Page 130 - issue

Suddenly, the implications of
Heidi’s words sank in. Heidi fell silent
while Chana’s thoughts raced full
speed ahead.
My mother was overly critical of
me, Alice’s description of her mother
immediately came to mind. Everything
always had to be perfect. One hun-
dred percent flawless.
Now Mrs. Feldman was gone. Alice
had been clinging to the tenacious
hope that she might one day reconcile
with her mother, and that possibility
no longer remained.
So where did that leave Alice?
Chana shook her head. It left one
very sad, lonely, and bitter woman
alone in an old age home without the
wholesome experience of having
made peace with her mother. It left
her bereft of ever experiencing true
love, true give-and take, from another
human being.
Tears pricked Chana’s eyelids, and
she realized that Heidi was staring at
her. “I’m sorry,” Heidi said. “I shouldn’t
have been so explicit with my descrip-
tion. That was insensitive of me.”
“No, no,” Chana said, waving Heidi’s
words away. “It’s not that at all. I’m just
thinking of Mrs. Feldman’s daughter
Alice and how sad it is that she and
her mother never had the chance to
reconcile.”
“You visit Alice a lot?” Heidi asked
in surprise. “From what I understood,
she doesn’t like visitors that much.”
Chana shrugged. “I’ve been there a
few times. She always seemed to enjoy
my company.”
Heidi looked at her. “You realize,
then, that there is something that can
still be done.”
“What?”
“Miss Feldman can still ask her
mother for forgiveness. In Yiddish it’s
called ‘betten far mechila.’”
Chana looked away. She recalled
asking forgiveness from her husband.
The men from the chevra kadisha
had covered Nosson’s body with a
sheet, and she’d been encouraged to
ask him forgiveness for all her wrong-
doings. When she’d moved away,
she’d felt cleansed. Cleansed and
purified and better equipped to deal
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with her week of mourning. It had
been a special moment and an awe-
some one.
Shaking her head to clear it of the
memory, Chana said, “Do you think I
should speak to Alice now, and tell
her some of the halachos of mourn-
ing?”
Heidi looked outside of the window.
They were approaching Flatbush. One
woman had been dropped off already.
“It’s kind of late,” Chana said, pick-
ing up Heidi’s cue.
“No,” Heidi said. “It’s not. We can
get off at my house and I’ll drive us
back to the old age home now. There’s
still time before the burial.”
◆◆◆
When Heidi and Chana arrived at
the Jewish Home for the Aging again,
Mrs. Feldman’s body had already been
transferred to the morgue. “The funer-
al will take place tomorrow,” the nurse
on duty said in clipped tones. “The
Jewish burial society is taking care of
it.”
“This is Chana Schwimmer,” Heidi
told the nurse. “She volunteers here
in the home too. She’s met Mrs.
Feldman’s daughter and she wants to
discuss her mother’s death with her.”
The nurse looked at Chana for a
moment and then shrugged. “From
what I understand, the daughter
deposited her mother here seven years
ago and hasn’t dropped by for even
one visit since. A social worker was
just called in to break the news of her
mother’s death to her, so please keep
that in mind. I hope she doesn’t fall
apart on you.”
Chana thought of the poised-look-
ing Alice and knew that the last thing
she had to worry about was the
woman’s falling apart. She wasn’t
there to talk sweetly to her. She was
there on a mission.
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Chana mur-
mured. She and Heidi headed toward
the elevator and the second floor.
A short, well-dressed woman with a
pixie cut and suit was coming out of
Alice’s room. “Mrs. Wexler, social work-
er,” read the nametag on her lapel.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wexler,”
Chana said. “I’m a volunteer here and
I came to speak to Alice about her
mother’s death. She and I have
become friends these past few weeks.”
Mrs. Wexler stared at Chana for a
moment. “Okay,” she said finally.
“Good luck.”
The door opened even before
Chana and Heidi had a chance to
knock. “I heard you speaking to the
social worker,” Alice said by way of
greeting.
Chana and Heidi exchanged
glances. “Er, yes,” Chana said finally. “I
came by because I care about you, and
I… I wanted to be with you during this
difficult time.”
Alice sat down heavily on a wicker
armchair. Chana stood opposite her
and Heidi closed the door to the
room. A thick silence settled over the
three of them.
“She could have died last week,”
Alice said finally. “Or last month, or
last year. Why today? Today isn’t any
different from any other day.”
“It’s not?” Heidi asked. “Today will
forever mark the day that your mother
left this world. That makes it different.”
“Who are you?” Alice asked. Her
tone indicated neither curiosity nor
anger at the intrusion. It was simply
devoid of expression. “Chana, I know.
But you haven’t introduced yourself.”
“I’m Heidi Fine and I was in the
room when your mother passed away.”
Alice stared at Heidi for a long
moment. “Okay,” she said finally.
“Alice,” Chana said gently, “would
you like to ask your mother for for-
giveness? It’s an acceptable custom
that children and relatives of the
deceased person ask for forgiveness
before they’re buried.”
“I should ask her for forgiveness?”
Alice repeated bitterly. “Do you realize
that the two of us never got along, and
that none of that was my fault? She
was never like a mother to me, she…”
Her voice broke.
“The nurse said that you hadn’t vis-
ited her since she came to live in the
home,” Chana said softly. “That’s
something that needs forgiving.”
“How could I have visited her?”
Alice said. Her voice cracked, and
Chana could hear the hurt oozing out