mama gradually gifted me many of her favorite pieces of jewelry. After she had beaten breast cancer in the middle of her life, my grandfather began giving her a piece of jewelry on every anniversary of the cancer's remission. Slowly, she passed some of those pieces down to me. An antique silver cameo bracelet Papa had bought her in Europe. An enormous cabochon amethyst in a sleek modern gold setting. A pair of gold Bulgari earrings set with rubies and diamonds. Heaps of Mexican silver - earrings, rings, bracelets and necklaces she had collected on vacations over the years. And a multi-gemstone pin I had admired as a very small child. I remember when she gave it to me as a teenager. She said, "when you were a baby, and I was wearing this pin at temple, you pointed to it and said "pretty" and I told you then and there that I would give it to you some day. I'm so glad to be able to do that today."

I am so incredibly glad to have those pieces, and not just because of their great beauty and style. They mean so much more to me than any new jewelry would and it was so nice to be able to enjoy them while she was still alive and to be able to tell her so.

Every time we have spoken on the phone the last few years, Mama would say "I love you, you know that" and she said it with meaning. Ever since my parents and I stopped speaking to each other, a few years ago, Mama had stepped up to the plate, as if to fill the void, and become more overtly and verbally loving and supportive of me - as a person, as a wife, and as a parent - than at any other time in our relationship. I am so grateful to her for that.

Mama, you were correct. When I was growing up, I did think Papa loved me more than you did. Sometimes, I had no idea how you felt. But lately, especially these past five years, you have proved that you loved me every bit as much as he. You said you were with us in spirit when you could not make it to Max's Bar Mitzvah, and I know the same is true today. I know I have not lost you. As I told you when I called on Papa's birthday last month, I think of both of you every day, but especially on March 19, and that will always be true. Each in your own way, the two of you gave more love than anyone else I knew in my first thirty years of life. When Paul and I became engaged on the eve of your anniversary, you were the first people we told because I thought I had finally found someone with whom to have the kind of marriage you and Papa were lucky enough to have had. And you have been the only person in my immediate family of origin consistently to express approval, support and loving concern about my husband, as well as all my children, for these past five years.

Moreover, you let me off the hook and gave your blessing to my not trying anymore to get along with your own daughter (my mother). You told me you heard my in-laws were lovely people and that I should focus on building my relationship with them. That was an enormous gift you gave me, trying to help soften a difficult and painful situation by your love and support.

So yes, Mama, I do know that you love me. I feel your immense love for me and my entire family and you will always be in my heart. Thank you so much for everything.