January 9th, 1990 – 4:17am
I awake from a deep sleep, and it’s my brother on the other end of the line. I know this is the THE CALL we all know about and dread. It’s been said that when tragedy strikes, time stands still. I haven’t done that research. What I do know, waiting for my doctor brother to speak is that tragedy awaits me. And in that seemingly long silence, where time stands still, I know it’s tragedy on an epic scale in my bones. And I wait. And I look at the clock and record that 4:17am will be a time that haunts me at worst, or remains embedded in my own brain until my own death. My normally put together doctor brother finally starts to speak – but words fail him at first.
The first sounds I hear are waves of grief, like a bad wave of inaudible something gurgling out.
Finally sounds come –
“Mom passed away”
Just like that – 3 words that would unmoor me for a very very long time.
She was 62;
My father was the ailing one with Parkinsons, early onset dementia at 78. He was failing; she was his rock. Our hidden family secret? She was a gentle rose — rheumatic fever and squishy heart valve (my term only) since childhood.
She was my rock; my best friend; my Oprah that I consulted daily. We chatted every single day; she made me – and many others – better people with her seemingly spiritual presence. I often think that her childhood illness gave her the gift of wisdom, gratitude and supernatural perspective way WAY before it became the vogue thing to do.
For her – every single day… every moment of life was a gift. Many many times she told us to cherish the days; cherish the simple things – like springtime flowers, or fresh from our garden cucumbers. Her humble ways belied the big reputation that she really had in our community – a beloved member of her school system where she was a psychologist, a woman that many considered her best friend — even if in reality, that was a misperception on their part. I have listened to Oprah for years and as wonderful as Oprah is, she has yet to impart any new wisdom to me that I hadn’t already heard from my supposedly simple Mom. I wonder if Oprah would understand that.
Her death then – I realize now – probably resulted in my evolution to my 3 mantras of life, at 63.
1. Health is priority.
I am now 63 and plan to live a LONG enriched life. I take care of my mind, body, food and friends more at 63 than when she passed, and I was only 32. As much as I want to reconnect with her in heaven, I have work to be done here on earth. Her work has become my work.
2. Silly is profound.
That is one my gifts. When she died, I remember thinking I’ll never laugh again. And we LOVED to laugh; it was my version of music for the soul. Eventually I laughed again. But being SILLY is even more freeing than just laughing; it is finding the child within. I am free when I’m silly.
3. DoGoodThings.
This over arching principle of my life made its way to center stage in the most unexpected place. It’s buried in my 1995 self published book, MatzoBunny along with its theme song
“I want to DoGoodThings because I really care, and I do”.
These 3 mantras are my foundation now; my spiritual NorthStar. In honor of my Mom.