On July 16, 2018, my mother passed away. My sister and father and I surrounded her in the early morning hours as she took her last breath, and we waited quietly while her heart gently stopped beating. For the last five years, she suffered incomprehensibly. She didn't quietly fade. It was ugly and torturous and my mother didn't deserve the living hell she endured. Her last years were tragic, but her death was not. Her death was, peaceful, and kind of beautiful.
I have shared so much over the years about her suffering, but I don't want that to be her legacy. She was so much more than the final five years of her life.
I wrote her eulogy at 4:00am on the morning of her funeral. I was exhausted, grieving, and I know for sure that it's not my best writing...however, I wanted to share the text here, so I'll have a permanent record.
So...for what it's worth...here it is:
My mom was the best mom.
She was born in 1933, to my beloved grandparents, Herman and Rose. The youngest of three, her brothers, Raymond and Mike – (who were 11 and 9 years older), were fiercely protective of her, and according to my grandmother, still referred to her as the “baby” – right up to and beyond her wedding day.
In her youth, she was a popular girl, she loved reading and learning and going to school and Frank Sinatra. Her years in high school were among her happiest times. She had a lot of friends (she took great pride in the fact that many of her friends were the intellectual elite in her class), worked on the school paper – and was recognized at Olney High School as the class of 1951’s “most witty” female graduate.
Temple University followed, where she found her love of Shakespeare, jazz, and politics.
In her young adult life, she started her own insurance agency. It was during this time that she ran into an old friend who introduced to a charming fellow by the name of Aaron Caplan.
Dad took Mom on their first date, to see the movie, “Some Like it Hot”, and 8 later, they were engaged. He thought she was the nicest woman he’d ever met.
By the time my sister and I were born, Joyce and Aaron had a little rowhouse on Bayard Street, which was also the home office of Bayard Insurance Agency. The house sported three bedrooms, living room, dining room, one purple kitchen and a bathroom my mother lovingly wallpapered with pictures of Frank Sinatra (this by the way, was the first and last crafty thing she ever did).
My mother’s universe for the next 30 years revolved around her business, her family and democratic party. Once we moved to Cheltenham Township, she and dad dove in and became party leaders. I spent my childhood walking door to door with my mom, handing out leaflets, listening to her encourage people to register to vote, helping them find ways to get to the polls on election day. She was a staple outside of her district polling place, proudly wearing her buttons, greeting her neighbors (she knew EVERYONE) and encouraging everyone to vote blue. She collected a bounty of interesting friends and characters who shared her passion for politics and social activism. We had a constant flurry of new people in and out of our house, which sometimes felt just as much like “headquarters” as it did like home.
With pride, I watched her win elections. She was a proud delegate to two national conventions, in 1976 for Morris Udall, 1980 for Ted Kennedy. She was also elected Constable in the early 1990’s – sort of by accident – her name was placed on the ballot, as a” placeholder”, because the dems didn’t have anyone to run against the long time incumbent. She agreed to put her name on the ballot as a courtesy, expecting to lose. This way, the incumbent, who was doing a fine job, would keep his position and source of income. What they never expected was that my mother was so well known and so beloved in the community, she won that election by a landslide. She went on to faithfully execute the duties of her office, as well as deputizing the outgoing Constable so he could hold on to his job.
Her other love was of course Jazz Music. She and Daddy befriended jazz great Milt Buckner in the early seventies. Between recording albums, and performing in Europe, he would come to Philadelphia on a regular basis and perform at local venues. He became “family” to us – (he referred to Mom has his “main sister”, Wendi and I called him Uncle Milt) – he’d stay at our house, perform at my parent’s parties, even performed a Standing Room Only concert in our living room where tickets were sold to help raise money for the Cheltenham Dems.
When she suddenly lost her hearing in her left hear, it was merely a bump in the road, yet her hearing loss would prove to be one of my biggest heartbreaks for her, for it so severely disabled someone who so loved talking to people and listening to music.
And my mom was the best mom. She was not the mom who would greet you at the front door with a plate of freshly made cookies and lemonade, but she was the mom who would shlep you and your girlfriends on a bus to Washington DC to march for women’s rights.
The center of her universe shifted quite dramatically after she became a grandma. She waited 60 years, and in her words, became the worlds most obnoxious grandmother. She spent that last nearly 25 years worrying, obsessing, and adoring her girls. Hayley, Sydney, Addison and Lia-Rose were her everything.
My mom was the best mom. All of her energies were spent thinking about others. Whether it was fighting for social justice, making sure there was always a piece of fish in the freezer for my (non-meat eating) dad, educating and influencing her circle of friends by obsessively posting on Facebook, or texting me exactly 27 times a day to make sure I was ok and Wendi was ok and Gregg was ok and the girls were ok…but, really she was making sure we understood that family always comes first. She was the best mom.
Mom first became very ill 5 years ago. And during those initial days of her illness, watching as she was breathing only with the help of a ventilator, I prayed for her recovery. I was desperate not to lose her. I wasn’t ready.
My mother valiantly survived that health crisis and lived nearly five more years.
Each day since then, she has suffered so much, from the indignity of having to rely on others to to bathe and dress, to be dependent on oxygen, multiple medications, and daily insulin injections, to the frustration of being so hearing impaired that even a casual conversation was nearly impossible; to the agony of having a chronic and severe cough.
But my mom was the best mom – and this is why. She knew. She knew five years ago we weren’t ready to lose her. She knew that it was inevitable that one day, we would have to say goodbye, but she wanted to make sure we would be able to manage our loss.
She suffered, suffered terribly for five years. But I don’t think she suffered in vain. I think this was the last big “mom” thing she did for us. She suffered so that we could be prepared. She readied us to say goodbye. She prepared us for this day.
A few weeks ago, she told me, when she passes, we shouldn’t feel sad. We should be happy for her, for she will be no longer be suffering. And just a while before she passed, she opened her eyes, looked up at the ceiling, and smiled...a big, wide, smile that looked like pure happiness.
Although I will miss her every day, I am happy. My mom suffered so bravely, for so long, that knowing she is out of pain, feels good. And though, for my whole life, the thought of losing my magnificent mother was one of the things I feared most of all, I know, she selflessly prepared us for this moment.
My mom, was the best mom.
