I planned on writing this entry between January 20 and March
29 for some time. The relatively narrow timeframe saw two of the most important
events in my life. Now, another one is on the record.
The joyous occasion was January 20, 1973. Janet and I were
married at Temple Israel on E. 75th Street in New York City. The
following blog entry, which I also reposted, details how a cold and allergies
conspired to bring us together. http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2011/03/forty-years-ago-today.html
Barely two months later and a week after my birthday, on the
day we were supposed to have dinner at my parents’ apartment, I received a call
from my father’s office that he’d been rushed to a hospital near his office. My
blog entry about that day has also been reposted and is here again, sparing me
another recitation. http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/12/sudden-death-in-family.html
The two dates are forever linked and, although this would
mark the 40th year commemorating both happiness and sorrow, it
figured to be routine. Then March 5 dawned.
It began simply around 8 a.m., with my mother’s daily call
to my brother, Frank, in Denver. All seemed normal, as he related that a
condominium conversion would result in her grandson, Grant, finding a new
residence. She mentioned this to Janet, who told her our sister-in-law Rita’s
father had passed away at age 99. Her speech was rather garbled, which we
attributed to some heavy-duty medication she has been taking for chronic back
pain. Shortly thereafter, her caregiver Ann, who had been with her since a
two-day hospital stint in early February, called to say mom seemed confused
because she thought her 101-year-old brother-in-law, Adolph, had died. We then
went for a 9:30 meeting but just before it began, Ann called and said she
needed to call 911 because my mother had become disoriented and her speech was
completely garbled.
All signs pointed to a stroke that affects the ability to
speak and process speech. Her motor skills were unaffected but those hadn’t
been good recently. Mom had finally consented to seeing specialists for her
chronic pain. The diagnosis was a compressed vertebra, although she felt pain
on her side as well as her back. The day before entering the hospital, a neurologist prescribed a new
medication, which she took that night and the following morning. The original
CT scan showed no signs of a stroke, and one theory was the new medication
could have caused this terrible reaction. When normal speech did not return
within 48 hours, stroke was again the suspected culprit. A Thursday evening
scan confirmed it.
During her stay at Northwestern Memorial, the staff ran a
battery of tests. The attending physician sat us down on Thursday afternoon to
inform us that what was supposed to be a routine scan of the lungs found
pervasive malignancies for which no treatment was warranted for an 89-year-old
woman. I found this akin to being hit over the head with a 2-by-4, then getting
kicked in the gut. The doctors gave us a time frame of weeks, maybe a few
months. She came home to hospice care, getting the very best help from Ann, her
assistants and the hospice staff. After rallying somewhat, she showed a rather
sudden decline and passed away peacefully on March 26. She didn’t want a rabbi
at the service, so I led the graveside service two days later, using passages
from the Union Prayer Book, copyright 1923, that my father received for
his religious school confirmation in 1932.
My mother lived a long and wonderful life, with a few bumps
in the road along the way. She was never big on medical care in the first place
– claiming she was basically Christian Scientist – and eschewed anything more
than routine physicals in her later years. She practiced “ostrich medicine”:
she hated scans and MRIs, deciding that if something were found she was too old
to treat, so why bother looking? On the other hand, she didn’t take her reduced
mobility during the last year too well, for she loved to get around and had
seen the world.
The response from family and friends has been overwhelming, Mom had a strong personality, and she didn't hide her feelings. Her oldest friend, Joy, who lives in Los Angeles, called me when she heard about mom's health setbacks. They met at age 6 at O'Keeffe School and listened to "Little Orphan Annie" on the radio together. I started to apologize to Joy for my mother being short with her over recent months, atrributing it to her aches and pains. She interrupted me with a laugh: "She's been short with me her whole life!" Somehow, from a friend of 83+ years, it sounded like a compliment.
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