A New Book?

B"H

Chapter One:  A Mystery Unfolds?



The address book ...

Beatrice, the day you died I spent the entire afternoon and evening on the telephone.  Your address book gave me all the numbers I needed to call.  But, there was something odd about the entries.  Only one person was named, the blood relation, not the spouse.  Telli and Isidore, for example were married over sixty years.  Yet, Isidore was the only name that graced your entry for the family. 

Do you remember the day?  I was so hurt when you told me to my face that I was not family and never would be.  I believed your shunning me was unique and deeply personal.  But you shunned Telli also.  And she had more right to be called family than I ever did.  If you could dismiss Telli then I was in very good company.  Telli was a great and gracious lady endowed with exquisite modesty. 

Do not punish my guy, your son, my love, your love.  (thinking... What did she say about him?   ... mild mannered but bad tempered.  And her mother, didn't she say that the boy, my guy, raised himself.  He did a fine job for a boy.  But it is difficult to be alone with the stuff of life.  He had no instruction in the use of his emotions.  Don't we all need that?)  This man, my guy, had been quite wise and keenly observant for a boy.  He would have benefited from a mentor.  The boy scout troop leader inspired him and his friends in the troop.  You and your husband were too tired from  your work and disappointments to have much of anything left over.  ... especially starting with my guy's eighth birthday. 

Beatrice, do you remember the day when you told me with great pride that when my guy turned eight years old you told him that he was too old now for a goodnight kiss and a bedtime story.  How could anyone ever be too old for a goodnight kiss and a bedtime story or conversation?  When my guy, Sam, and I were first married I noticed that he spoke out loud in his sleep.  Once, I asked him at breakfast if he had dreamed of pleasant things.  He looked at me and replied, "I haven't dreamed anything since I was eight years old."  It doesn't take a genius to connect these two points.  How stranded he must have felt as a eight year old alone on the couch where he made his bed.  No goodnight kiss and no bedtime story to lull him to sleep through the darkness of night. 

Beatrice, did you know that this is when he started watching the late night movies through to the station sign-off with the American flag flapping in the wind and the Star Spangled Banner majestically played?  No wonder our boy couldn't wake up in the morning.  No wonder he has a passion for movies.

Beatrice, did you hear our conversation last night?  It was late evening, actually it was past bedtime.  But, Sam had just come upstairs after an hour phone conversation with Batya.  She called to talk after seeing the family at Laibel's funeral.  Oh, you must know that Laibel died, 2am this past Shabbos.  So, did you hear Sam talking about the Shaggy Dog movie*.  The father in the movie was forcing the son to play football, be a jock.  Sam kept talking about that scene.  ... that it is not good for a parent to push that hard.  The father character in the movie was turned into a dog that his son loved and confided in.  This is how the man learned of his son's passion for literature.  But that is the movies, we live life on the ground. 

"Sometimes you can do irreparable damage," Sam said.  He knows that you understood that you destroyed the relationship.  What did you do?  Did you understand the price of your actions?  Beatrice, do you remember how you would always ask me if Sam liked his new job?  I would answer that it was a good job.  Any job where they pay you on time and the check doesn't bounce is a good job.  My father says that it is a meshugas of our generation, meaning me and Sam,  to believe that we have to be fulfilled in our soul by our jobs.    You would ask me again and again, every week if Sam liked what he was doing.  And I would always answer that it is a duty, an honor, a gift, and a privelege to help people become healthy again.   But, does he like doing what he does?  You demanded that of me again and again.  How could he?  You wouldn't let him get close enough to his life's work to even know that answer.  You wouldn't  allow him to make the path his, you never allowed him to build his own path.

Beatrice, do you know how angry he is with you?  On the other hand, he is calmer since you left this world.  It was not and is not my imagination.  As much as your departure created a void in our lives, it also produced tremendous relief in Sam.  I've been going nuts because I am the one grieving and crying.  "These are Sam's emotions.  How come I'm feeling them?"  That is what I said to myself every time I needed to go through your stuff. 

We received the notice from Piser for your first yahrzeit.  I'll get the candle and make sure it is lit.  I will do that for him and for you.  I will do this and not he.  Did you ever understand that it was my initiatives that got you into the daily life of the family.  My efforts brought you into our days not his.  And, what did you do with this every time?  I would send him to pick you up at your apartment and bring you back to our house.  You seized the opportunity of having him all to yourself by punishing him.  You used that wonderful gift of time, those precious few moments together to keep score, to tell him all of his and our mistakes.  The five minutes it took to travel from your place to our place was enough time for you to destroy everything I had prepared for our gathering.  How could this be?  Well, by the time Sam walked into our home he was so disgusted that he couldn't bear the sight of you.  Down to the basement he went to pound something or sharpen something.  Some joyous family time, huh?  Did you ever wonder why I started getting you?  I worked so hard on these meals and celebrations.  Did you ever wonder about this?  The gift you most wanted was bonding with your beloved son.  But you broke the toy in the box because you refused to simply enjoy his company.  You had to punish him. 

I remember a moment after your husband had passed away, yet, before we moved you to our town.  Sam and I were together in the car.  What an idiot I was babbling about such wonderful ideas he could do with you once we were neighbors.   A mother-son date once a week, for example, ... we were  at a stop light.  He looked at me with daggers.  Okay, well, once a month then,  ... I thought that he would slug me.... every six months ... he didn't even respond ... finally and with horror in my heart I said, "well, how about once a year".    At that he spoke, "maybe, maybe I would consider that".   I started screaming, "how the hell do you pull a person from every place, person, and thing she knows, plop her down in a new town, and then ignore her? 

Beatrice, you knew, he knew, but I did not know about this war.  I did feel that something was very wrong.  And now, almost one year after your death, Sam is beginning to be able to talk about you.  Do you hear what he says?  Are you sorry, sad?

Why did you die in my car with the kids in the back seat?  Why did you die while I was holding your hand?  Couldn't you have waited for Sam?  Many folks have told me what a gift it was for me to have been by your side when you took your final breath.   It was an honor and a privelege to accompany someone to this final threshold they said.  One friend waxed poetic about the honor of witnessing a loved one's last moment.  She even prayed to G-d for the opportunity to be there for her parents as well as for her beloved in-laws.  Not even one out of the four gave her that satisfaction.  As long as she was with each one, that parent would not burden her with the image of their last breath.  Each of the four, when the time came, waited for her to go to the bathroom.  Those folks wanted privacy as they left this world.  But, you, what did you do to me?  Look at this situation.  How does it appear to you?  I am taking care of my husband's mother ... and you drop dead on my watch!  How do I tell him that I couldn't even hang on to you long enough for him to arrive?  I let you slip through my fingers, literally.  My children witnessed the Emergency Room's curbside heroics.  Do you know what they saw?  Their eyes were filled with the images of four nurses dropping their beloved grandmother again and again and again.  No one could pick you up.  First four, then five, then six nurses.  One little old lady who could not be picked up and placed on the stretcher.  I suppose this situation is the source for the expression "dead weight".  But, it was awful and gut wrenching to watch.  How could they help you if they kept dropping you on the pavement?  And you fell so hard. 

Until a few days ago I kept the details of your final day at the ER private.  It just did not seem right to burden Sam with the images that were haunting me.  We had to bury you.  We had to close your apartment.  There were many details in the aftermath of your death.  As we approach the first yahrzeit -- I bought the candle already -- we are almost finished with the paperwork.  Soon, we'll be looking at that flame.  Is it possible that an entire year has passed? 

Beatrice, do you care that I have cried for you?  I still do.  I am pursued by the image of your final breath.  I am haunted by the war that cannot end.  How can you and Sam make peace with each other if you are dead?  How do I make peace with all of the cruel and thoughtless things you did to me?  Please know that I have no regrets.  My father is to be thanked for that.  "Behave in a way, so you will have no regrets".  I treated you with honor, respect, and tender loving care in spite of everything.  I taught the kids to do the same.  Did you even notice?  My mom thinks that, at least toward the end, you began to understand.  And that if you did not notice our love and kindnesses for you that the other ladies at your apartment building would have told you what a good daughter and grandchildren you had... much better than their own daughters and grandchildren.  My mother said this because this is what they told her.


* Not a very good movie, the original is marginally better. - The Historian.