Mom, Survivor, a Life Well Lived    Feb. 28, 1920- Oct. 10, 2021 

I buried my Mom, Malka Zajc, 2 days ago.  It was a sunny day at the cemetery in Elmont. We took turns shoveling dirt into the grave where the plain pine box rested, next to Dad's resting place. The Rabbi recited the Kaddish, the Mourner's prayer. It was surreal and sad.

She was 101, a Holocaust survivor, clinging on to life until the day before she left us, I had to tell her to let go. Skeletal, not eating or drinking, demented, she was almost lucid that last day.  Her aides and I sang songs to her, hymnals, Yiddish Barry Sisters songs, like "Biribim Biribom" and we held her hand.  She knew, and she heard. She was fluttering her eyes, not able to speak, and moving her arms.  She heard the words of her 2 grandsons whom she loved, and they told her, we're getting married, we're having a baby, and our sister is engaged.  

I whispered to her in Yiddish, this time with more conviction, "It's o.k. Mom, you can go now and see Dad. We're all ok and we're going to be fine."  10 hours later at 2 am, she took her last breath.  I was told that loved ones sometimes need to be reassured that it's o.k. to leave this earth. 

I felt a relief, and also a terrible loss.  I had such mixed emotions those first few hours. I cried and I felt the need to find her one more time and ask her if she was o.k. It's days later, and I'm still searching for her, for a sign that her soul is still hovering around me.  

Warsaw Ghetto Uprising 

That last year was not kind to her.  Hospitalized twice, she started slowly going downhill. She became agitated, as dementia took over, and started reliving her past. Surviving the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and 4 concentration camps made her delusions painful.  She started seeing a little boy in the house and talking to him.  She had lost her year old son in the Warsaw Ghetto, so we thought it was him. 

She'd cry out "Get me out" over and over like a chant, daily.  We didn't know if she was back in the camps or saying get me out of this life. Her body deteriorated; she couldn't walk, couldn't chew, was legally blind and incontinent.

Mom's 100th Bday 

 But she perked up when we visited and called us on the phone, happy to have family around her.  We were lucky to throw a 100th birthday party for her, February of 2020, with the entire small family we have.  Then Covid hit and we were all in lockdown.  

It was tough for me, commuting to Brooklyn, and seeing my mother in such distress and decline.  I'd play her music, Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis and the Barry Sisters, and she'd sing along and was transported to another time.  I thought at least the music is soothing her.  We would remind her of how great of a dancer she was. And then she'd sleep.

Mom in NYC and Sweden, Dad 

When Mom stopped eating and drinking 2 weeks ago, I knew I had to call Visiting Nurse Hospice. They took over the burden of transitioning Mom to her final rest. We didn't know how long Mom would last without food. That last day, she rejected my spoon of glucerna and water, as I was thinking, parent has become child.  But she was done and passed a few hours later.

Mom and I 

No matter how old your mother is, that particular loss is a monumental one. This will take some time, to get through; there all all those stages of grief. Shiva for her will be at the beach, which she loved, and where I find peace.  

Goodnight Mom. Sleep well in peace and comfort. 

And so it goes...11 months of quarantine and counting...

mask city 

   Almost 11 months in from the first date of quarantine for me, March 15, 2020, the world has shifted to new levels of normalcy.  We have a new president, Covid vaccines are being administered, and I own a sizable collection of masks, for every occasion, much like shoes. Is there a light at the end of this dark tunnel? I'm cautiously pessimistic. The first month of 2021 ended like the first month of 2020, with Mom coming out of the hospital.  This time was more serious; admitted with pneumonia and congestive heart failure, which at 100 was a life or death situation.

    Luckily, she made it out of the hospital in Brooklyn, with a brand new pacemaker battery, which had stopped working after 9 years.  I asked the thoracic surgeon if this battery would last at least 10 years, hopefully? He laughed.  She was all set up at the house with a new hospital bed, oxygen tank and hoyer lift and her current 24/7 home health aides. 

Mom is 100 

    Needless to say, that first month was riddled with daily near crises, medical issues and a changed Mother.  She wasn't really there much; dementia having gotten worse because of the traumatic 3 weeks in the hospital.  Luckily, I found an MD who made house calls, and brought Mom back to a level of physical functioning.

   This time last year, we were planning her 100th birthday party in February.  These days, Mom, a Holocaust survivor, is struggling to survive; reliving memories of her traumatic past at times.  We weren't sure if she was trying to tell us she wanted to go on, or if she wanted us to let her go. She's still hanging on, approaching her 101st. I was thinking, what do you get for a 101 year old? 

  Oh, so back to me.  My level of mental functioning has not been filled with clarity.  Aside from the daily morning ritual  involved in Mom's care taking, my world became smaller. The gym where I had been teaching Silver Sneakers closed, while I continued quarantine with my daughter and her boyfriend.  I live in a 2 story rental, but privacy and lifestyle choices were still a challenge.  Other unexpected issues between family members unfolded to add to the stress of the pandemic and made the first 6 months of quarantine almost unbearable.

Baked ziti and meatballs 

  I stayed sane by exercising online, yoga, personal training my client on zoom and eating! Yup, ended up with some inevitable Covid weight gain.  I needed that like I needed an extra croissant! Took a great liking to morning glory muffins, and using real butter! Not to mention, cooking creamy and cheesy pasta dishes, because of course we needed comfort food.

  Since I wrote my last blog post in April, much has changed. The vaccine is now here and a good portion of my friends have had both doses.  I'm awaiting mine, in the hopes of  continuing the semblance of a social life I used to have, seeing friends, hearing live music,  dining indoors.  I ordered a Peleton bike, due March 15, the anniversary of quarantine.  I did become a spin instructor during this period, but have not gotten on a spin bike yet.  Luckily, the summer afforded me outdoor rides on my bike. 

 

   I also became an official empty nester a couple of weeks ago. Daughter and bf moved out, so now experiencing quarantine solo.  Luckily, I have my poodle, Cinnabun, for some company, but it is eerily quiet in the house now. With the privacy, and freedom to run around the house in my underwear, came the downside of loneliness. I've taken to riding down to the shore in the dead of winter to look at my lovely sunsets at West Meadow Beach, the place of peace for me. 

  Yes, things could be worse, my friends say.  Of course they can, but every person goes through their own unique struggle and who can judge whose struggle is worse? If you're going through troubled times, you're the one who needs the hug, the hand on the shoulder, the kind words or the positive affirmation that you are cared about. 

   If I'm taking a yoga class, we are asked to set an intention for the day, and it's usually the same thing for me lately, not to be self destructive. The motivation is not necessarily there on any given day.  Sometimes, just getting up in the morning, making coffee and feeding the dog is an accomplishment.

Let there by lights 

   So, I stay here in my apartment, looking out at the continuous snowfall, having my second cup, about to do some warrior poses on my yoga mat.  I've decided to keep my blue and white lights on indefinitely.  They were originally for Chanukah, but they are comforting for me. And my music is blasting, loudly.  Things could be worse. Stay well.