January 22

Norman Reisman

It’s not just my father’s birthday, but Jan. 22, 1953 was the day that my mother passed away. It was on my dad’s 36th birthday. I was 4 1/2.

She had breast cancer for quite some time. They went through every medical option available at that time…..from chemo to a double mastectomy and everything in between. My mom even went to the Mikva on Ave. J and E. 15th St., but nothing worked.

My own memory of it is very limited, but here’s what I do recall. Because my parents were busy dealing with this situation, I was being shuffled around between neighbors, grandparents, and other relatives, so I hadn’t seen my mom in quite a while. She didn’t want me to remember her the way she had become, but I’m told that after I fell asleep at night, she’d lie down in my bed and cuddle me.

I do recall vividly this one morning because I woke up in my own room in my own bed. I was so excited. Like most children that age, I ran into my parents bedroom expecting to find them in bed so that we could play and cuddle for a while. What I found though was my father, already dressed for the day and a bed that was already made that did not look slept in. I said, “Where’s mommy?” He replied, “Mommy died.” That is a moment that I have relived in my mind so many times. They must have prepped me for it, because I knew a little bit about what that meant. It meant that mommy was in heaven and that I would never see her again. It meant that my life would change dramatically. Things would be very different. Those few seconds seemed to last forever. My next line was, “Does Elaine (my 10 year old sister) know?” Dad said she did. I ran into her room. As sad as she was, she cheered me up. As a matter of fact, from that moment on, everyone I knew was trying to cheer me up. But because I was only 4 1/2, honestly I wasn’t as sad as the adults expected me to be. That would come much later. And that’s a sadness that I’ve learned to live with but it never goes away.

Finally when I was in my late 40’s I asked one of my mom’s sisters where my mother was buried. I had never been to the cemetery before. She was at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Fairview, New Jersey, only about a half hour from home. My wife and I drove out there one day, and all of those memories started welling up in me on the drive out there. We stopped at the office and got directions to the grave. She was in a very sparse area, but we found her grave. I completely broke down crying. Just seeing her name on that stone, HELEN REISMAN, and the dates, the word “MOTHER” and an inscription that my dad later told me that he wrote (Her Memory Remains a Heritage of Love).

I realized afterward that I had never really grieved for her. I had so much inside of me that needed to come out. And it did. Right then and there.

Anyway, I used to light Yertzeit Candles on different dates for deceased family members. But there are now so many. So next Wednesday, January 22, 2025, I’ll light just one. It covers everybody. But it especially covers my mom.

Afterthoughts:

1. Dad remarried a wonderful woman and she became a loving step mother to me for 56 years.

2. He never was ever fully able to celebrate his own birthday again. If there was a cake, he would smudge the words “Happy Birthday Charles” and blame it on “old Jewish tradition.”

3. My mom’s grave is no longer in a sparse area. It’s fully populated.

4. Grief lasts. It’s good to get it out.

Thanks for listening.