A Source of Strength

I said a few words at the Alzheimer's Walk at Saint John's on the Lake, about how caring and supportive our community is to those who have the disease and to those who care for them. My father and my husband Steve both died from Alzheimer's. They struggled against the ever advancing symptoms to make the best of their remaining time. And then there was our son Ben who had ALS and met his challenges with grace and courage. Brain diseases are the most complicated medical frontier today, but we continue to maintain hope in the face of overwhelming odds. Afterwards, someone asked how I've been able to maintain strength in the face of these horrific diseases. I joked, 'denial is my friend' but that doesn't really answer the question. It lies in my family history.

My paternal grandmother, Rebecca, is my champion. Her only daughter and one-year-old baby boy died hiding with her in a neighbor's cellar during the 1902 pogrom in Ukraine. For the next year, she made and sold crocheted and embroidered handkerchiefs to help pay for transatlantic tickets for herself and my Grandpa Samuel. My Uncle Manny was born on the ship. My Uncle Al and my Dad Ben were born in Rhode Island. The youngest, Uncle Morris, was born in Roseland, a small town just south of Chicago where there were few other Jewish residents. The rest of her family disappeared during the 1904 pogroms in Kiev. My grandmother learned to speak and read English, ran a delicatessen, raised her children and never complained about how difficult life had been for her. 

She called me Dolly, an affectionate handle which I've passed on to my children and grandchildren. We named our youngest daughter, Rebeccah, after her. In a breath, I can picture her sitting on a chair in the sand at the 77th Street Beach in Chicago, smiling, with her legs resting on a stool, smoking a cigarette. Rebecca was a strong, loving and independent woman.

She died when I was ten years old, but I feel her blood running through my veins. I have her to thank for showing me what courage looks like in the face of tragedy. For that and so much more, I will always be grateful she was my grandmother.

Grandma Rebecca, 1950