Remembering Mom (and Grandma) on her Birthday

This week we marked my mom’s birthday.  She would have been 65, and had she not died last year, we would have had a wonderful celebration.  Instead, we moved through the traditions we are trying to create in her memory: a lobster dinner (very un-kosher, but something she loved), a trip to the cemetery, a visit to one of her favorite places, lots of hugs, and a little time for introspection.

Family photo

Grandpa, my girls and me at Halibut Point, one of mom's favorite places

One of the things I have always believed Judaism “does best” is mourning.  The prescriptive rituals provide a structured way to traverse one of life’s most painfully unbounded times.  When I was first mourning my mother, these rules gave me things to do even though I felt completely rudderless.  When I observed her first yahrtzeit this May, I found comfort, and a connection to her, as I performed the same rituals I had watched her do for her father throughout my childhood – lighting the candle, standing for her in the synagogue, visiting her grave.

I have thought a lot about these rituals, and as I learn to anticipate the ebbs and flows of grief, they markedly fall short when it comes to her birthday.  The yahrtzeit date represents the death itself.  It is a day that had no meaning before she died, and now represents the beginning of loss.

Mom’s birthday is a whole other ball of wax.  As far as I know, Judiaism doesn’t put much weight on a birthday.  But my mom loved celebrations, and relished any chance she got to celebrate anything.  Birthdays are very special in our family because of her.  Two of her birthdays have passed since she died, and I am surprised by the things that get to me.  I am especially caught off guard by how much I grieve the things I don’t do, like not buying her a present, or not having to decide what kind of cake to get.  And on this day more than most, I miss her beaming smile when that cake would come out, and the joke she would surely make about getting older, or getting cake stains on her shirt, or something else silly from the year that just passed.

I recently discovered Renee Septimus’ blog about the job of a grandparent on the Jewish parenting website Kveller.  It seemed fortuitous to discover her posts the week of Mom’s birthday, as it felt like something Mom could have written herself.  It reminded me of the loss for Ruthie and me as a mother-daughter unit without a Jewish Grandma.  I hope to return to Renee’s blog to glean a few more echoes of what my mom might have said to me.  And in honor of her birthday, I want to share a piece of what I read at Mom’s funeral, to give you a glimpse of the kind of grandmother she was for us:

I have counted my blessings every day for the last three-and-a-half years to have experienced life with my mom as a Grandma.  In so many ways this felt like the role she had been most meant to play her whole life.  Mom was herself as a grandmother – fun, creative, full of life, honest, and real.  She was exceptionally devoted to Ruthie, and from the day she was born Mom re-arranged her crafting efforts, her shopping expenses, her plans, and really her whole life around the smallest member of our clan.  The dividends were huge – I think of Mom as Ruthie’s favorite friend, the person who knew the most about her and with whom she shared the greatest delight.

But even more than what Mom gave to Ruthie, Mom was an incredible grandmother to Eric and me.  Mom recognized a huge part of her role as a grandmother as a shift in how she should mother me.  She was gentle and kind and most of all reassuring.  She supported every choice we made (or didn’t make).  She made it clear that the most important thing we had to do was to love our daughter unconditionally…and that the rest would follow.  She never made me feel pressured or even capable of making a mistake (with the exception, perhaps, of my letting Ruthie choose non-matching outfits), and always reminded me that motherhood is hard work, and that taking care of myself was not just a nicety but a necessity.  I have endless gratitude for the ways in which she made it possible for me to be a mother, and feel that without question the greatest unfairness of Mom’s premature passing was all of the grandparenting she is not going get to do, both for the grandchildren to come in the future and for my brother and sisters.

Photo of my grandmother

One of many beautiful pictures of my mom

While Judaism may not mark the birthdays of those that have passed, I was raised to believe that one of the ways you live on after death is in the memories of those left behind.  So there may be no rituals prescribed for these days, but the memories arise in full swing, perhaps allowing Mom to live just a little bit more.

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