another one down

and another one bites the dust...

My mother-in-law called last Thursday to let us know that Rosane was dying. Her health had been deteriorating for several years. She was in the hospital for a bleeding ulcer that was not responding to treatment and with her family at her side she decided to have them stop the transfusions and let nature take it's course. She was 84.

Friday we got the call that Rosane had passed.

My husband comes from an enormous family with lots of siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins out the wazoo and they all like each other. Rosane was my mother-in-law's first cousin. When I married into this family it was a little overwhelming, the more so because I come from a very small family. Life cycle events were/are celebrated by inviting everybody and everybody comes. It was not unusual to find myself abandoned in the midst while Marc hung out outside with the rest of the smokers BS-ing with the cousins. I learned to make my way and place and eventually, the names and the intricacies of relatedness. I still have trouble calling up some of the names of the younger generation but I know which cousin they belong to.

So at these gatherings that usually involve food and music along with whatever ritual is being observed I would seek out certain individuals of the previous generation, the current reigning elders, make sure I greeted them, provide whatever service. One of those was the flamboyant Aunt Florence. She left us 2 years ago. Some of them are Aunt Anna and Uncle Sid and I will be sad when they are done here. And one of them was Rosane. Rosane is, in the relatedness of it all, a first cousin once removed. Her son, David who is of our generation, is a second cousin. I would always go visit with Rosane and then take David away with me, David having remained single.

I would spirit David away with me to dance. I like to dance. I like the music, I like the beat, I like moving to it. Marc doesn't dance, doesn't really like it, doesn't really get it and though he will go out on the dance floor with me it's hard to drag him out there when he is outside. So unless David had a date we would hang out together. David isn't the only reason I would go sit with Rosane though. She was always warm and welcoming to me and interested in what I was up to.

Back when David's dad started to fail, he quit his job at an architectural firm to work freelance and moved home to help his mom care for him. Charles died 5 years ago and David stayed with his mom. And has cared for her as she began to fail.

For jews, usually, the funeral is set for the next day but maybe since Saturday is the sabbath, it was not scheduled til today, Sunday.

Many of the family had gathered for Rosane including some from Dallas. The casket was already in the pit when we arrived. The graveside service was short and to the point. People spoke, the prayers were said, the eulogy given, the dirt thrown.

The dirt thrown. This is probably my favorite part, aside from the being short part, of jewish funerals and I always take part. It just seems right to me.

At the end, after all is said, it is considered a mitzvah a good thing to help spread the blanket of dirt, putting the dear one to bed for the last time. Family and friends each take the shovel and throw a spade or two of dirt on the casket in the hole. I liked Rosane a lot but I didn't expect to get teary at her funeral. This part, though, is always the most poignant to me and I shed a few tears for her passing.

After all those who wanted to participate had, the two workers took over and proceeded to fill the hole. They were done before half the crowd had left. So now Rosane has passed and David is a caring soul with no charge.

Later, at the wake, I asked him.

“So David, what are you going to do now?”

He kind of shook his head, “I don't know” he replied, “everybody's asking me that.”