This is my mom, Marcella Pollack, and today is her birthday.
In addition to her beauty, she was always healthy and strong; and if a doctor had not made a tragic mistake, I'm sure she would be here to celebrate with her 3 children and the grandchildren she never knew.
If she was here, my mom would be 82 today—exactly twice the amount of years she actually had. When she died at 41, my mother had only lived half a life.
At some point today, my phone will ring and it will be my Aunt Helen, who is 90 and has stayed close to me all those years, honoring the promise she made to my mother. I've always called her "Aunt Helen", but she's not my real aunt; she was a close friend of my mother's.
That my mother inspired a friendship that endures 40 years after her death is a testament to the kind of person she was. Her death had major repercussions on my life—365 days a year–and I could easily write a blog on this subject every single one of those days.
Every September 7th, for as long as I can remember, what I always have felt most, is incredible resentment and jealousy. It seemed impossibly unfair that my mother had to die, while all those other mothers got to live. And while I resented every mother on the planet, there was one person who got the largest share of my bitterness: my real aunt, my mother's sister.
She and her family lived in New York, and even when my mother was alive, we rarely saw them. After she died, the most obvious person to step up and step in, never did. Never called, never wrote, never visted, never sent a birthday card. This was my mother's only sibling; my link to my mother's past. That they were completely different in every way only made it worse. How could the universe take away someone who stood for everything good–and leave alive someone who was….in my mind, not half the human being my mother was?
The years passed, bringing more physical and emotional distance–even though my father stayed in touch with my aunt and her family occasionally by phone. In almost forty years, I saw my aunt three times: once at a funeral, once at a wedding (not mine), and once the day after the wedding—the only time she ever saw my children. My sister and brother, who didn't go to the funeral or the wedding, never saw her or heard from her at all.
Life went on; memories and hurts dimmed until my mother's side of the family was no longer a gash, but just a scar. Then, one day out of the blue last year, the phone rang; when I answered, someone said my name. That one word was all I needed to hear. The prickles rose as soon as I heard my aunt's voice,and I'm sure my voice sounded as distant as I felt.
She needed to tell me about some of her life's challenges—and how her problems prevented her from reaching out to us, her sister's children. And she needed something else. Because she was in pain, and I could hear it.
"Can you forgive me?" She was in tears. "For not being there for you? Do you think your sister and brother could forgive me? "
It was 40 years after my mother died. I could only imagine what demons had prompted her, and what it took to make that call. And through all the years of distance and resentment, I didn't hesitate for one instant to tell her how I felt at that moment.
"Of course I forgive you," I told my aunt. And I did.
There was no big reconciliation. No tearful reunion. A few weeks later, we talked once more, but I haven't seen her or called again. And now it's my turn to feel some of the guilt she felt all that time.
Even though she has been lucky to have so many more years of life, now I realize that September 7 must be as hard on my aunt as it is on me. So today, on my mother's birthday, I will talk to my Aunt Helen–when she calls me, as I know she will. And then I am going to call my mother's sister. To tell her that I am thinking of my mother. And thinking of her, too.
Dear Darryle,
As I sit here with a knot in my stomach, I feel I must respond to your blog today On My Mother’s Birthday.
I recall the last time I was in your childhood house was when I paid a condolence call with my mother to you and your family.
I remember that evening very clearly; selfish feelings of my fear to visit you because this was the first time I had to pay my respects for someone who died. I was truly terrified. Probably just immature.
I remember thinking how awful it is for you being only in college and now not having your mother. Like: what will you do, and how will your relationships change with your father and sister and brother?
By that time, you and I were not the best of friends like we were at Nautilus, but I do remember that difficult time.
And to add on, I do remember you mother who was absolutely beautiful. Friday night sleep overs became a so special because I must admit your family, particularly your mother, made the absolute best Shabbot dinners.
I have fond memories of us at Temple Emanuel, sitting in the teenage balcony section on High Holidays, attending confirmation and eating those jelly doughnuts, and running to catch the temple bus after school at Nautilus (remember Jerry, the bus chaperone)?
Back to your Shabbot dinners – I recall the blessings, the wine, your father cutting the challah, your dining room table.
I do remember your mother; she, in a way, is engraved as a little part of my Jewish heritage and our teenage friendship.
These are sweet memories for me, and now I am smiling.
Renee
Very touching …
Darryle: I was reading today’s blog and saw a link to the story about your Mom and saw something that I did not notice the first time I read it: Your Mom was a Virgo (Sept. 7th, correct?). I know she was a wonderful person. My first wife was a Virgo and was very special. And my current wife of 29 years is also a Virgo and is absolutely, positively THE MOST SPECIAL PERSON IN THE WORLD. I am just so sorry that you lost her so early and understand that you will never stop missing her. My wife lost her mother 12 years ago and will never fully recover.
Yes my mom was a Virgo and I know absolutely NOTHING about that sign. But my mom was definitely very special and even 40 years later, I still feel the loss. Like you said about your wife, when you lose a mom like that, maybe you never fully recover.
All you need to know about Virgos is how you felt about your mother: They are beautiful inside and out. They are highly intelligent and, more importantly, have incredible common sense. They are generous and warm care-givers who are selfless and loyal to a fault. Some say they are picky and critical but they are perfectionists so they want the best of everything for others as well as themselves. They are generally very neat, organized and cleanliness fanatics (if your mother was like that at all then I know you might have had some problems with your lack of organization). Well, that is a basic introduction to the Virgo female. Let me know if any of that fits your memories of your Mom.
I really like your new “home” but I miss the edit function in the comments section. As you see, upon review I had one too many “theys” in the second sentence. I am a frustrated writer/English teacher and hate seeing spelling and grammatical errors.
i fixed your comment. Didn’t realize there was an edit function before. Will see if I can find out if I can add it here. I’m the same way with spelling and grammar. Thanks for the info on Virgos. The first few sentences are totally right—however my mom wasn’t a perfectionist , was not picky or critical–about anything . Of course I remember her as perfect.
I well remember your beautiful home and your beautiful mother. Can you believe one of the clearest memories I have as a child was that of your mother, rounding Nautilus Court, on her bicycle? I remember her bright lipstick nail polish,gorgeous thick blond mane and winning smile. I remember her wave as she passed by me standing alone in the garage.
I was very sad to when we found out she was sick and died.
I thought you might appreciate this.
Best,
Denise Danches
Denise, I DO appreciate this, more than you could know. Especially that you found me on Facebook and took the time and thoughtfulness to let me know this memory of my mom. Thank you so much, and I will be sure to share this with my sister and brother.