To My Mom

It was something that I already knew--that if you are open to it, there are so many things to be learned every day--but now that time seems to be so concentrated, the learning is more important, more poignant more essential to pass on so that others may benefit as well. A lesson that I learned from my mother, of blessed memory, and that was brought home again to me yesterday, is how much better off we are to let go of the small hurts, the petty angers, the negatives of all kinds and move ahead with life and with love. Who among us has not suffered a bully, a mean girl, a disappointing relationship? Of course all of us have. If you are human and have relationships with other humans, you are bound to be disappointed by some of them. But it is not what ‘they’ do that is important, but rather what I do with it. Mom was one for moving on. If there was a problem, talk it out, wrangle it down, say sorry, or curse, or whatever, but in the end, let it go, because the reiterating, the re-chewing, the endless review of all the slights, the slings and arrows, if held too closely, poison us in the end. My mom was a person who made and kept friends easily. Today she is remembered fondly by those who knew her. She had an open heart and while by no means an angel, she was a pretty happy woman. She had a great laugh, which she wasn’t afraid to use, and she loved to gossip, but never in a mean way. But the best thing about Mom was that she was always open to amends. And she passed that on to my brother and to me, and we learned that you were not giving up your soul if you had to say “I’m sorry” but rather the opposite. You were recovering your soul and moving on. Sure there are some things that no amends on earth can make right, so you pack up your old kit bag and move on. But what my mom taught us that while you are packing, if you are actually leaving, be sure to leave the problem behind on the side of the road. If you take it along, you might as well not leave at all. I also learned that there was no problem so great that there did not exist a remedy. Especially if the relationship was worth keeping. And often the remedy was a simple “sorry, I made a mistake”, or a declaration that something that happened was hurtful, so that the other person could offer the same “sorry, I made a mistake”. Neither holding on to the hurt, nor to the righteous justification that ‘after all I was right’ does anything to bring or to keep loving people together. While my Mom was very far from a pacifist, as I reflect on the things I learned from her, I am astounded at her wisdom. She was a great role model in so many ways. She was not a dreamer, and I think that the way she thought, the way she organized, her efficiency, were great things to watch and learn, although I was not so admiring when I was the child in her home, wanting and needing to dream. There was very little wasted motion in my mom’s life. Her household ran like a top. It was ready to receive guests at a moment’s notice--no last minute pick-up needed. She scheduled fun and respite into her life and maintained the social closeness with others that social scientists today are just learning are so essential to good health. She had her weekly mah jongg group every Tuesday for forty or more years (something we used to laugh about as kids), and encouraged my dad to have his weekly pinochle game. Saturday nights meant gathering for a light meal, or coffee and cake in the home of one of their regular group—no restaurants involved. And just like fun was ever present, so was the imperative that we never forget those less fortunate. When the old itinerant white bearded Rabbi came to our house to collect the dime banks for Israel that he had left the month before, my mother always invited him in, gave him coffee and a fresh biscocho, and let him rest a while on his rounds. The lives of the depression generation was far from easy, but they were also the generation of the post war boom, and it is easy to see that life in their circle could be filled with smiles and laughter, friendship, family, picnics, and innocent good times. My mother, fun loving, could never be described as carefree, because life was hard. But she was the embodiment of any positivity that part of me today. She taught us the lessons that I so value today, always practical, always with an eye toward healing, toward keeping the family together, toward keeping any small rift from becoming an impassible gorge. So today, Mom, the day we remember you each year with Kaddish, I will not be in synagogue because I cannot, but your granddaughters will be there, carrying on the tradition of Remembrance, and honoring your memory. I will be home, thinking of you, and reflecting on how lucky has been my life, not in any small way, because you were my mother and took the time and heart to teach me the value of letting go.