My Mom passed away this week at the age of 100. Here are some memories I shared at her funeral.
Rose Mandel and Sam Shilowitz welcomed baby girl Elyss Shirley on January 2, 1925. Her father Sam bought a two-story building on Main Street in Cedarhurst, Long Island, and opened a general store. The family lived in an apartment on the building’s second floor. Sam’s parents lived in the building’s second apartment, and Elyss (after this called Mom) forged a close relationship with her grandparents. On holidays the young family of three walked down the hall for festive holiday meals.
A child of the Depression, Mom’s upbringing shaped her lifetime behaviors. As a child I remember our refrigerator full of mysterious leftovers wrapped in wads of aluminum foil, many eventually turning moldy and tossed out. Mom only shopped sales, the idea of paying full retail price unthinkable. Her box of alphabetically arranged coupons sat in the back seat of her car until she gave up driving at the age of 98. Sharing – especially restaurant meals – was highly desirable if not required, and slipping extra packets of Sweet and Low in her pocketbook was part of the joy of eating out.
Mom experienced the Depression, a world war, peace at home, and political turmoil twice: during the 1960s and 70s, and the ongoing saga of the latest decade. Her life embraced a happy only-child upbringing, college during the war years, and marriage to Dad, whom she met on a blind date, in 1947.
Mom worked for Grumman Aircraft Engineering Company in the 1950s, then returned to school when her two daughters were in elementary school. I remember Mom and Dad holed up in the basement on Saturday mornings, Mom dictating and Dad typing the paper, due later that day. Mom received from C.W. Post College, now LIU Post, a certificate in Library Science, and started a career as an elementary school librarian for the Bethpage School District that lasted decades.
Although not on the cutting edge of fashion, Mom was the first female teacher in her school to wear pants, a liberating experience quickly followed by other women on the school staff. She was also on the front line technologically, introducing computers to her school library.
One summer our family went camping with a borrowed tent. Mom was not keen on going, but gave in after repeated begging by Dad and the girls. A thunderstorm drenched the campground and everything in it – tent, food, clothing, us. Mom declared that once was enough, and that first camping trip became our family’s last camping trip.
Mom and Dad began to travel when Janice and I graduated college. When Mom broke her foot, she refused to cancel a planned trip to England. The only place her broken limb deterred sightseeing was at the Tower of London.
When she retired, Mom relished a meaningful retirement as a volunteer for several organizations over the years, including moderator for an Alzheimer’s support group, Bingo volunteer – she counted the money – at her Temple, Mended Hearts – a support group for individuals suffering from heart disease (Dad had heart disease), and the Long Island Center for Independent Living, where she read to the blind. She was a judge for Odyssey of the Mind, an international creative problem-solving program for students of all ages. She and Dad participated in PIER, an organization of retirees, taking classes and presenting programs, which was located at Hofstra University.
She was also a bridge player, lifelong learner, and avid traveler.
Mom and Dad loved to travel with the grandkids. Her oldest grandchild, Matthew, a teenager at the time, still laments the fact that, during their trip to London and Paris, he did not eat until dinner. He slept through breakfast, and Mom figured he could wait an entire day without eating. She never raised a teenage boy.
The entire family – almost – cruised the Hawaiian islands, celebrating Mom and Dad’s 50th wedding anniversary. Every time the ship’s emcee announced, “Who is celebrating a special occasion?” we all raised our hands and shouted, “We are…we are!”. Unfortunately Mom and Dad remained home, gall bladder surgery preventing Dad from making the trip.
Mom was almost, but not quite, a hoarder. In 2010, Mom sold the house she and Dad purchased in 1952 and moved into a 55+ apartment building. I helped Mom clean out. We filled a dumpster, made several trips to Goodwill, and friends carted away items. Before my sister Janice arrived to take over the clear-out job, I warned her, “We cleared out tons of stuff. But when you walk into the house, you’re going to think, “What the hell did they do all week?”
Mom was 86 years old when she made a trip to meet her newest great-granddaughter in Colorado. She arrived at Kennedy Airport early for her 8:00 PM flight. Engrossed in a book, she missed a change of gate announcement. Mom’s plane took off without her. The next flight to Denver left the following morning. She would have to be at the airport 5:00 AM for check-in. Rather than drive home or get a hotel room, Mom stayed in the airport terminal the entire night, drinking McDonald’s coffee and snoozing on hard metal chairs. She finally arrived in Denver 13 hours late and looked surprisingly good after her long night out.
We planned a luncheon to celebrate Mom’s 95th birthday. My sister and I were not thrilled with her choice of restaurant, but this was Mom’s bash. Friends met for lunch at Houlihan’s regularly. The manager took care of them, glad for the business, the place rarely busy at lunchtime, foreshadowing future misfortune. The manager offered the group free appetizers, and generous lunch platters resulted in uneaten food wrapped up and taken home.
Leftovers become a crucial part of the food chain for seniors.
Mom wanted to give Houlihan’s her birthday business.
Three days before the party, Mom’s friend Hilda called Houlihan’s to arrange a delivery of flowers for the luncheon.
“Hello?” a voice answered.
“Is this Houlihan’s?”
“Um, yes. It was. We’re closed.”
“Well, my friend is having a luncheon at the restaurant on Thursday. I wanted to send flowers for the tables. Can someone help me?”
“Miss, we’re closed. We closed last night.”
Silence, as Hilda did not grasp the woman’s message. The employee continued, ”Miss, the restaurant is closed. Out of business.”
Hilda called Mom straightaway. Mom did not panic.
Mom was upset no one from Houlihan’s called to notify her of the closing, but after a moment of alarm, she regained her wits and set about locating another venue. Houlihan’s shutdown was a hurdle to overcome, but no reason to cancel or postpone the celebration.
Mom called other favorite haunts.
One restaurant would not be open on January 2, taking a much-needed hiatus following the holidays. Another refused to accommodate a group on such short notice. An Italian restaurant Mom liked but patronized infrequently – once a year following Rosh Hashanah services – agreed to host the luncheon. The location proved ideal, at the end of a canal overlooking the waters along Long Island’s south shore.
Mom phoned every guest and notified them of the new location.
Mom kept up an active schedule of activities until a fall in November resulted in a series of health issues, and her body finally whispered enough.
Elyss Shilowitz Schwartz was a smart, independent, kindhearted, resilient, and at times stubborn woman. I will miss you, Mom.
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