Mortality

Understandably as we grow older, mortality seems to be an ever-present tingle in our minds… and yes, sometimes the thought is VERY scary. We lose folks around us that mean a lot, and we discover new aches, pains, and things that just don’t work as well anymore. But instead of fearing the INEVITABLE (NO ONE ESCAPES!) and burying ourselves in what once was, I choose to look forward.

 

I choose to be thankful for the things and people I have had in my life, and the time I had with them. I choose to be thankful for what I have now. I choose to be thankful for now, who and what I am, my memories, and my ability to hope for a tomorrow. Yes, I still shed tears for people I miss, my parents, my sister, a couple of cousins, a few friends… and yes, even some beautiful pussycats. But I try not to let my tears consume me, and I know that those I love and loved wouldn’t want me to waste a single day or moment that I have left.

 

And yet I can’t help, every time my phone rings at an unlikely hour, and every time I don’t get a response from someone I’ve reached out to, just a little bit of a shudder and a slap of what could be reality… and thankfully MOST of these alarms are simply false as I breathe a sigh of relief. I just don’t ever want to waste a day, I don’t want to waste any time telling someone how much I love them, I don’t want to waste any time cuddling a pussycat. Yes, I want to spend time reliving some of our memories with my loved ones, and I also want to make lots of new ones.

 

And when the day comes when I am gone, and those I leave behind shed a few tears, I hope they will live and love the happiest lives they can… mostly for them (and selfishly, just a little tinge for me). I truly believe the best honor we can each do for our dear loved ones is to live each new day as fully as possible and to remember our shared memories long after we can no longer share.

 

Here is to EVERY tomorrow!

 

The Peter Pan Story

 

I was about 5 or 6 years old when my paternal grandfather passed away… he wasn't that old, maybe 58 or 59. I really didn't understand at that time that I would NEVER see Pop again. At his wake (my Dad was Jewish through his mother, not his dad), I had no idea what was going on – and I snuck into the room at my aunt's house where the coffin was, climbed up on a chair, and tried to wake my grandfather. I was shaking him in the open coffin when it was discovered where I was. My aunt scolded me and stopped suddenly; I saw tears in her eyes. My parents took turns holding me and explained that Pop wasn't going to wake up.

 

I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, I think a neighbor watched my sister and me. My sister (5 years older) gently tried to explain about death and its finality, I think I began to catch on. But when my parents came home, I saw Daddy crying – I didn't think that fathers ever cried. That's when the explanations my sister tried to tell me really hit me… and I was terrified.

 

Daddy wiped his tears, held me, and asked why I was so scared. I told him in my own juvenile way that I realized that growing up meant that our parents would die. I knew that my Mom's father had died long before I was born (I'm named for him) and that reinforced my terror. I cried long and hard on my Dad's shoulder while he tried to comfort me. I kept on yelling that I didn't want to ever grow up.

 

Daddy hugged me, his arms were always so strong and safe, and he asked me if my name was Peter Pan. I stopped crying and looked at him, I had no idea who Peter Pan was. He told me that Peter Pan was the boy who never wanted to grow up. I told Daddy that I agreed. He chuckled.

 

We sat in his chair, he put me on his lap, and he told me, it's true, as we get older, we often lose those who are older than us. Daddy said that's the way it's supposed to be, and then he told me that even though losing people sometimes hurt, he would never change a thing because growing up also meant that you would meet new people and have families of your own. Daddy said that if he and Mommy hadn't grown up they never would have met, and they never would have had "the most beautiful daughters" in the world. And he told me that even though he and Mommy would one day leave this earth, he knew that we would both find others to love and maybe even have our own beautiful children.

 

Daddy died a little more than 17-years after he lost his own dad. My sister had already married and had a son, a grandson who was the pride and joy of both of my parents. I had also gotten married to a man I loved so much. Mommy and Daddy were thrilled with both of their daughters and the "sons" we had brought them. During the days after he passed, I heard Daddy's voice, ACTUALLY HEARD IT, telling me that he was glad I had decided not to be Peter Pan and he was excited about the life I would live.

 

Although my husband and I lost all 4 of our parents just a few years after our marriage, I still feel blessed. Today, more than 46 years after marrying the love of my life, we have two beautiful grown children, a daughter and son, and two wonderful in-law children. We've had adventures and many joys. My sister and her husband had a second son, two daughters-in-law, and 4 grandchildren… and their first GREAT grandchild was born shortly before my sister died.

 

We grew up, and just as Daddy told me, I wouldn't change a thing. I am so glad I wasn't Peter Pan.

 

December 28, 1975

 

Forty-six years ago my sister fell down a flight of stairs…

 

We were on the way to my wedding. Our parents had already made their way out to the car, my sister and I were the last to leave our parents' apartment when she tripped over the gown bag that she was carrying. She laid crumpled at the bottom of the flight of marble steps between the second and third floors in the Bronx apartment house where we were raised. I don't remember if it was my brother-in-law or me that ran to get my dad.

 

While she laid there in obvious pain, her concern was that she was making me late to my wedding. While my dad and her husband made an assessment about whether she needed to get to the hospital, I ran back into my folks' apartment to use the phone. In the years before the popularity of cell phones, I hoped that someone would answer the phone at the catering hall – no answer and no answering machine to leave a message. I was so frantic that my fiancé wouldn't wait.

 

Determined not to ruin my wedding my sister argued with my dad and her husband that she just needed help to get to her feet. Leaning on the two of them, she managed to hobble her way down to the car. Fighting traffic all the way, we finally reached the site of the planned wedding and reception out in Queens. I cried in the backseat of my parents' car and kept an eye on my sister, brother-in-law and nephew in their car.

 

My husband-to-be's younger brother was pacing across the entryway when we got there. I got out and burst into tears telling him what had happened. He ran in to assure my betrothed that I had arrived and told him and explained about the delay. My mom dabbed my eyes with a cold washrag to try to minimize the puffy eyes from my crying and she helped my sister get her gown on before she got herself dressed in a hurry. Finally, we were ready — the next step was our "First Look" and then photos while our guests munched on hor d'oeuvres in the next room.

 

The ceremony began. My 4-year-old nephew, my sister's son, was our ringbearer… we all laughed when he stopped the ceremony demanding that the Rabbi bless our rings. Then our attendants began their walk down the aisle. My sister, my Matron-of-Honor had a huge smile and looked beautiful as she wore her beautiful gown and a pair of everyday shoes, she couldn't walk in the matching heels she had planned after taking that fall. And Mark and I were married in front of all four parents, our siblings and dearest friends. The reception had its own tsuris (troubles); my mom, a diabetic, had a bad reaction from her worry, refused to go to the hospital and spent most of our reception lying down in the bridal suite.

 

At the end of the reception, in the middle of a snowstorm, Mark and I finally drove away to begin our new life together. It was 45-miles to our apartment where we decided to spend our first night as a married couple and since we didn't have a phone in the apartment yet, Mark stopped at a pay phone and carried me, in my gown, over a snowbank so that I could call my parents and make sure my mom and my sister were really okay. After being reassured, we finally spent a romantic evening as Mr. and Mrs.

 

The next morning, we headed off to our honeymoon in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. This wonderful week began our wonderful marriage, still filled with lots of ups and downs. Through the years we shed tears as we buried our parents, celebrated as we bought a home, rejoiced as we raised our remarkable children, a daughter and son, watched nephews and nieces grow, survived health scares, and finally retired.

 

Life goes on still filled with joys and tears. This past year we sadly buried my sister, and we celebrated as her eldest son, our ringbearer, became a grandfather. Three years ago, we made a move to our "retirement" home, a beautiful house in the great Pocono Mountains — kind of where it all began.

 

I love you Mark, now and forever.

The Year of Firsts

I posted back in June, my only sister passed away fairly unexpectantly. She was five years older than me and in her early 70s, we had A LOT of time together, I am very blessed for that. It's still a huge change in my life though…

 

As we are nearing the end of 2021, and with all of the holidays surrounding us, her absence from my life is weighing heavily on my mind. This is what I call the "Year of Firsts" — it's the FIRST time that I am doing things differently, doing things without her presence. Although I will always be sad that she isn't here, the "next time" becomes a little bit more normal.

 

We lost our parents in 1977 and 1979 and we had each other for support during the years of firsts (and yes, Thank G-d, we also had our husbands who were total rocks for us). As our own young families grew, we spent many, many Thanksgivings together taking family pictures and torturing our kids along the way, lol. As our own children got older and had their own homes, we didn't have the dinners together, but my sis and I often spent A LOT of time on the phone "cooking together"… this year I didn't have that.

 

I began to think about the upcoming New Year's Eve and how every year we would be on the phone together within minutes of the ball drop in Times Square. That phone call will be missed this year. Her first birthday since she is gone and all the holidays since have been painful reminders that she isn't here, everything was a first. I know that even after the first anniversary of her passing there will still be so many poignant moments, but I will have gotten through it once already.

 

It's not that I am strong, but I do remember all the wonderful years I had with her and all of our memories. I am in the process of writing MY memories down because with my parents and now my sister gone, I'm the only one with ALL of those memories. (And as my daughter said to me, it's a GREAT opportunity for me to put MY spin on everything!) My memories and my blessings are what will get me through.

 

I had my sister in my life for 67 years, a lifetime of secrets, laughter, compassion, sharing, joys and just simple talks. I have my brother (in-law), her husband, who has known me since my teen years and has become more of a brother than an in-law. I have my sister's sons and their families in my life. My husband and our children and their mates got to know her. And I have many little tidbits of advice she gave me (she not only loved to tell me what to do, but she was also a psychologist) that will remain with me forever.

 

While I still shed tears, sometimes more often than I want to admit, I also realize how fortunate I've been to have had ALL the people in my life that have been here — and I am truly so fortunate to have had such a wonderful friendship with my sister.

 

I am halfway through the "Year of Firsts", I'm going to make it.

 

Bobi, I will always love you.

What does FAMILY mean?

 

Family is more than just a biological connection. It's love and friendship, it's being there when you are needed… and sometimes when the other person doesn't even realize how much they need your comfort and support.

There's the nuclear family, the one you are born into, usually parents and children. Sometimes you are born into the hearts of your parents (adoption). When you are little, this family seems to be your whole world. If you are lucky there are aunts and uncles, cousins, maybe grandparents… As you grow your family takes on other forms, a marriage, your own children, in-laws, and sometimes close friends.

So how do you cope when the people you count on to be there for you as family turn their backs? How far do you push when the other person has no interest in BEING family? It's never easy to close the door on someone you called family, sometimes though they leave you no other options.

I have friends who have been abandoned by those they thought would be there for them in times of turmoil and it's sad. They've told me stories of being excluded from these people's lives and sometimes even getting arguments because they didn't acknowledge an event that they were never even told about.

Sometimes a person whom you accepted as family (maybe they married in) and continued to think of them that way even after the actual blood connection has been lost, may feel the need to "divorce" themselves from that side of the family. It's heartbreaking to lose yet another family member, but there is really nothing you can do about it.

Cling to those who hold you dear and don't waste time on those who seem to have simply forgotten you. Focus on the people who surround you with love and caring, and who allow you in when they need some love and caring as well. THAT is your family.

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A SAD DAY

 

By the time you are reading this, I will most probably be on my way to my sweet sister’s funeral. When you lose someone that you have always felt so close to, it is not easy.

 

My sister Bobi was my first and forever friend and losing her feels like I have lost a part of myself. As kids she was my protector, a childhood friend called her “the cool big sister” — even as adults she was always trying to make things “easy” for me. We’re not kids anymore… we both have adult children. Bobi was also blessed with grandchildren and her very first great-grandchild.

 

My big sister (who always tried to tell folks that she was the younger sister!) helped me through some dark periods in my life, so often she knew the right thing to say and when to say it. Alright, there were times I balked at things she said, but most times her words rang true. Since our folks died before I was blessed with children, my sister was the one I called when I needed advice, and maybe that’s why she always seemed to take a big interest in my offspring’s welfare because in a small way she helped raise them.

 

We cried together when we lost our parents and other loved ones. And boy did we ever laugh together… not always at the most appropriate times. We had squabbles like most sisters do, but we never stayed angry at each other for long. Talking to each other almost daily was like sustenance to us and our husbands tore their hair out back when long distance calls cost per minute.

 

As a writer her support was immeasurable which is why I feel a bit frustrated that somehow, I can’t find the right words to express the hole I feel now that she is “gone”. Fortunately, our parents raised us with a bit of belief in an afterlife that surrounds our earth-bound selves and I sure as heck hope that is so and that I can always feel her presence in my life. We were five-and-a-half years apart in age but we may as well have been twins, we always seemed to be so connected. I remember the day when my daughter, in a petty mother-daughter disagreement, heard my sister comment on it and my daughter exclaimed, “There’s TWO of them!”… and now there is just me.

 

They say that losing a sibling is a different kind of grief. You lose someone who has known you all, or almost all, of your life. If your parents are already deceased, losing a sibling means losing another vital part of your “elementary family” and takes away a piece of your childhood. Your childhood memories are now only thoughts in your own mind, there’s no more sharing of childhood secrets and adventures. Burying a sibling is also burying a hunk of your life.

 

I am going to choose to remember all of the good times, maybe pick up a long-ago abandoned diary and record those memories that we shared. I will do my best to speak of her to her children and future generations for as long as I am here. And when I close my eyes I hope to picture her in my mind and hear her voice when I am lonely. I will always look up and tell her how much I love her.

Barbara Cordero Du-Bois

September 5, 1948 – June 20, 2021

 

 

Pumpkin

Pumpkin was a pussycat, really… he was the very first cat that ever graced our home. A few months after we were married one of Mark’s friends told him about a little orange kitten his wife found; she didn’t go into detail but told her husband that the cat was an orphan. There was a problem though, she was horribly allergic to cats but, thankfully, she realized the little guy needed rescuing.

I had started teasing Mark about starting a family while we were still on our honeymoon, so when Mark heard about the kitten he told his friend, “let me check with my wife.” I was excited and said a definite YES… even though I also had a bit of an allergy to cats.

The next day Mark walked in the door with a tiny little ball of orange fur that fit in the palm of his hand. I had spent the day buying kitten food and play-toys and a litter box — I had never had a pet before (except for a goldfish we called Goldie) so I was asking a lot of questions what this kitten would need. We both looked at this little guy and agreed, we would call him Pumpkin.

Pumpkin’s first meal in his new home was watered down tidbits of canned kitten food (he was probably too young to have been weaned from his mother and I was so scared that he would choke), he was hungry. After he ate all of the small amount I put into the saucer for him, he looked at me and came over mewling until I picked him up. He made himself comfortable lying across my stomach and soon fell asleep. (Mark told me he was probably hearing my heartbeat and was comforted).

There were some terrific adventures as Pumpkin grew. I used to take him with me to visit my parents back in the Bronx, he took to a leash and harness very naturally. My dad adored playing with him, they used to “box” with Pumps on his hind legs and my dad holding his hands up to let the cat swat at him.

It was just before Passover when I received a call that my father had died. I ran out of the house to get to my mom and I never finished putting away some of the Passover groceries we had bought. (I called a neighbor to check in and feed the cat while I was gone) When Mark and I returned home a few days later we found that Pumpkin had “sampled” the corner of each box in the five-pound package of Matza we had bought. That poor cat was so bound up for days!

Shortly after we moved to a lovely ground floor condo where we soon adopted a second cat whom we named Dusty, he was a grey tiger striped cat. Soon Dusty and Pumpkin were inseparable. My mom cleaned out the apartment where she and my dad had lived and stayed with us for a few weeks before traveling to Florida to visit her mother. Mark and I both worked out of the house, Mommy didn’t mind, she loved keeping company with the two cats.

Unfortunately while my mom was away in Florida she suffered a stroke. My sister arranged to have her brought up and checked into a rehabilitation center, she eventually wound up near me. We spoke of getting her a handicapped accessible apartment and she told me she wanted a cat. As luck happened, another stray came around and we adopted him, Peppe; I brought Peppe with me to visit my mom and she fell in love. But sadly mommy died before our plans came to fruition. We kept Peppe, he was after all, my mom’s cat.

Another move, to a house this time with the three cats. This time we did start our family… with children. When our daughter was born we named her for my mom, something Peppe obviously connected with because Jenni “became his person”. As a toddler she got away with “anything” with him, and the bond was strong.

Peppe developed kidney disease and passed away at 14, a hard lesson for each of us. Our children (our son had joined the ranks) loved the cats and treasured time with them. Dusty lived to 18 and Pumpkin to 19. Since then there have been a line of felines to share our home… Shadow, Issabelle, Whiskas, Mario, Tigger and Luigi. Our daughter and son grew into adults and have their own homes with their loved ones. Mark and I made a move to a lovely house in the country, Tigger and Luigi share the house with us.

None of the cats ever replaced their predecessors, each one had their own distinctive personality. Each time one of our fur babies “crossed the rainbow bridge”, they took a little piece of our hearts with them. But each one also left us with so much love and fullness in our hearts that we had more to share. Each cat was adopted, as a stray or from the shelter and with all of their unique personalities they all shared one common trait — anytime we’ve needed a cuddle, they’ve always known and gave us cuddles and love to spare.

Pumpkin & Mark
1976

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45 Years!

 

I married the love of my life 45-years ago on December 28, 1975 and it has been a wild and wonderful ride.

 

Although we went to the same high school, we never REALLY met there (okay, I punched him one time when he was a hall monitor and attempted to stop me from going to my classroom after the “switch” was over); we actually MET a few years later as volunteers in the NYC Auxiliary Police. I was already a member of our unit when he signed up and, as Personnel Officer, I had to interview him. He passed and was admitted into our unit… but neither of us liked each other, lol.

 

However, as time went on we did eventually go out on a date and we both seemed to enjoy each other’s company… he asked me out for the following weekend. Within two weeks, he proposed, I said NO (not because I didn’t like him, I just didn’t think I was ready) — he was “persistent” and the following morning we announced our engagement. Then I went away for eight weeks to work at a summer stock theatre, he drove up to visit me several times.

 

By the time I returned home everyone wanted to know if we had set a date, we hadn’t yet. On December 28, 1974 we attended a formal ceremony for my Dad at the local J.W.V. chapter, they were honoring him for his community service as the local Auxiliary Police Captain as well as his WW2 service in the Army Corps of Engineers. While there, once again Mark and I received a multitude of questions about the date of our wedding until we both just looked at each other, smiled, and responded “One year from today”.

 

We did start discussing what kind of wedding we wanted, I was all for a small Rabbi’s study with just our immediate families present. Although Mark was easy going, his father and one of my aunt’s made it difficult to plan something intimate. We wound up compromising on a guest list of 90 (approximately 80 showed), both of his folks were pleased, the aunt made arguments right up to the wedding (and no, she was not paying for it!).

 

The day of the wedding was… memorable to say the least. My mom was totally stressed dealing with the intrusive aunt, on the way to the catering hall my sister (my Matron-of-Honor) fell down a flight of stairs and we thought she had broken her leg; trooper that she is, she managed to pull herself together and promised to be able to “hobble down the aisle” for her little sister, and I hadn’t been able to reach Mark (before the era of cellphones) and we arrived so late that he had almost  given up waiting.

 

Everything was finally underway! We posed for an array of photos, and then the ceremony began. We were married!!!!! Then… my poor Mom, a diabetic, had a serious low-blood sugar reaction to all the stress and upset about my sister’s tumble and she wound up spending the majority of party time lying down in the bridal suite while my Dad took juices to her; she wouldn’t leave and go to the hospital. Finally, the end of the party came, my mom was able to be present for the latter half of the party and in time to see me throw my bouquet and leave with my new husband.

 

Maybe we should have realized that our wedding day was a forecast of our marriage with all of our ups and downs, but in the end we drove off TOGETHER excited about our new life. We weathered crazy downstairs neighbors, the deaths of all four parents (in a five year period), a few miscarriages, buying a house, the birth of our daughter, the preemie birth of our son, ups and down in jobs and finances, seeing both of our children grow into phenomenal adults and (after a few false starts) settle down in their own homes with loves that are terrific people, we survived a serious illness, and finally a retirement and move to a beautiful home not far from where we actually honeymooned.

 

In 45-years our love has grown, been tested, and shined even brighter with each new day. I am so glad that he was persistent on the night he proposed — I couldn’t imagine any other life.

I love you, Mark, now and for eternity.

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Family Ties

 

For most of us, the lucky ones at least, growing up in a family setting (whether it was just parent[s] and you or a large extended family) was like you had whole world surrounding you with love and care. As we grew older sometimes we made “best friends” outside of our homes, but coming home always meant coming to a place where you always felt you belonged.

 

As we grew up and experienced teenage angst and the trials of young adulthood, tempers and words now and then caused arguments and tears — generally our parents forgave us the cross words we used in pain, our siblings might not have been so forgiving quite as quickly, but they still seemed to have our backs when it counted. Somehow as adults… and maybe parents of adults, we may lose that capacity to forgive the cross words so easily. And some even seem to forget the importance of family. That is sad.

 

Someone says a cross word in anger or pain, or maybe it was just a poorly worded comment with no malice intended, but suddenly it causes a family divide. And you just let it go, let it fester, while you wait for an apology that might not even be understood. Time passes, time that you can never get back and some even run out of time to make things right. When you realize there is no more time, no chance to hug that person again, no time to say “I love you”, that’s when you cry over your memories and especially the memories you were cheated out of.

 

Nowadays so many are taking mail-in DNA tests to find family that they may have never known existed, but somewhere along the line there was a break, a divide, people just drifted apart. While it is a great thing to find those long-lost family members, you can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to share the years before you found each other. Yet, even for those who crave those DNA matches, not all of them hang on to what they already know they have just because someone got annoyed.

 

Hang on to your loved ones because no one has forever. You can’t redo lost years; you can’t share memories that you were never together to share. And down the road when you realize how much you’ve lost, you might begin to question if waiting for that demanded apology was really worth it. There is a saying, “if you want a lot of space in your life, just be angry at the people around you,” and it could get very lonely. Even if you raised that child, realize that not everyone is going to think the same way you do. And even if your older parent seems to be annoying because they are so “stuck in their ways”, they are not always going to be there. Remember that siblings are often the first playmates you ever had and you’ve shared your lives and memories together.

 

 Logistically many families don’t remain together in the same locale and you may have to work a little to keep including each in your life. Between marriages and extended families, and when children or grandchildren come along, it’s hard to keep giving the same time to everyone, but make sure to remember to reach out. The effort is well worth it. Remember to tell your family members that you love them, pause and think before you let anger respond, share your thoughts, listen to theirs, and let them know how precious they are in your life.

 

Religion and Interpretation

 

No one practices their faith exactly the same way as the next guy, and I’m talking about the SAME religions. Everything is subject to interpretation. There’s an old joke in Judaism (my own faith) that goes, “If you ask two Rabbis you’ll get three opinions.”

 

Almost every religious reference, NO MATTER WHICH ONE, is accompanied by “…and by this, it means…” (no wonder TV commentators think they can tell the viewers “this is what you heard”). In their defense most religious volumes have been translated from their original language to the current language of the people. It’s a well known fact that you can lose a lot in the translation.

 

If you read scripture or religious tenets OF ANY FAITH, you can really find yourself horrified at some of the writings.

·       “If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them: Then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place; And they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die: so shalt thou put evil away from among you; and all Israel shall hear, and fear.” [Deuteronomy 21:18-21]

·       “I decided to order a man to lead the prayer and then take a flame to burn all those, who had not left their houses for the prayer, burning them alive inside their homes.” [Bukhari 11:626]

·      “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother-in-law. And a man's foes shall be they of his own household.” [Matthew 10:34-35]

Are you cringing yet? These are just three of MANY examples from the Old Testament, New Testament, and the Quaran.

 

The other day, on Facebook of course, someone posted a meme that showed a picture of Judge Amy Coney Barrett (a Catholic) and Rep. Ilhan Omar (a Muslim) which was headed, “When her religion is a problem, but hers isn’t”… My response was an innocent “Religion shouldn't matter in either case.” Another FB member (whom I don’t know) responded abruptly about how violent the Quaran is and “Muslims have been fighting Christians since Mohammed!!”

 

Indeed there have been many religious wars through the centuries and ALL of our spiritual texts do contain items that seem callous or violent. But, it is my opinion, that every human being, while respecting the main preaching of their chosen faith, must decide on what kind of a life they want to live. No matter what you call your higher power, HE (or SHE) has also given commandments to love your fellow man, to always strive to be better, and to make this world a better place.

 

Surely we’ve all sinned, sometimes by error and sometimes in anger. But really, are we that different from our fellow beings. We feel pain, we love, we cry, we bleed, and in the end we ALL die.

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Dear Mario

Mario 2008-2018

It’s almost two years since you left us so suddenly. One morning you were just playing and the next you were gone. I don’t think I will ever really get over that.

We brought you home as a tiny kitten. It was so funny how you and your brothers CHOSE US that day we visited the animal shelter; you and Luigi stuck your little kitten claws into Marc’s sweatshirt and refused to let go, and Tigger beckoned to us through the bars of his cage. The three of you knew you had to come home with us that day.

You gave us ten beautiful years — and your name fit you so well, you grew from a tiny little kitten into a “Super” Mario, big and beautiful, and oh so affectionate. You were truly “My Gentle Giant”. We were in the middle of moving when you passed and we had such plans of you and your brothers running through our new home… we brought you with us anyway, you’re buried out back. 

I know you were greeted by our cats that came before you, Pumpkin, Dusty, Peppe, Shadow, Issabelle, Whiskas and Stumpy (actually your "nephew"). I really miss each one, please say HI for me.

Your dad and I have had the pleasure of cats living with us for almost our entire married life of nearly 45 years. There’s always been mischief, and lots of purring and cuddles. Our two-legged children (Jenni and Marc) grew up knowing your love and protection, and being so much richer for the experience of having “pets” in the house. Both of their grown-up homes are filled with four-footed members as well.

Mario, I always think of you, especially at this time of year, both for your birthday and for the day that you left us. I wish you had been around longer even though the ache of losing you could never be less.

Unfortunately, cats (and dogs) don’t have the life expectancy of humans and each one takes a little piece of our hearts with them as they pass. Yet somehow each cat (and dog) seems to make our hearts bigger and able to love more. Visits to the animal shelter always proved the ability to love another, and maybe even more than one at a time. We have been blessed to have had our four-legged companions live with us and show us how capable they are of loving us as much as we love them.

Mario, Luigi & Tigger

If you are looking for love…
visit an animal shelter.

Beshert

“Though the term beshert can refer to any fortuitous event (“I missed the bus, but it must have been beshert, because I heard it broke down”), it is most often used to mean a soulmate: the one person whom an individual is divinely destined to marry.”
(from MOMENT)

Now going on approximately two months of #SocialDistancing and #StayAtHome, I think it’s remarkable that my husband and I (and our two cats) have actually had many peaceful and relaxing days TOGETHER. Of course there’s a bit of craziness over not being able to see our four kids (two raised by us and their mates) and especially knowing they are each on the Front-Lines of this COVID-19 pandemic. But Mark and I are finding after nearly 45-years of marriage that we are enjoying each other’s company, and, as I often quip to friends (on the phone or social media!) “We haven’t killed each other yet!”

We’ve found lots to talk about, share our concerns about our children’s safety and how much we miss them, enjoy laughing together at so many of the Facebook memes we come across, and have MANY date nights together finding movies on NetFlix or watching our favorite TV shows together. About 46-years ago when we had our first date I never imagined a life so filled with love and companionship… truthfully the first time he invited me out I honestly thought he was joking (Truth!) or I don’t think I would have actually said yes. But wow am I glad I did. Surprisingly, especially to me, we were engaged just a mere 14-days later.

Looking back on it I really believe that we were destined to spend our lives together. As we got to really know each other we found out so many ways that our lives intertwined long before we went out on our first date. Even now, so many years later I am still finding out the many ways we could have met, or at least gotten a chance to know each other. Just to mention a few of the ironies of our lives:

·       We went to the same High School, he was a year ahead of me. Yes I do remember one encounter in the school hallway when he was a school monitor and he ATTEMPTED to stop me from going to the auditorium (I was a Theatre Arts student) between class-periods. Shamefully I admit hitting him and running.

·       The high school was a specialized art school and we had nine scheduled periods a day plus home room where attendance was taken. My home room was with my very (also Mark’s) favorite teacher, Mr. Tatti taught sculpture. I will never forget the sculpted APE that sat in the front of the classroom, it wound up right in front of me. I remember thinking to myself who the heck would call himself an ape after I saw the engraved letters M E on the butt cheeks of this figure. I later found out that it was a class project created by none other than my husband to be and those were his initials!

·       Although we were both living in the Bronx (NYC) at the time, we traveled different train routes to and from our Manhattan based school. Among the regulars I traveled with was a classmate of his (Photography students). I didn’t know until long after our graduation that they even knew each other.

·       When I was a very little girl my Dad and two other friends founded a sports club and I often accompanied my Father to get togethers especially during my teen years. Mark worked for a fellow who at one time frequented this club and occasionally invited Mark to go with him. I don’t think we ever met up at this club.

·       And while there were so many other little things we had in common, the most ironic of all was, when I was gathering our papers for our marriage license, I noticed on our birth certificates, that we were born in the same hospital and delivered by the same doctor. Ironic because NYC is huge and Mark’s parents didn’t even live in the Bronx when he was born!

Mark and I finally REALLY MET a few years after we both graduated high school and pursued different interests. My parents encouraged my sister and me to give back to the community, and I joined the NYC Auxiliary Police at our local precinct; Mark eventually joined the same unit.

I really believe that we were destined to be in each other’s lives, Bershert! And I have to say, there is no one I would rather be Staying at Home with.

I hope that you are all staying safe and healthy and taking all of the precautions to remain healthy.

.

Who will remember me?

I went to a shiva call the other night (shiva: In Judaism, the first period of structured mourning. Throughout the shiva period, mourners come together in the mourner’s home to offer their condolences and support.) Although it might sound odd to those who are not familiar with the custom, this shiva was truly what one should hope for.

Yes, everyone offered their condolences and concern for the bereaved, but then the house was filled with smiles, chuckles, and remembered stories to share. The table and counters were laden with trays of cookies, cakes, fruits and hot foods — all brought by visitors or sent by friends to help “take care” of the grieving family.

The house was full, so much so that there was barely a place to sit, with friends who knew the deceased (some from early childhood), knew the mourning family, and distant relatives. The woman had been a teacher and former students and her fellow teachers came, neighbors stopped in, members of her social club. There were a lot of people filled with love.

Seeing how this woman touched so many lives and how many people loved her makes someone wonder at their own mortality and how she will be remembered when her time comes. Of course I know my immediate family will be there and most probably some cousins and even a neighbor or two… but will the funeral chapel be filled and will my loved ones’ home be filled with people who remember me and who will help to ease the grief?

I’ve been haunted by a funeral I once attended. She was, in my heart, a wonderful person, but she had survived all of her blood family and many long-time friends. There was a storm the day of the funeral and while she had been active in her local community, she had pre-made her arrangements in a funeral home that necessitated public transportation for her neighbors to attend. Between those that weren’t left to mourn her passing, the horrible weather, and the distance from her small circle of friends, there were only five of us (plus the officiant) in the chapel. Six people to send her on her way. Six.

When it is my time, will there be a houseful of people to remember me, or only a mere handful to send me off? Which one will I be? I hope that people will laugh and smile, I hope that I will be remembered fondly, and I hope there will be warm hearts to surround my loved ones and help them to move on.

He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much;

Who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children;

Who has filled his niche and accomplished his task;

Who has left the world better than he found it;

Who has looked for the best in others and given the best he had;

Whose life was an inspiration;

Whose memory is a benediction.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Holiday Festivities

I was extremely fortunate to grow up with extended inter-faith family. While we celebrated the Jewish holidays in our home, we often had the chance to enjoy helping relatives and friends decorate their Christmas trees, hunt for Easter eggs and sometimes, yes, attend Christmas Eve mass. Our family and friends joined us for latkes and playing dreidels, matzah brei and long Seders, walking to shul and standing in the back with me for High Holy Day services. And the wonderful thing was, everything involved family, love, and the history of our ancestors.

Again, I live in a Jewish home and the inter-faith family connections have continued to multiply. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to celebrate your own identity and share in the joys of others as well. A lot of it has to do with mutual respect, love of a Divine presence, and sharing our cultural traditions. We had family and friends of various faiths attend our children’s Bris, naming, and B’nai Mitzvahs just as we’ve attended Christenings, Communions and Hindu Namakaran ceremonies. It just seems as if the love is multiplied in so many different ways and sometimes also languages. There are so many similarities — for instance the winter season has celebrations such as Christmas, Hanukkah, Diwali and Kwanzaa, each one is a “Festival of Lights” in its own unique way.

Growing up I did know a few people who frowned upon the inter-faith exposure, but it never hurt me. I never strayed from the religious beliefs my parents raised me with, but I did grow to respect, accept, and enjoy all my loved ones’ customs. And despite the fear some folks may have about losing their young to other cultures, it actually became a stronger tie to my own beginnings. I love who I am and I identify with my roots and I encourage others to hold on to their beliefs as well. There are those, in today’s world, who feel that religion causes wars and hate, but it shouldn’t. Parents should raise their children to recognize that every HUMAN BEING has a right to their own way of worship and to enjoy their religious festivities.  

During Hanukkah we celebrate the story of the Maccabees and how they led the fight for religious freedoms. We should all feel free to observe and celebrate our faith, to worship (or not) the way we want to. Every person has the right to find comfort and peace in their beliefs. I am aware there are fanatics in every faith but too many of them are using and perverting the concepts of their religions for their own gains, and that is not love of their fellow human beings. We have to learn tolerance and acceptance and reject the tirades of the prejudiced and close-minded. We have to teach our children that every human being deserves acceptance and deserves to be loved.

I wish you all the joys of the season. 

May you all know happiness, peace and family love.

Merry Christmas Happy Hanukkah Joyous Kwanzaa

Peppe

Peppe was a cat and he taught us many wonderful lessons about love in the all too short time he lived with us. We affectionately called him "Peppe Le Pew" because he wasn't very well groomed when we first met him.

First of all, I “stole” him…

Mark and I lived in a condominium with our two cats, Pumpkin and Dusty. We had a ground floor apartment with a covered patio which we used as our main entrance since parking was so close.

The first fall that we lived there, this mangy, but still beautiful, white and dark-grey long hair cat started hanging around. He started greeting us at our car when we came home — I had no idea who he belonged to, he looked well fed even if not well groomed. Since we already had two cats (one of which adopted us shortly after we moved to the condo) we really weren’t looking to take in a third; we still let this stray take refuge on our patio in inclement weather.

After about two weeks a young blond haired little boy came bounding on to our patio screaming “TJ, I found you!” and started hugging the cat. Of course I came out to meet him and he tearfully told me how TJ had gotten out of the house a few times, but this was the longest it took for him to find his cat. He told me that he lived on the other side of the condo complex and that this was the second cat they had that kept getting out. After a little while he bundled this big cat into his arms and took him home.

The next day TJ was back! And a little while later, so was the little boy. There were several repeats of this scenario, it worried me because the weather was beginning to turn frosty. Finally one day my next door neighbor, whose patio was next to mine, knocked on my front door to complain, she had an unbearable fear of cats (which I didn’t know about) and asked me to stop hosting this cat so close to where she had to walk (she also used her patio entrance primarily). It was clear that she regretted having to ask me but I also understood her fear.

When the little boy showed up again, like clockwork, I asked him for his home phone number and last name. While he played with TJ on the patio I went inside and called his mother. The phone call did NOT go as I expected.

·       The mom: No, he’s not getting out. I don’t want him anymore. (She then told me that she was upset that her son kept bringing him home) Besides, I’m planning on getting another kitten, I like kittens, not full grown cats.

·       Me: Look your son keeps coming here to find him. My neighbor is scared of cats…

·       The mom: (angrily) So just shoo him away! Eventually he’ll disappear. I know, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this.

·       Me: (my blood was boiling) Look you know that there are laws about letting animals run free and the association has rules about that as well.

·       The mom: (expletive deleted) Alright, I’ll be right over to get him to take him to the shelter to have him euthanized.

·       Me: Wait a minute! You don’t want this cat even though your son does? Tell you what, he is not yours anymore, he’s mine.

·       The mom: Hell no. You want him? You can’t steal him like that. He’s purebred Angora, I have his papers!

·       Me: Screw his papers. You’re going to come over to get your son and tell him you gave me the cat. And I better not ever hear that you went out and got another kitten. (I cut off her protest) You have five minutes to get here or I am calling the police, the humane society and then the association.

And that was how Peppe came to live with us… INDOORS.

Mark and I were still not convinced we wanted a third cat, but there was no way we would abandon him. BTW, as long as the woman lived there, I never heard of her getting any other pets.

My recently widowed mother had suffered a stroke after my dad’s death. She was in a facility receiving therapy and we had hopes she would one day be able to live in a nearby handicap-accessible accessible apartment. I remembered how much she enjoyed playing with my other cats so I asked her if she wanted one; she was excited at the idea. I brought Peppe to visit her one day and it was instant mutual love. Unfortunately my mom passed away before being able to leave the facility. Mark and I promised her that we would always love and take care of “her cat”. It wasn’t just my imagination, even the cat seemed to know she had passed.

Peppe guarding Jenni

I always referred to Peppe as my mom’s cat although we loved him just as much as our other two. We moved into a house with the three felines and started our family. Our first child, Jenni, was named for my mother, and I think Peppe knew that because, as far as he was concerned, she was his. He watched over her at night and played with her during the day. As toddlers often do, she got away with doing anything to that cat and I learned when I heard insane giggling he probably needed rescue, but he seemed to never mind. By the time our second child was born Peppe, along with his two feline brothers, watched over both kids.

Peppe soon developed severe kidney problems and required medication and eventually fluids (under the skin) which we were able to administer at home. An acquaintance commented that we should get rid of the cat, he was costing too much money, but Peppe was a family member (and I did ask the vet if he was suffering). We managed for a few years like that until Peppe seized and coded late one night — he had been a part of our lives for about a dozen years. We buried him in the backyard. My children stayed home from school that day and we lit a Sabbath candle (that burned for about an hour) and sat Shiva* for that hour to give each of us time to mourn Peppe’s passing; we’ve done the same routine for each subsequent loss.

Through the years we’ve had the joy of living with several more pussycats, each of them with very individual personalities. The strange thing, and very beautiful, is each of my cats have often conversed (meowing) with “someone(s)” unseen. It’s a comfort to know that they are each with us to this day. When we moved a year ago we took a handful of dirt from above each of their graves and buried it in our new backyard and I am sure that all of them have come with us. We will never forget any of our beautiful felines, they’ve been more than “cats”, they have truly been family.

*Shiva — A structured period of Jewish mourning