Two weeks later, the nursing home called to tell me that my mother had had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance and was now in the emergency department. Stefan was not at home, so I drove my car to St. Mary’s. Again my mother stayed in the hospital a few days and was then transferred back to the Villa Maria Nursing Home, considerably weaker than before. She had no pain, she said, but it was obvious that my mother’s life was waning.
Any hope I had that Lily and Marvin would ultimately find it too difficult to make aliyah was quickly dashed when they returned from Israel. They had been promised an apartment in an excellent area of Jerusalem, and with the money they would receive from the sale of their house and furnishings and Marvin’s share of the sale of one of the buildings in London, they would be able to manage in the beginning. Fortunately, Lily was feeling well, and soon after they went back to London, they began preparing for their departure.
The company Helen worked for in 1981, Pitman-Moore, closed its doors that year. Since her office was located on the premises of Ortho Pharmaceutical, she noticed in a posting one day that a position in its Regulatory Affairs Department was open. She applied for and got the job. There Helen began to climb the corporate ladder, although no one could have foreseen just how successful she eventually would be. Murray, too, made a change. He left his job and together with a partner, David, started a small advertising agency called Ellis Teichman Communications Ltd. Although their combined incomes were modest, Helen and Murray managed well, with Murray taking care of their finances. They even talked about buying their first house in the near future.
Both Helen and Murray were working hard. Murray’s advertising business made steady progress, and eventually he and his partner were able to move to larger and more fashionable premises. Helen had soon realized that promotions required special efforts, one of which was to become noticed. Her suggestion to start an exercise program for the employees at Ortho Pharmaceutical was well received, and for a while it was a successful undertaking. It achieved what Helen had intended: she became known not only for her hard work and her intelligent approach, but also because of her extra effort.
I was apprehensive that fall. Marvin and family’s impending departure filled me with dread, and my mother’s steadily declining health was worrying to say the least. Although she was in a good nursing home, I came to realize the importance of family being closely involved with a patient’s care and of making daily inquiries about her condition. As usual, my work kept me on an even keel, and I was thankful for the diversion it gave me.
One major event followed another. Marvin, Lily and Motti came to stay with us for a few days before they left for Israel. We picked up my mother on October 27, the day before her seventy-ninth birthday and the day before Marvin and family were to leave. I can still see the scene in our hall when my mother, sitting in a wheelchair, said goodbye to her grandson and his family. She was very courageous, although she must have known that she would not see them again. I was on the verge of tears but did not dare to give vent to my feelings for fear I would upset everybody, including my mother.
A few days after Lily, Marvin and Motti left, I had a disturbing phone call from my mother. She had been moved upstairs to another floor (the nurses obviously felt she needed more care), and when she had had to go to the bathroom at night, she had fallen because she did not know her way in the dark. I was terribly upset. When I got to the nursing home, I found her in a somewhat confused state and requested that she be moved back to her old room immediately. At this point, I knew that my mother was seriously ill and would most likely not have long to live. Shortly afterwards, the nursing home called to say my mother had fallen again, she was confused and they had sent her to St. Mary’s Hospital by ambulance.
When I arrived at the emergency room, my mother did not recognize me and muttered something unintelligible. Later that evening, she was moved to a private room upstairs and given oxygen. A phone call from her doctor confirmed what I already knew. My mother was dying from kidney failure, but he felt that she would live through the night. Early next morning, Stefan and I went to the hospital. My mother was lying on her side, breathing heavily, unaware of us or her surroundings. I was a coward; I could not bear to watch her death struggle and sat in the waiting room with Stefan, knitting booties for my new grandchild. One death, one birth. Once my mother had passed away, we went into the room. She was lying on her back, peaceful at last, and I was glad that her suffering had come to an end.
The discussions at Paperman and Sons funeral home about the type of casket in which to bury my mother were totally distressing, as was my conversation with the rabbi. I had never met this rabbi before because he was working at Beth Ora synagogue only temporarily. It took some persuasion on my part to get him to agree that I would write the obituary and he would read it in its entirety at the funeral service. How could he describe my mother, never having spoken to her? Since our family was small, even smaller with Lily, Marvin and Motti gone, and since we had not had time to have the obituary published prior to the funeral, the chapel at Paperman and Sons was more than large enough. Only a few people attended the service and fewer still came to the cemetery. When the service was over and I, being the only close relative, walked away from the grave on the narrow path made for me by those who were present, I felt very much alone and isolated.
When the shiva was over, I went back to work. It was strange not having to worry about my mother any more. She had been constantly on my mind during the past few years. As is common in these situations, I had become the mother and she the child, although only figuratively speaking. My mother was bright and alert almost until the very end, but, as her only child, I had been responsible for everything relating to her care. We had also become closer during those later years, and I had felt a great deal of pity for her. Now that she was gone forever, I felt empty.
But life goes on. I had my routine at work and home. We drove to Toronto quite frequently to visit Helen and Murray and enjoyed spending time with them. In the meantime, Lily and Marvin got settled in Jerusalem. Marvin tried his luck as a real estate agent, with little success, while Lily went to an ulpan to improve her Hebrew. As Lily had promised, she wrote to us often. Her warm, loving and descriptive letters, combined with frequent phone calls, made us feel connected. We were overjoyed when she gave birth on January 31, 1982, to a healthy little boy at the Hadassah hospital in Jerusalem.
We could not get on a flight in time for the brit milah. An ad in the Canadian Jewish News attracted our attention — a package deal including six nights at the King David Hotel in Jerusalem. Our travel agent made a reservation for us, and, without telling Lily and Marvin of our plans, we arrived in Jerusalem when little Shmuli was about nine days old. It was a wonderful surprise for Lily and Marvin.
This was the first of our many trips to visit Lily and Marvin in Israel. Each time I was so happy to see them, and we had such wonderful times with them. But my joy was always mixed with sadness because I knew our time together was only temporary and we would have to say goodbye again. Our visits to Israel upset my equilibrium, and it took me a few days to recover and get back to normal. I believe that few things are quite as difficult as living so far from your loved ones. And in those days, Israel was safe.
Each time we were in Israel, Marvin took a few days off work and drove us to various places in the country. Eventually, there was hardly a place that we had not visited. My cousins Erna and Erwin had in the meantime moved to Nahariya, a town in northern Israel. On a visit to this town, we found them in good health and very content. Erna loved the nearby sea, and Erwin spent his days at Regba Kitchens, a moshav (cooperative agricultural community) where he had the opportunity to work with wood — the kind of work he loved. As many German Jews lived in Nahariya, Erna and Erwin had made friends among them, and they often met for coffee in the afternoons. Both Erna and Erwin had adjusted remarkably well to life in Israel, and although their sons, David and Paul, both l
ived and worked in Jerusalem, they did not intend to make another move any time soon.
Marvin had given up the real estate business and had bought a document storage business, which was somewhat more profitable. But without our help, Lily and Marvin would have been unable to stay in Israel. This upset me sometimes. It was a paradox: I wanted nothing better than for them to come back to Canada, yet we kept on sending them money to enable them to stay in Israel. Then finally a promising opportunity presented itself. Two Canadian businesspeople approached Marvin. Would he be interested in building and developing a storage centre? Marvin quickly sold his document storage centre, and because he found a site for the new storage centre not far from Petah Tikva, that is where his family moved in 1983. It was a good move.
Since both our children were living out of town, I led a pretty quiet life. At the time, our travelling was limited to trips to Toronto and to Israel, and in the summer of 1984, we were once again on our way to visit our family in Petah Tikva. Lily was in the early stages of her third pregnancy and feeling rather unwell. However, being the good sport that she was, she never objected to the special trips Marvin had planned for all of us, and we once again made the most of the few weeks we had together.
When Stefan and I left Israel this time, we knew that we would see Marvin and his family again before long, so the parting was less difficult. Lily was anxious to come for a visit to Canada, primarily to see her aging grandfather (her grandmother had passed away after Lily moved to Israel). Travelling with two little boys would be difficult, but it would be even harder with a third child. So it was decided that Lily and the boys would come to Canada in October for six weeks, and Marvin would join them for the last two so that they could go home together.
Lily was radiant when she arrived. The trip had not been too difficult, she felt well and she was looking forward to her stay in Montreal. Motti, then five years old, and Shmoo (Shmuli), then two and a half, quickly adjusted to their new surroundings. Before we knew it, Marvin arrived from Israel, and he and his family were off to Toronto to visit old friends. When they all left six weeks later, it was with our promise that we would visit them in Israel after the birth of the new baby.
Joy and Sorrow
It turned out that we had two new grandchildren to look forward to in 1985. Helen told us in early December 1984 that she was pregnant. I was overjoyed, but since she was and still is a very tiny woman, and mostly because I am her mother, I was somewhat concerned lest her small size become a problem during her pregnancy.
When Helen and Murray joined us in Florida for a few days in the sun at the end of 1984, she was not feeling too well. Stefan and I celebrated our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary that year with a big party at our Florida home, but Helen was too unwell to participate, even though she made a valiant effort. I had hired a musician to make the evening more festive, and, by the look of things, I succeeded. It has always been my motto to mark the milestones in my life with a celebration in our home, and I felt that thirty-five years of married life was well worth such a celebration. Too bad that Helen had to spend the evening lying on Stefan’s and my bed in the darkened bedroom!
Stefan and I went to Toronto in March 1985 for Murray’s birthday. Helen was feeling well by then, and we enjoyed our visit to their new home in Thornhill. We drove back home on March 11, and late in the evening, when we were already half asleep, the phone rang. It was Marvin. Lily had given birth to a little girl, and they were overjoyed. They would call her Shoshana after my mother (my mother’s second name was Johanna), which means “rose” in Hebrew. Mother and baby were doing fine.
I could hardly sleep, I was so excited. Even the following day I felt that I was walking on air. No one could wish for more. Two adorable grandsons followed by a little girl! I pictured how happy Lily and Marvin must be. But that evening another phone call came. Marvin sounded upset. He told us Lily was quite sick and asked if I could come to Israel. We could take the baby home while Lily remained in hospital. He thought she would have to stay there for a while.
Stefan and I were stunned. We quickly threw things into suitcases and were on the evening flight to Tel Aviv. I had called Helen and Murray to let them know what was happening. Helen was in the fourth month of her pregnancy, and I hated to upset her. But it could not be helped under the circumstances.
During the trip, I was extremely nervous, so much so that most of the time my body shook uncontrollably. I had the most horrible premonition; I could neither eat nor sleep. Stefan on the other hand was optimistic. Lily was healthy when the baby was born, and nothing that terrible could have happened during the last two days. He was sure that everything would be all right. But it was not. When the plane landed in Tel Aviv, our names were called. We were told to disembark ahead of the other passengers. Then we knew. One look at Marvin’s face confirmed that the unthinkable had happened: Lily had died that morning. At that moment, my fear was mostly for Stefan. The shock was almost too much for him. He looked ghastly pale and all he could do was throw his arms about Marvin and cry with him. And so the three of us stood together in the crowded airport, crying and in a world of our own.
I cannot remember our ride to Petah Tikva. The sequence of events was so confusing at that moment that they were impossible to grasp. The baby, who was fine, was still in the hospital where she was born. We would have to pick her up after the funeral the next day. Neighbours were looking after Motti and Shmuli, but Motti came home in the afternoon, looking surprised to find us there. People brought in food, but none of us could eat in our exhaustion and despair. I called Helen and heard her cry of disbelief and sorrow. I could not offer any consolation. She wanted to come, but Murray did not want her to, due to her pregnancy.
Someone put the boys to bed. Marvin told us to sleep in his and Lily’s bedroom; he would not be able to sleep there anyhow. And then after a long and sleepless night, the morning of the funeral arrived. Marvin had decided that Motti, who was six years old, was still too young to attend, so Stefan, Marvin and I rode to the cemetery alone.
Every time I visit Lily’s grave and see the chapel to which her body was brought on a gurney, I see before me the strands of her long beautiful hair that had escaped her shroud. I thought I was going to collapse with grief. It was my beloved daughter-in-law’s funeral we were attending. How could such a thing happen? When her body was lowered into the ground and my son was standing in the tall grass around her grave, crying brokenly, I could only cry with him.
That afternoon, we went to the hospital to see our little granddaughter for the first time. It was love at first sight. In the middle of a horrendous tragedy, a beautiful innocent baby had been born, whose care and well-being would be the sole responsibility of her father. How would he be able to manage?
It would take years until I was finally able to look at pictures of Lily. When I went back to our Florida apartment in the winter of 1985, I immediately removed a beautiful picture that hung on my bedroom wall. The picture shows a happy, smiling family — Marvin, Lily and their two little boys. Lily, who was already pregnant with Shoshana, was positively radiant. Years later, I gave this picture to my granddaughter, and I hope that she treasures it as I did.
When Shoshana was brought home, a nurse had been hired to take care of her at night, so that we would all be able to sleep. During the day, we took care of her. I was very nervous. The responsibility for this tiny baby weighed heavily on me, even though Stefan and Marvin hardly ever left me alone with her. The boys were back in school and gan (daycare), respectively. I am fairly sure that not even Motti understood the concept of death yet, and with Stefan and me living with them, which was unusual, they did not seem to miss Ima (Mommy). At least they did not say much about her absence.
Around Pesach, we decided that all of us should go back to Montreal. I was very relieved that I was going home. Perhaps things would fall into place once I was in my own surroundings. I knew that I would be able to handle our proble
ms better in the comfort of my own place.
We gave our large bedroom to Marvin and the boys. The first night, they all slept in the same bed; then we arranged for a cot. Little Shoshana stayed in our second bedroom. My young neighbour Rhonda lent me all her baby equipment, including a crib, a changing table, a carriage and even a bunting bag because it was still cold outside. I appreciated her kindness. We hired a nurse to take care of Shoshana at night.
The seder night was difficult. We had ordered the food from a caterer, but I could barely look at it. Even now, I have an aversion to ordering food for Pesach. Somehow the next few weeks passed. We knew Marvin had to make a decision sooner or later — and we waited. In the end, he decided to go back to Israel. We persuaded him to leave the baby with us until he got settled and had arranged for help. When he left with the boys, we felt terrible.
Now that Shoshana was going to remain with us for a while, we hired a full-time nurse. The baby became the centre of our universe. When the nurse was off, we took turns taking care of Shoshana at night. And when she gave us her first toothless smile, we thought we had won the lottery. She was adorable. Her hair was becoming reddish, her complexion was white and whoever went into the nursery to see her was always rewarded with her smile. We bonded with her forever.
When Shoshana was four months old, Marvin decided that, as difficult as it might be for him, she had to come to Israel to join the family. Stefan and I knew that he was right, but we would have loved to keep her with us for just a little while longer.
We had decided that I would fly to Israel with the baby, stay in Petah Tikva for a few days and then make a detour to Norway on my way home. I needed something to look forward to after my departure from Israel.
Silent Refuge Page 16