My Mom Is Gone

Hello.

I live in Oxburg, Maryland in the USA. The town is named after Calvinist John Ox who settled in Catholic Maryland during Colonial times and owned vast tracts of land in this part of the state.

“Why doesn’t he write?” You may well ask. “Värför skriver han inte?” in Swedish. “Pourquoi est-ce qu’il n’écrit pas?” in French.

My mama Rosa Feingold, 81 years old, has passed on to a better place. She had been losing weight, got a staph infection, ended up in the hospital and died. When my phone rang at 10:10 pm on a rainy Thursday night, an orderly told me in hushed tones that Rosa was gone. I grabbed a Hebrew prayer book and drove to the hospital, where the nurses had laid mom out in a respectful position and turned down the lights. They left me alone with her. I said the prayers for the dead right there at bedside and spoke to her in English, Yiddish, French and Swedish. All her known languages.

The burial got a little complicated because the family plot is north of New York City and, unlike with my dad 25 years ago, I didn’t have the energy to jump in the car and drive four and a half hours to attend to mom’s funeral. Instead, I buried her long-distance.

The local funeral home was terrific. They knew and followed the Jewish burial rites, wrapping the body in a white shroud and placing it in a plain wood coffin with a Star of David on the lid. They got a little flummoxed when the Jewish cemetery in New York was closed for both Shabbat and the following Monday for a Jewish holiday. Jim, the local funeral director, wanted to know how much the cemetery charges to receive the body, open the grave, inter the coffin and close the grave. He had visions— based on bad experiences, no doubt— of the driver arriving in New York with the coffin, being told “We gotta be paid, otherwise, no burial” and driving the coffin back to Maryland. Not fun.

That meant postponing the burial still another day, which was super stressful for me, since we are supposed to get the body into the ground as soon as possible. It was a relief when interment took place six days after she died. Like, hooray! Bye, momsaleh! Rest in peace.

A wreck, I sat shiva five days. The neighbors brought me food, also a Jewish tradition. Jag sörjde, I mourned.

That’s where I’ve been.          

Taking care of my mom these last few months took up virtually all my time, a fact which only becomes apparent in hindsight. I loved her. The dutiful son, I lived with her and took care of her.

My younger brother Tim— the loving son— parachuted in whenever his schedule allowed, but he’s in training for a promotion and, as the crisis arose, he couldn’t provide the 24-7 backup which he and I had originally envisioned. Instead, we conferenced every night by phone. Tremendously helpful, this was not the same as a physical presence. He felt terrible about it, but hey, I want him to get the promotion. Mom wanted him to get the promotion!

Reality rarely fulfills the dream.

The midterm elections are soon upon us (November 8th, a Tuesday) and whatever I say, it can and will be held against me. As Google tells us, “all 435 seats in the House of Representatives and 35 of the 100 seats in the Senate will be contested.” You gotta laugh! As if the country doesn’t have enough problems. The economy is tanking. We have a clueless old fogey as president who means well but can’t deliver. Trump’s supporters are toting guns. The Republicans have a handful of crazies running for office and the Democratic slate ain’t exactly any damn good, including stutterers, gun-shy officials up for re-election and blacks running in lily white states.

Not too cool.

I’m writing to let you know that I am still around. As new days dawn, you will be hearing more from me. Coming attractions: Mutte Fjutt in Uppsala, Sweden and Clive have composed a song entitled “Morsan,” mother in Swedish, but I haven’t had the juice to involve myself in releasing it. I’m still knee-deep in paperwork and recuperating.

Something to look forward to.

Take care, be well and keep your mask on, there’s a new variant out there and it’s a baddie.

Yours, Kev