At 65 years old my grandmother lost her leg. After years of poor health, morbid obesity, diabetes, quadruple bipass surgery, high blood pressure, and heart disease a tiny cut to a toe resulted in the loss of an entire leg. She spent what felt like an eternity on death's door, weeks in the hospital. She developed bed sores that were indescribable, floated in and out of consciousness, struggled, fought, and ultimately recovered miraculously.
According to Jewish law when a person undergoes amputation the severed appendage must be buried. So the arrangements were made and her leg was laid to rest in the plot that had been purchased for she and my grandfather years before.
The following year, on the day of my grandfather's (Zayde) funeral he was placed above the buried leg. He had suffered a whirlwind battle with cancer, decades of emphazema, multiple heart attacks, and a lifetime battle with schizophrenia. On that day, after the services at the funeral home and the cemetary I sat in the car with my grandmother - Bubbe - his wife of 47 years. We rode in silence for awhile maybe reflecting on the events of the day, the last few months, maybe contemplating the life to come - a life without him. When all of a sudden she piped up saying "You know it gives me great pleasure to know that for all eternity my foot is gonna be up his ass." What does it say about our family that this was not in the least bit surprising to hear come from my grandmother's mouth?
I need to clarify though - this statement was made in jest...sort of. We are a people who address most situations with humor. Mourning the passing of both of my grandparents are some of the fondest memories I have. Not because I was happy that they were gone - quite to the contrary -it was devastating but we spent the week following their deaths celebrating their lives. We ate, sang, laughed, some argued a little, but overall we enjoyed each other. Their four children and 14 grandchildren - the family that they created - as well as cousins, siblings, friends, and community members. We were a family that triumphed through great trials and complexity.
My Bubbe married my Zayde when she was 19 years old. He was 26, a handsome, kind faced, World War II veteran. They met in his cab in Philly and he asked her out on the spot. She told him she was 23. He proposed on their first date and a week later they met at the courthouse to get the marriage certificate. When they were filling it out and they got to the place where she had to put her birthdate she had to come clean first saying she was only 21 and then finally telling the truth - she was merely 19 years old. He recoiled stating that he was too old and he couldn't go through with it. But, as was her way, she convinced him to follow through. It wasn't hard though, he completely adored her.
Shortly after they married he began acting strangely and was eventually diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. He struggled for decades in and out of hospitals, from doctor to doctor hoping to find the right medication. His family and Bubbe's suggested that she institutionalize him and move on. But - whatever her reasons - she didn't. They raised their children and made things work the best they knew how. She provided child care in the home and he worked for her family's business never earning enough money or respect. Their home was modest but meticulous - always. She worked hard and was proud of the life they'd made in the face of all they had to shoulder.
When I think of my childhood and all the time I spent with them and of all the stories I hear about my dad's upbringing they never talked about the troubles or the pain. For obvious reasons I'd imagine - but they could have. No, what we heard from our grandparents and our parents was about all the fun they used to have. They were always laughing and doing crazy things like rearranging the bedrooms in their tiny house in the middle of the night so everyone got a new room. Their kids' friends were always welcome and fed no matter how much they ate. She made everyone feel like a part of the family.
My brother, I, and later our much younger sister, would spend weekends at their house with our cousins. We would eat chocolate ice cream with crushed pretzels (a delicacy that everyone should try), we'd play rummy tile or trivial pursuit - which is hilarious with a bunch of children, and have fashion shows, or put on musical reviews for which our grandparents would provide a most appreciative audience. On New Year's Eve, after watching the ball drop we'd run outside in our pajamas to bang pots and pans together on the front lawn welcoming the new year. She made everything special.
They drove eachother crazy, my grandparents. Fighting and bickering frequently. But they managed to stay married for 47 years through poor health, mental instability on both their parts, child bearing and rearing, money troubles, and whatever else life served up. Their irritation and resentment toward one another was equivalent to the joy, love, and generosity that they showed eachother and each of us. I can understand - being married now to the love of my life - how she might have gotten great pleasure knowing that she could put her foot in his ass... without causing any real anguish.
So as we drove away that fateful day and said our goodbyes looking toward the future, us without our beloved Zayde and father; her without this man who for better and worse she'd shared most of the last 50 years with - we knew that he was laughing at what she'd said and smiling down on us all.
According to Jewish law when a person undergoes amputation the severed appendage must be buried. So the arrangements were made and her leg was laid to rest in the plot that had been purchased for she and my grandfather years before.
The following year, on the day of my grandfather's (Zayde) funeral he was placed above the buried leg. He had suffered a whirlwind battle with cancer, decades of emphazema, multiple heart attacks, and a lifetime battle with schizophrenia. On that day, after the services at the funeral home and the cemetary I sat in the car with my grandmother - Bubbe - his wife of 47 years. We rode in silence for awhile maybe reflecting on the events of the day, the last few months, maybe contemplating the life to come - a life without him. When all of a sudden she piped up saying "You know it gives me great pleasure to know that for all eternity my foot is gonna be up his ass." What does it say about our family that this was not in the least bit surprising to hear come from my grandmother's mouth?
I need to clarify though - this statement was made in jest...sort of. We are a people who address most situations with humor. Mourning the passing of both of my grandparents are some of the fondest memories I have. Not because I was happy that they were gone - quite to the contrary -it was devastating but we spent the week following their deaths celebrating their lives. We ate, sang, laughed, some argued a little, but overall we enjoyed each other. Their four children and 14 grandchildren - the family that they created - as well as cousins, siblings, friends, and community members. We were a family that triumphed through great trials and complexity.
My Bubbe married my Zayde when she was 19 years old. He was 26, a handsome, kind faced, World War II veteran. They met in his cab in Philly and he asked her out on the spot. She told him she was 23. He proposed on their first date and a week later they met at the courthouse to get the marriage certificate. When they were filling it out and they got to the place where she had to put her birthdate she had to come clean first saying she was only 21 and then finally telling the truth - she was merely 19 years old. He recoiled stating that he was too old and he couldn't go through with it. But, as was her way, she convinced him to follow through. It wasn't hard though, he completely adored her.
Shortly after they married he began acting strangely and was eventually diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. He struggled for decades in and out of hospitals, from doctor to doctor hoping to find the right medication. His family and Bubbe's suggested that she institutionalize him and move on. But - whatever her reasons - she didn't. They raised their children and made things work the best they knew how. She provided child care in the home and he worked for her family's business never earning enough money or respect. Their home was modest but meticulous - always. She worked hard and was proud of the life they'd made in the face of all they had to shoulder.
When I think of my childhood and all the time I spent with them and of all the stories I hear about my dad's upbringing they never talked about the troubles or the pain. For obvious reasons I'd imagine - but they could have. No, what we heard from our grandparents and our parents was about all the fun they used to have. They were always laughing and doing crazy things like rearranging the bedrooms in their tiny house in the middle of the night so everyone got a new room. Their kids' friends were always welcome and fed no matter how much they ate. She made everyone feel like a part of the family.
My brother, I, and later our much younger sister, would spend weekends at their house with our cousins. We would eat chocolate ice cream with crushed pretzels (a delicacy that everyone should try), we'd play rummy tile or trivial pursuit - which is hilarious with a bunch of children, and have fashion shows, or put on musical reviews for which our grandparents would provide a most appreciative audience. On New Year's Eve, after watching the ball drop we'd run outside in our pajamas to bang pots and pans together on the front lawn welcoming the new year. She made everything special.
They drove eachother crazy, my grandparents. Fighting and bickering frequently. But they managed to stay married for 47 years through poor health, mental instability on both their parts, child bearing and rearing, money troubles, and whatever else life served up. Their irritation and resentment toward one another was equivalent to the joy, love, and generosity that they showed eachother and each of us. I can understand - being married now to the love of my life - how she might have gotten great pleasure knowing that she could put her foot in his ass... without causing any real anguish.
So as we drove away that fateful day and said our goodbyes looking toward the future, us without our beloved Zayde and father; her without this man who for better and worse she'd shared most of the last 50 years with - we knew that he was laughing at what she'd said and smiling down on us all.
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