While rifling through some drawers in our guest room, I found the printout of what I wrote nearly 17 years ago, after receiving the news that my grandmother had passed away. I didn’t fly to the US for the funeral, and instead, wrote the essay below to be read aloud during the service. Anything written in italics is information I’ve added to clarify different points, and the only other changes I’ve made were to remove the names of family members.
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Growing up as the granddaughter of Millie Sobel was something special. As the only girl of the four grandchildren, I always felt that somehow I was just a bit more precious than the other three, even though I knew deep down that this could not be so, as we were all equally loved and cherished.
I can still remember what a treat it was when we would all get in the car to go to “Grandma’s House”. Strangely enough, almost all of my memories revolve around food. Breakfast was always an occasion, as we were allowed to eat all of those wretched, pre-sweetened cereals; My brother and I were always fighting over who would get which cereal, reserving them days in advance, just to make sure that we would each get what we wanted. Grandma was always such a wonderful cook; to this day I can still recall her spaghetti and meatballs, her stuffed cabbage, her latkes and her French toast, which I could never seem to get enough of. Memories of dining out are not quite as vivid, though I’m certain that it was all of those trips to Lundy’s that gave me my love for seafood, or trips to Cooky’s (at Kings Plaza, in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, NY), where we would all order dinner and have just a few bites, making sure that there would be enough room for their legendary dessert bar.
After my grandfather passed away, life became more and more difficult for her. It became harder for her to get out of the house, and in the winter, sometimes weeks would pass with her not being able to leave the house. Moving her to Albany (NY) was undoubtedly a monumental task, as she had to leave everything that was familiar to make a new beginning, which could not have been easy for someone her age. The move was definitely the right thing to do, as she quickly became herself again in the atmosphere that, to me, was not unlike living in a hotel in the Catskills year round. She suddenly had a new circle of friends who she would chat with for hours on end in the comfortable lobby of the building in which she lived. Everytime I went to visit I was introduced to more of “the ladies”, each of whom, had already heard all about me. I truly believe that every single person in that building knew that Millie Sobel had a granddaughter who was “always going to Israel”.
As the years passed, Grandma’s age slowly began to get the best of her. It became harder for her to move about, yet her mind – and her tongue – remained as sharp as ever. She soon developed selective hearing and memory loss, making our telephone calls and visits all the more interesting. I learned to respond to her questions with one syllable answers, knowing that she would have plunged ahead to the next question before hearing my entire answer. I soon realized that my answers were not what was important to her; it was the fact that I’d taken the time to call her and that she was taking pleasure in hearing the sound of my voice.
Her hearing problem became crystal clear to me one afternoon when my mother and I were visiting her. She was to begin a series of injections, which was to be given by a nurse who would come to her apartment. As everyone knows, whenever a person starts with a new doctor, all sorts of questions relating to medical history are asked. The first question asked by the nurse was, “how is your hearing”, to which Grandma responded with, “what?”. The nurse repeated the question, to which Grandma responded, “my hearing is fine”. A number of questions later, the nurse asked, “how is your urine?” Grandma’s response was, “my hearing is fine”. We all doubled over in fits of laughter. I don’t remember if we ever told her what was so funny, but it is one of the moments spent together that I won’t soon forget.
My moving to Israel must have been very difficult for her, as it meant that we would only see each other once a year. Whenever we spoke on the phone, she would ask when she would be seeing me. I never knew what to answer, other than “soon, Grandma, soon”. She was one of the main reasons why we decided to get married in the US. I knew that there was absolutely no chance for her to come here, and it was very important for the two of us that “our grandma” – for that is also how my husband thought of her – to be at our wedding. She kept saying that she hoped she would make it until the wedding, but there was never any doubt in my mind that she would; she even had her dress before I had mine or anyone else had theirs. Watching her “dance” at my wedding (in her wheelchair) with my husband was certainly one of the most emotional moments of the day. I loved him so much at that moment, for granting my grandmother the wish she had repeatedly requested – the opportunity to dance at my wedding. I know that he enjoyed the dance as well, for in the short time that he’d known her, he had grown to love her and think of her as his grandmother too, as he had no living grandparents.
It is these things that I shall try to remember the most about my Grandma, the way she loved to eat and to dance, and the way she lived to shop – something I must have inherited from her (Note: I no longer “live” to shop – I’ve changed a bit in 17 years...). The last time I saw her, my mother warned me of the possibility that it could be the last time, something she’d never said before and something that I refused to believe. I made myself believe that it couldn’t happen, that Grandma would continue on as she always had, telling everyone what to do and loving her family members with a passion, living for our visits and telephone calls.
When my husband told on Tuesday night (17 years ago) what had happened, I immediately wanted to return home to be with my family, to pay a final tribute to Grandma. I was persuaded by those around me to stay here, and that it wasn’t necessary for me to go. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, as I felt guilty for not being able to be there. It was then that I decided to write these words that you have all just heard. I wanted my thoughts to be there, even if I couldn’t be. It is these same feelings that I shall always have for my Grandma. Even though she can’t be with me physically, she will always be in my thoughts. Goodbye, Grandma. We love you very much. You will live forever in our hearts.
Goose Pond, Lee, Massachusetts
