If your mother has passed away, as mine has, you can still honor her if you wish in whatever way seems appropriate. Many people still have special meals, gatherings or small ceremonies, maybe reciting a favorite poem or singing a favorite song to remember their mothers.
Personally, I light a “Yahrzeit” candle for my mom. It’s a Jewish tradition that is usually done on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, but I do it on her birthday and Mother’s Day as well. It just seems right.
Helen Virginia Morey, née Hartman
July 30, 1910 - March 20, 2006
My mom wasn’t the stereotypical Jewish mother, though she had her moments (and joked about them). One of my favorite memories — and one my partner and I still re-enact — is Mom saying to me: “Put a sweater on. I’m cold.” I guess it’s a mom thing. If she’s cold, I must be cold as well.
She did firmly believe in the power of chicken soup, and other homemade delights, to heal whatever ails you. In her case, actually, it was more often her homemade tomato soup, made fresh with tomatoes she grew herself every summer. On countless summer trips to visit my folks, I returned home with containers of frozen tomato soup, which I then delighted in rediscovering in the back of my freezer in the dead of winter.
I would call her and say, “Guess what I’m eating for dinner?” and she would say, “Hmm ... could it be my famous tomato soup?”
Another cherished memory of my mom and food is from my teenage years. Whenever I was sick (or had “the curse,” as her generation called it), she would make me a cup of tea with honey, and a toasted English muffin with butter and apricot-pineapple preserves. To this day, I still want tea and an English muffin when I’m sick, and it still makes me feel immensely better.
Besides such lovingkindness, which came naturally to her, she also had the most beautiful voice and instilled in me a love of music I cherish to this day. I loved listening to her sing, which she did frequently at home. As a young girl working in the kitchen with her, she taught me to harmonize to songs like “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” “When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin’ Along” and “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning.”
One of my most treasured possessions is a 78-rpm recording of her in her 20s, singing on a radio show called “The Wheeling Steel Hour” in Wheeling, W.V., where she was born. She enlisted in the Women’s Army Corps during World War II, and sang for soldiers with the USO. As I was growing up, she sang in the choir at Wilshire Boulevard Temple in Los Angeles, the temple we belonged to.
At age 93, my mom was asked to sing for more than 200 people during the annual Christmas party at the retirement community where she moved after my dad died. She sang her favorite Christmas song, “O Holy Night,” and was asked to sing it again the following year.
Yes, she was Jewish, and that didn’t matter. She loved beautiful music, and thought “O Holy Night” was one of the most beautiful songs ever written. I was privileged to be in attendance at the party the last time she sang it, and I remember the hearty applause afterward. Unable to contain my pride and adoration, I leaped to my feet and shouted, “That’s my mama!” which delighted her immensely and elicited much laughter from the crowd of seniors.
I still can’t hear “O Holy Night” without getting goose bumps, and yes, a bit teary-eyed.
Mom lived to be 95 1⁄2, and was on her own from age 91 until shortly after her 95th birthday. She was always a hoot, and kept her sense of humor through the end. In fact, after a heart attack put her in the hospital shortly before she died, she said to me on the phone, “A heart attack! Imagine that. I made it to 95 without one!” I think she intuitively knew she wasn’t long for this world, because she said several times, “I’ve had a good, long life, haven’t I?”
She loved to laugh, especially at herself, and I credit her for my inclination to not take myself too seriously. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times she said, “Oh, how silly of me.”
I will always be grateful to my mom for so many things, but the greatest gift she gave me was simply being a shining example of selflessness, kindness and compassion.
