Today we (my mother, brother, sister, nephew and I, and then later, my wife, son, daughter and son in law) returned to Arlington National Cemetery to visit my father's grave and, I guess, to try to take in the place with emotions slightly muted from the funeral itself. Another bright, beautiful, warm Washington day. This time the route was more familiar, without the extra anxieties of the funeral schedule and the caravan of cars--we all squeezed in, and were able to take advantage of the lifetime pass to the cemetery provided to first degree relatives of those buried there.
So many Jewish prayers begin with invocations of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (and today, of Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel and Leah), asked that their merits in G!d's eyes be conferred on us, who are less deserving of G!d's consideration. So too here--we relatives are given privileges (and treated with a special deference by the many Arlington guards and guides), owing entirely to Dad's merits, and not to our own.
Dad is buried just inside the main gate, in section 33, within a short walk of the Administration Building and Visitor Center, and reasonably accessible via the Metro station, for those better able to walk than I. the Kennedy grave sites (which we visited today) are not too far; nor, we think, are the tombs of the Unknowns. Tour groups walk nearby, but not right at the spot. Most of the graves nearby date to 1955 and 1956, and the grave immediately left of his belongs to a veteran of the Spanish American War. A couple of graves nearby contain veteran, spouse and infant child (one a junior)--heartbreaking to contemplate. We didn't notice other Jewish graves in the immediate vicinity. There were flowers on Dad's newly filled grave, from cousins in California. One of the strange things about yesterday's ceremony, with the military pallbearers and protocols, is that we (my sister excepted) did not actually touch Dad's casket (although we participated in the Jewish ritual of reluctantly shovelling a bit of dirt on it). Today, I lay down next to the grave and bawled.
Back at the hotel, we watched a newly made DVD copy of a video interview my sister conducted with each of my parents 13 years ago (they were 73 then), during a calm and reflective moment when their memories were sharp (my mother's, amazingly so) and their health was better. They each spoke about their families, the journeys to America in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, their growing up experiences during the hard times of the Depression, the War years and experiences, and their early life as a couple, before and just after moving to Miami. Seeing and hearing Dad, so focussed, so compelling as a storyteller, so moving in describing his military training and time in combat, his reflections on both the terrors of war and the lessons--particularly discipline and learning to get along with very diverse others in the most trying circumstances--was incredibly powerful. His reflections on the need for mandatory national service and the benefits he thought that would bring to American life (a position I largely share, although I never realized Dad felt so passionately about it) were really inspiring to me.
Mom has been having a very difficult time, and the combined emotional and physical stresses of recent weeks have taken a heavy toll. My brother decided to take her home a day earlier than initially planned, and my sister to accompany them, so we disbanded shortly after viewing the video as they headed for the airport. We decided to stay, not least because several Washington-area friends were planning to visit at tonight's shiva gathering. We took the "kids", and our new son in law (making his first visit to D.C.--amazing!) on a quick tour of the monumental and governmental city in all its majesty, winding up with a visit to the apartment building on Woodley Place, between the Connecticut Avenue and Calvert Street bridges, where we lived from 1978-82 (leaving almost exactly a quarter century ago, almost to the month), when both our children were born, and where Mom and Dad visited to help us with our newborns and glory in their first grandchildren. Such a wonderful period in all our lives.
Ah, the arcs and cycles of life. Very much present in our lives this week.
Showing posts with label Ralph M. Weisbard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ralph M. Weisbard. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
R.I.P. (Part One, to be continued)
Today we buried my father and began our shiva, the Jewish formal mourning practice, typically lasting seven days from the date of burial. In our case, the timing has been odd, since Dad died on May 18, eleven days ago. Burial was delayed because of the wait for burial at Arlington, the intervening Jewish holiday of Shavuot (during which Jewish burials are not conducted), and the Memorial Day holiday weekend (during which burials are not conducted at Arlington).
A Jewish burial at Arlington National Cemetery is a distinctive and memorable experience, a blending of disparate cultures and customs, of different modes of honoring and remembering.
The day beckoned bright and warm, with a beautiful, expansive blue sky and the distinctive view of Washington's monumental skyline visible in the distance. We are told the Superintendent of Arlington picked a special spot for Dad, in an established section of the vast military cemetery, amidst other highly decorated veterans of World War II, not so far from the Administration Building where we gathered to complete the initial paperwork. They had his date of death wrong, and were able to correct that on the official record and design for his gravestone marker. They had his rank and medals right, and knew that his would bear a Star (or Shield) of David, rather than the ubiquitous crosses one sees here. Dad wanted his fellow citizens and all others to know that Jews fought and fight for their country, most particularly in the War against Hitler and Nazism.
We were helped through the formalities by a retired Sergeant-Major, an African American man of military bearing and a helpful and compassionate disposition. He first checked the readiness of the gravesite, then returned to lead our convoy to it. No horse-drawn caisson--that is reserved for more senior ranks, and requires a very long wait in any case. With war casualties from Iraq and Afghanistan, and the passing of the Greatest Generation, that can be three months nowadays. How do families cope with that?
So, we made our way by car behind the hearse to the point of roadway nearest the open plot, then made our way across the unsteady ground. The flag-draped casket was borne by military pallbearers, who moved with well-practiced, elegant precision. My brother and I, with some help from the sergeant-major, helped our mother with the difficult and emotional trek. The pallbearers stood to attention, holding the flag taut above the casket, awaiting our slow-paced arrival.
Then began the interdigitation of Jewish and military elements of the ceremony. The rabbi was an old friend of mine, dating to overlapping high school and college careers and overlapping time in Israel in the early 1970s: Gerald Serotta, longtime Hillel rabbi at George Washington University, more recently a congregational rabbi and peace and human rights activist. I have long admired him, and was delighted he was able and willing to assist with Dad's funeral. Gerry introduced the service, explained the unusual sequence of events, and read a favorite passage from Ecclesiastes. Then the military: a firing party, a poignant buglar's taps (bringing my brother, among others, to tears), the ceremonial folding of the flag and its presentation to my mother, "with the thanks of a grateful nation" for my father's service. Quite an emotional moment to live through, however often one has read about it or seen it depicted in the movies. And the note from "the Arlington lady" on behalf of the Army. The military detail marched off, to ready for the next of the 29 burials scheduled for that day at Arlington, leaving us to conclude with the Jewish part of the service.
A Jewish burial at Arlington National Cemetery is a distinctive and memorable experience, a blending of disparate cultures and customs, of different modes of honoring and remembering.
The day beckoned bright and warm, with a beautiful, expansive blue sky and the distinctive view of Washington's monumental skyline visible in the distance. We are told the Superintendent of Arlington picked a special spot for Dad, in an established section of the vast military cemetery, amidst other highly decorated veterans of World War II, not so far from the Administration Building where we gathered to complete the initial paperwork. They had his date of death wrong, and were able to correct that on the official record and design for his gravestone marker. They had his rank and medals right, and knew that his would bear a Star (or Shield) of David, rather than the ubiquitous crosses one sees here. Dad wanted his fellow citizens and all others to know that Jews fought and fight for their country, most particularly in the War against Hitler and Nazism.
We were helped through the formalities by a retired Sergeant-Major, an African American man of military bearing and a helpful and compassionate disposition. He first checked the readiness of the gravesite, then returned to lead our convoy to it. No horse-drawn caisson--that is reserved for more senior ranks, and requires a very long wait in any case. With war casualties from Iraq and Afghanistan, and the passing of the Greatest Generation, that can be three months nowadays. How do families cope with that?
So, we made our way by car behind the hearse to the point of roadway nearest the open plot, then made our way across the unsteady ground. The flag-draped casket was borne by military pallbearers, who moved with well-practiced, elegant precision. My brother and I, with some help from the sergeant-major, helped our mother with the difficult and emotional trek. The pallbearers stood to attention, holding the flag taut above the casket, awaiting our slow-paced arrival.
Then began the interdigitation of Jewish and military elements of the ceremony. The rabbi was an old friend of mine, dating to overlapping high school and college careers and overlapping time in Israel in the early 1970s: Gerald Serotta, longtime Hillel rabbi at George Washington University, more recently a congregational rabbi and peace and human rights activist. I have long admired him, and was delighted he was able and willing to assist with Dad's funeral. Gerry introduced the service, explained the unusual sequence of events, and read a favorite passage from Ecclesiastes. Then the military: a firing party, a poignant buglar's taps (bringing my brother, among others, to tears), the ceremonial folding of the flag and its presentation to my mother, "with the thanks of a grateful nation" for my father's service. Quite an emotional moment to live through, however often one has read about it or seen it depicted in the movies. And the note from "the Arlington lady" on behalf of the Army. The military detail marched off, to ready for the next of the 29 burials scheduled for that day at Arlington, leaving us to conclude with the Jewish part of the service.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Goodbye, Dad
Weisbard, Ralph M.
Ralph M. Weisbard died on Friday, May 18, 2007, after an extended illness.
Ralph was born on Nov. 7, 1920, in New York City, the son of Irving and Sadie (Cohen) Weisbard. Growing up in a working-class family (his father was a milkman and grocery worker) during the Depression, he lived in numerous apartments in Brooklyn and Manhattan and in Elizabeth, New Jersey. (His uncle, the celebrated Cantor Yossele Rosenblatt, who had been scheduled to officiate at Ralph's bar mitzvah in 1933, died during a visit to Palestine some months earlier.)
Ralph worked as a civilian at the Brooklyn Navy Yard during the early years of World War II, where he met (and worked under the supervision of) Ruth O. He repeatedly attempted to enlist for military service, but was turned down on medical grounds. He then secretly sought the aid of a physician to treat him and help camouflage his condition, also hiding this surreptitious activity from his mother, who, had she known, probably would have killed him before he met the enemy. He then asked to be reclassified as draft-eligible and entered the army.
Following eventful training as a bespectacled, flat-footed New York Jew at Camp Shelby in Mississippi, he was assigned to the combat infantry ("so he could see the enemy") and sent, as he had desired, to the European theater to fight Hitler. He served heroically with the Seventh Armored Division at the Battle of the Bulge and moved with the lead units into and across Germany during the final year of the War. He was awarded the Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and other decorations for his valor.
During his time in uniform, he maintained an active correspondence with Ruth. A friendly relationship blossomed into a romance, and they married on his return from the War.
Ralph completed a degree in accounting at NYU and soon thereafter moved with Ruth to Miami, where they began a family. Ralph joined the Miami accounting firm of Weber Thomson and Lefcourt (which subsequently merged into the national firm of Laventhol and Horwath), becoming a CPA and serving as partner until his retirement in the mid-1970s.
Ralph took great pleasure in being with people (including many relatives from the New York area who visited and sometimes retired to Miami Beach and surrounding communities). He enjoyed a variety of athletic activities, including league bowling, tennis, and especially golf. He participated in a number of veterans, Masonic and Jewish activities. He was also a lively story-teller, taking particular pride in recounting episodes of standing up to anti-Semitic provocations during his school years and army service, particularly during his army training in Mississippi. Ralph was proud to be a Jew and an American, and exemplified the promise of American life.
Ralph was a devoted husband and loving father and grandfather, who encouraged and supported the education of his children and grandchildren. He is survived by his wife of nearly 61 years, Ruth (O.); by three children, Alan (Phyllis) of Madison, Marshall (and Donna Rosenblum) of Santa Fe, N.M., and Cheryl Weisbard (Dr. Steven) Foung of Palo Alto, Calif.; by four grandchildren...and two step-grandchildren..., and by sisters, Yvette W. Fields and Helene W. Moldan. Ralph will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery on May 29, 2007. Shiva at the Weisbard home on Sunday, June 3, 2007.
Contributions in Ralph's memory may be made to the Holman Weisbard Fund for Adult Jewish Learning at Beth Israel Center in Madison, WI , to the UW Center for Patient Partnerships, to hospice, or to another charity of your choice.
Ralph M. Weisbard died on Friday, May 18, 2007, after an extended illness.
Ralph was born on Nov. 7, 1920, in New York City, the son of Irving and Sadie (Cohen) Weisbard. Growing up in a working-class family (his father was a milkman and grocery worker) during the Depression, he lived in numerous apartments in Brooklyn and Manhattan and in Elizabeth, New Jersey. (His uncle, the celebrated Cantor Yossele Rosenblatt, who had been scheduled to officiate at Ralph's bar mitzvah in 1933, died during a visit to Palestine some months earlier.)
Ralph worked as a civilian at the Brooklyn Navy Yard during the early years of World War II, where he met (and worked under the supervision of) Ruth O. He repeatedly attempted to enlist for military service, but was turned down on medical grounds. He then secretly sought the aid of a physician to treat him and help camouflage his condition, also hiding this surreptitious activity from his mother, who, had she known, probably would have killed him before he met the enemy. He then asked to be reclassified as draft-eligible and entered the army.
Following eventful training as a bespectacled, flat-footed New York Jew at Camp Shelby in Mississippi, he was assigned to the combat infantry ("so he could see the enemy") and sent, as he had desired, to the European theater to fight Hitler. He served heroically with the Seventh Armored Division at the Battle of the Bulge and moved with the lead units into and across Germany during the final year of the War. He was awarded the Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and other decorations for his valor.
During his time in uniform, he maintained an active correspondence with Ruth. A friendly relationship blossomed into a romance, and they married on his return from the War.
Ralph completed a degree in accounting at NYU and soon thereafter moved with Ruth to Miami, where they began a family. Ralph joined the Miami accounting firm of Weber Thomson and Lefcourt (which subsequently merged into the national firm of Laventhol and Horwath), becoming a CPA and serving as partner until his retirement in the mid-1970s.
Ralph took great pleasure in being with people (including many relatives from the New York area who visited and sometimes retired to Miami Beach and surrounding communities). He enjoyed a variety of athletic activities, including league bowling, tennis, and especially golf. He participated in a number of veterans, Masonic and Jewish activities. He was also a lively story-teller, taking particular pride in recounting episodes of standing up to anti-Semitic provocations during his school years and army service, particularly during his army training in Mississippi. Ralph was proud to be a Jew and an American, and exemplified the promise of American life.
Ralph was a devoted husband and loving father and grandfather, who encouraged and supported the education of his children and grandchildren. He is survived by his wife of nearly 61 years, Ruth (O.); by three children, Alan (Phyllis) of Madison, Marshall (and Donna Rosenblum) of Santa Fe, N.M., and Cheryl Weisbard (Dr. Steven) Foung of Palo Alto, Calif.; by four grandchildren...and two step-grandchildren..., and by sisters, Yvette W. Fields and Helene W. Moldan. Ralph will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery on May 29, 2007. Shiva at the Weisbard home on Sunday, June 3, 2007.
Contributions in Ralph's memory may be made to the Holman Weisbard Fund for Adult Jewish Learning at Beth Israel Center in Madison, WI , to the UW Center for Patient Partnerships, to hospice, or to another charity of your choice.
Honoring Our Dead
Arlington National Cemetery
FUNERAL SCHEDULE FOR Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Please report to origin 1/2 hour prior to start time
NAME ORIGIN TIME
1 MARY L. HATHAWAY, 1STLT, USA POST CHAPEL 9:00
2 LLOYD N. HAUGLAND, GMC, USN ADMIN BUILDING 9:00
3 IRA ARTHUR JETT, CAPT, USA MEMORIAL GATE 9:00
4 HOWARD R. WALLS, SGT, USAF ADMIN BUILDING 9:00
5 STARKS HENRY ALLEN, MSG, USAF ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
6 MICHAEL L. STARNES, SR, USN ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
7 ALFRED SYBOT, PFC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
8 RALPH M. WEISBARD, TSGT, USA ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
9 JAYNE D. COERS ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
10 EDWARD P. FOLEY, CPL, USA ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
11 JOHN NORMAN MEDINGER, COL, USA POST CHAPEL 11:00
12 WILLIAM RUSSELL REDDICK, CAPT, USMC ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
13 HAROLD YOSKIN, LT, USN ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
14 JACK R. LEACH, SFC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
15 WILLIAM RICHARD MANNING, COL, USAF POST CHAPEL 1:00
16 RALPH ORLANDO MCKIE, CTACS, USN ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
17 CHARLES E. UNDERCOFFER, LTC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
18 ELLEN B. UNDERCOFFER ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
19 WILLIAM F. BAUER, ENCS(SS), USN ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
20 ALBERT J. GROUX, CPL, USA MEMORIAL GATE 2:00
21 JAMES EDWARD PETERSEN, MSG, USA ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
22 HARRY MEYERSON, MSGT, USA ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
23 ELLEN JANE MEYERSON ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
24 ROBERT JAMES BILLINGTON, COL, USAF ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
25 ERMA L. LAROCHE ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
26 FRANCIS G. MONAN, LTC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
27 CHRISTOPHER E. MURPHY, CPL, USA ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
28 MAX WILLIAM YANO, SGT, USA ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
29 CATHERINE M. YORAN POST CHAPEL 3:00 The ZIP CODE for Arlington
Directions:
National Cemetery is 22211. Use internet search engines for obtaining maps to the area.
From Richmond:
Drive north on Route 95. Near the Washington Beltway, Route 95 will merge with the Beltway-do not merge with the Beltway. Continue traveling north on Route 395 toward Washington, DC. Take Exit 8-B (Arlington National Cemetery exit). This exit is to Route 27. Stay in the left lane until reaching the circle (on the Virginia side of the Arlington Memorial Bridge). Proceed counter-clockwise around the circle to Memorial Drive.
On Memorial Drive there will be a traffic guide who will be directing all traffic into the pay parking facility. If you are here for a funeral, stay to the right on Memorial Drive and inform the traffic guide that you are here for a funeral (please provide the name of the decedent to the guide). You will then continue on Memorial Drive. At the end of the street, turn left into the cemetery (if you are going to a service at the Administration Building) or turn right into the cemetery and follow the white line (if you are going to the Old Post Chapel on Fort Myer for a chapel service).
From Frederick, Maryland:
Travel south on Route 270. Near the Washington Beltway (Route 495) the lanes will split. Stay to the right and follow the signs to Virginia. You will merge with the Beltway and continue traveling south on the Beltway. Upon crossing the American Legion Bridge (leaving Maryland and entering Virginia), get into the right lane and take the first exit (George Washington Parkway). Travel on the GW Parkway until you start going under bridges. Take the Arlington Cemetery-Memorial Bridge exit. Merge left with the traffic exiting from Route 110. At the stop sign make a left onto Memorial Drive. See the directions above for Memorial Drive.
From Baltimore:
Drive south on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway or on Route 95 to the Washington Beltway. You can travel on Route 95 (eastern side of the Beltway) or travel on Route 495 (to the western side of the Beltway). If you follow Route 95, stay on the Beltway to Route 395 north (see directions from Richmond). If you follow Route 495 stay on the Beltway to the George Washington Parkway (see directions from Frederick).
From Western Virginia:
Follow 66East to Exit 73 “Lee Highway.” Follow Lee Highway to Fort Myer Drive. Make a right on to Fort Myer Drive. Follow Fort Myer Drive, immediately after passing over a bridge make a left on route 50. Iwo Jima Memorial will be on your right side. Follow route 50 and stay in your right lane. Exit on to George Washington Parkway. Stay in your right lane. Follow Parkway until you see a sign for Arlington National Cemetery. Take exit to Arlington National Cemetery. Stay to your left. After stop sign make a left turn. Cemetery is straight ahead.
FUNERAL SCHEDULE FOR Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Please report to origin 1/2 hour prior to start time
NAME ORIGIN TIME
1 MARY L. HATHAWAY, 1STLT, USA POST CHAPEL 9:00
2 LLOYD N. HAUGLAND, GMC, USN ADMIN BUILDING 9:00
3 IRA ARTHUR JETT, CAPT, USA MEMORIAL GATE 9:00
4 HOWARD R. WALLS, SGT, USAF ADMIN BUILDING 9:00
5 STARKS HENRY ALLEN, MSG, USAF ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
6 MICHAEL L. STARNES, SR, USN ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
7 ALFRED SYBOT, PFC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
8 RALPH M. WEISBARD, TSGT, USA ADMIN BUILDING 10:00
9 JAYNE D. COERS ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
10 EDWARD P. FOLEY, CPL, USA ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
11 JOHN NORMAN MEDINGER, COL, USA POST CHAPEL 11:00
12 WILLIAM RUSSELL REDDICK, CAPT, USMC ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
13 HAROLD YOSKIN, LT, USN ADMIN BUILDING 11:00
14 JACK R. LEACH, SFC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
15 WILLIAM RICHARD MANNING, COL, USAF POST CHAPEL 1:00
16 RALPH ORLANDO MCKIE, CTACS, USN ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
17 CHARLES E. UNDERCOFFER, LTC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
18 ELLEN B. UNDERCOFFER ADMIN BUILDING 1:00
19 WILLIAM F. BAUER, ENCS(SS), USN ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
20 ALBERT J. GROUX, CPL, USA MEMORIAL GATE 2:00
21 JAMES EDWARD PETERSEN, MSG, USA ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
22 HARRY MEYERSON, MSGT, USA ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
23 ELLEN JANE MEYERSON ADMIN BUILDING 2:00
24 ROBERT JAMES BILLINGTON, COL, USAF ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
25 ERMA L. LAROCHE ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
26 FRANCIS G. MONAN, LTC, USA ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
27 CHRISTOPHER E. MURPHY, CPL, USA ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
28 MAX WILLIAM YANO, SGT, USA ADMIN BUILDING 3:00
29 CATHERINE M. YORAN POST CHAPEL 3:00 The ZIP CODE for Arlington
Directions:
National Cemetery is 22211. Use internet search engines for obtaining maps to the area.
From Richmond:
Drive north on Route 95. Near the Washington Beltway, Route 95 will merge with the Beltway-do not merge with the Beltway. Continue traveling north on Route 395 toward Washington, DC. Take Exit 8-B (Arlington National Cemetery exit). This exit is to Route 27. Stay in the left lane until reaching the circle (on the Virginia side of the Arlington Memorial Bridge). Proceed counter-clockwise around the circle to Memorial Drive.
On Memorial Drive there will be a traffic guide who will be directing all traffic into the pay parking facility. If you are here for a funeral, stay to the right on Memorial Drive and inform the traffic guide that you are here for a funeral (please provide the name of the decedent to the guide). You will then continue on Memorial Drive. At the end of the street, turn left into the cemetery (if you are going to a service at the Administration Building) or turn right into the cemetery and follow the white line (if you are going to the Old Post Chapel on Fort Myer for a chapel service).
From Frederick, Maryland:
Travel south on Route 270. Near the Washington Beltway (Route 495) the lanes will split. Stay to the right and follow the signs to Virginia. You will merge with the Beltway and continue traveling south on the Beltway. Upon crossing the American Legion Bridge (leaving Maryland and entering Virginia), get into the right lane and take the first exit (George Washington Parkway). Travel on the GW Parkway until you start going under bridges. Take the Arlington Cemetery-Memorial Bridge exit. Merge left with the traffic exiting from Route 110. At the stop sign make a left onto Memorial Drive. See the directions above for Memorial Drive.
From Baltimore:
Drive south on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway or on Route 95 to the Washington Beltway. You can travel on Route 95 (eastern side of the Beltway) or travel on Route 495 (to the western side of the Beltway). If you follow Route 95, stay on the Beltway to Route 395 north (see directions from Richmond). If you follow Route 495 stay on the Beltway to the George Washington Parkway (see directions from Frederick).
From Western Virginia:
Follow 66East to Exit 73 “Lee Highway.” Follow Lee Highway to Fort Myer Drive. Make a right on to Fort Myer Drive. Follow Fort Myer Drive, immediately after passing over a bridge make a left on route 50. Iwo Jima Memorial will be on your right side. Follow route 50 and stay in your right lane. Exit on to George Washington Parkway. Stay in your right lane. Follow Parkway until you see a sign for Arlington National Cemetery. Take exit to Arlington National Cemetery. Stay to your left. After stop sign make a left turn. Cemetery is straight ahead.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Baruch dayan emet
My father passed away peacefully earlier this (Friday) evening (in New Mexico).
Burial will be at Arlington National Cemetery on Tuesday, May 29.
Shiva will begin in Washington, DC and continue in Madison, probably on June 1.
Details later.
Burial will be at Arlington National Cemetery on Tuesday, May 29.
Shiva will begin in Washington, DC and continue in Madison, probably on June 1.
Details later.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
My father is leaving us, day by day
As I've written previously, my father is dying, and my mind is elsewhere, and very preoccupied and fragmented. I'm still very fatigued from my most recent trip to visit him--I really can't handle the elevation in New Mexico, not to speak of the emotion and stress of what is happening. So it goes.
Posting clips from published sources (with minimal personal commentary) keeps me busy and somewhat diverted, and I'm not really up to doing much better with the blog right now. (As if it matters).
I just drafted an obituary notice, with date of death to be filled in later, for my family to review, and am working on some of the funeral arrangements. He will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, as is his due. Business there is good (that is, very busy), what with Iraq and the passing of the "greatest generation," of which Dad is very much a part. What strange, painful tasks. How we cope with grief, including its anticipatory forms, through these quotidian activities. I've written about my Dad elsewhere, on this blog and elsewhere, but this feels very different in its finality.
And connecting this once proud, powerful man to what he has become in his final days, so frail, vulnerable, confused, often in his own world. Dementia reaches far beyond the individual patient.
We have taken turns with visits. (My brother, who lives relatively nearby, has been the stalwart; today is his birthday, a very sad one. My sister spent several nights sleeping in his room, to protect him from falls if he tried to get up.) Although Dad doesn't remember very much anymore, mostly he knows who we are, and usually he recognizes our voices. For that we are grateful. And for the opportunity to hold his hand, to stroke his feet and head, to tell him we love him. Such an inversion of forms, of parent and child.
A hospice team is working to keep him comfortable, but he is suffering, and watching that is a torture--for us, and for him. We talk daily. He has, in his way, asked us for permission to let go. We have given it, with varying degrees of tears, then and later. It will come soon. I think he knows, and is ready. The nurses are surprised he has held on this long.
How will the experience of this prolonged death vigil change me when I next teach bioethics? I'll be watching myself to find out. Maybe I'll learn something new about the elusive/illusory distance between supposedly objective intellectual analysis and the prism of subjective experience through which each of us perceives the world...Whether I can successfully communicate that to my twenty-something students remains to be seen.
Posting clips from published sources (with minimal personal commentary) keeps me busy and somewhat diverted, and I'm not really up to doing much better with the blog right now. (As if it matters).
I just drafted an obituary notice, with date of death to be filled in later, for my family to review, and am working on some of the funeral arrangements. He will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, as is his due. Business there is good (that is, very busy), what with Iraq and the passing of the "greatest generation," of which Dad is very much a part. What strange, painful tasks. How we cope with grief, including its anticipatory forms, through these quotidian activities. I've written about my Dad elsewhere, on this blog and elsewhere, but this feels very different in its finality.
And connecting this once proud, powerful man to what he has become in his final days, so frail, vulnerable, confused, often in his own world. Dementia reaches far beyond the individual patient.
We have taken turns with visits. (My brother, who lives relatively nearby, has been the stalwart; today is his birthday, a very sad one. My sister spent several nights sleeping in his room, to protect him from falls if he tried to get up.) Although Dad doesn't remember very much anymore, mostly he knows who we are, and usually he recognizes our voices. For that we are grateful. And for the opportunity to hold his hand, to stroke his feet and head, to tell him we love him. Such an inversion of forms, of parent and child.
A hospice team is working to keep him comfortable, but he is suffering, and watching that is a torture--for us, and for him. We talk daily. He has, in his way, asked us for permission to let go. We have given it, with varying degrees of tears, then and later. It will come soon. I think he knows, and is ready. The nurses are surprised he has held on this long.
How will the experience of this prolonged death vigil change me when I next teach bioethics? I'll be watching myself to find out. Maybe I'll learn something new about the elusive/illusory distance between supposedly objective intellectual analysis and the prism of subjective experience through which each of us perceives the world...Whether I can successfully communicate that to my twenty-something students remains to be seen.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Dear friends,
This is my 250th blog post, in just about 6 weeks since the Ides of March. It's been an eventful period in the country, among my colleagues, and in the life of my family.
My father, who is 86 and has been suffering from Alzheimer's Disease for some time, appears to be in rapid decline and very near death. I think he, and we, have come to accept that reality, and are coming to be at peace with it.
I'll be going to New Mexico for what will probably be my "goodbye visit" with him. We anticipate that he will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, in recognition of his heroic service in WWII. He served as a combat infantry sergeant in the Battle of the Bulge and the sweep into Germany through the end of the European war, winning a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, and other commendations, as well as several battlefield promotions. After being initially rejected for service on medical grounds, he secretly sought medical attention and camouflaged his medical condition in order to serve. I'm not sure his mother, my grandmother Sadie, ever forgave him for that, but he was determined to take part in the fight against the Nazis.
Quite a difference from my generation (and myself) during the Vietnam War, or my children's generation during Iraq.
Dad would have loved to be a physician, or perhaps a teacher. His financial circumstances, and the needs of his family, did not allow for an extended period of expensive schooling. He got a degree in accounting at NYU after the war, then moved with my mother to Florida (where I and my two younger siblings were born), becoming a CPA and a partner in a local accounting firm in Miami. That firm eventually merged into a national firm. I don't think he liked the work very much, or found any great satisfaction in it, but it provided a living for his family, and allowed him to feel he was meeting his responsibilities. He had resources of strength, caring, and gentleness that he could not express very fully as an accountant. He was a highly responsible and dutiful man, probably to a fault. I've had to cope with that complicated inheritance in my own life, as have my siblings (and my children).
He has been a devoted husband (to my mother Ruth) and father to my brother Marshall (who has borne the primary burden of Dad's care in recent years), sister Cheryl, and myself (and wonderful, loving father-in-law to Phyllis). He enjoyed life, sports (particularly golf) and being with people. It is very sad that his final years, compromised by illness, have been so isolated, limited and lacking in interest to him.
We had some good times and some bad times over the years. He was the eldest son in his family (as am I), and had a difficult, and not very rewarding, relationship with his own father. He wanted a better relationship with his children. That was sometimes difficult to achieve in practice, probably particularly with me. He had a considerable temper and could be stubborn (as can I), and that did not always bring out the best in me. Visits could be tempestuous, particularly as leave-taking neared, and that made visits less frequent than might otherwise have been, even before our respective health problems made travel difficult. I don't think he understood my academic or intellectual aspirations all that well, or the depth of my Jewish religious commitments, or my perfectionism. He had a hard time reading my academic writing, or appreciating the issues that excited and stimulated me, and that could be hard for me at times. He was forged by depression and war, and his focus was on more basic needs and responsibilities.
He has been a good and generous and loving father, and we have come to some peace in our relationship. I have found comfort in helping to care for him on those occasions that we have been together in recent years.
During my college years and for a while after, the family lived in a house with a small dock overlooking Indian Creek in Miami Beach, a few blocks from the ocean. It was a peaceful and beautiful spot, coincidentally within eyeshot of the hospital where I was born. Dad and I would go out on the dock during the evening and talk, sometimes for hours, enjoying the gentle breeze and soothing sounds of the water lapping against the dock. Those were our happiest times together, and I'll try to hold that image as I confront his shriveled, dying body, and contemplate a future without him.
I love him and will miss him terribly.
The blog will be down during my impending travels.
My father, who is 86 and has been suffering from Alzheimer's Disease for some time, appears to be in rapid decline and very near death. I think he, and we, have come to accept that reality, and are coming to be at peace with it.
I'll be going to New Mexico for what will probably be my "goodbye visit" with him. We anticipate that he will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, in recognition of his heroic service in WWII. He served as a combat infantry sergeant in the Battle of the Bulge and the sweep into Germany through the end of the European war, winning a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, and other commendations, as well as several battlefield promotions. After being initially rejected for service on medical grounds, he secretly sought medical attention and camouflaged his medical condition in order to serve. I'm not sure his mother, my grandmother Sadie, ever forgave him for that, but he was determined to take part in the fight against the Nazis.
Quite a difference from my generation (and myself) during the Vietnam War, or my children's generation during Iraq.
Dad would have loved to be a physician, or perhaps a teacher. His financial circumstances, and the needs of his family, did not allow for an extended period of expensive schooling. He got a degree in accounting at NYU after the war, then moved with my mother to Florida (where I and my two younger siblings were born), becoming a CPA and a partner in a local accounting firm in Miami. That firm eventually merged into a national firm. I don't think he liked the work very much, or found any great satisfaction in it, but it provided a living for his family, and allowed him to feel he was meeting his responsibilities. He had resources of strength, caring, and gentleness that he could not express very fully as an accountant. He was a highly responsible and dutiful man, probably to a fault. I've had to cope with that complicated inheritance in my own life, as have my siblings (and my children).
He has been a devoted husband (to my mother Ruth) and father to my brother Marshall (who has borne the primary burden of Dad's care in recent years), sister Cheryl, and myself (and wonderful, loving father-in-law to Phyllis). He enjoyed life, sports (particularly golf) and being with people. It is very sad that his final years, compromised by illness, have been so isolated, limited and lacking in interest to him.
We had some good times and some bad times over the years. He was the eldest son in his family (as am I), and had a difficult, and not very rewarding, relationship with his own father. He wanted a better relationship with his children. That was sometimes difficult to achieve in practice, probably particularly with me. He had a considerable temper and could be stubborn (as can I), and that did not always bring out the best in me. Visits could be tempestuous, particularly as leave-taking neared, and that made visits less frequent than might otherwise have been, even before our respective health problems made travel difficult. I don't think he understood my academic or intellectual aspirations all that well, or the depth of my Jewish religious commitments, or my perfectionism. He had a hard time reading my academic writing, or appreciating the issues that excited and stimulated me, and that could be hard for me at times. He was forged by depression and war, and his focus was on more basic needs and responsibilities.
He has been a good and generous and loving father, and we have come to some peace in our relationship. I have found comfort in helping to care for him on those occasions that we have been together in recent years.
During my college years and for a while after, the family lived in a house with a small dock overlooking Indian Creek in Miami Beach, a few blocks from the ocean. It was a peaceful and beautiful spot, coincidentally within eyeshot of the hospital where I was born. Dad and I would go out on the dock during the evening and talk, sometimes for hours, enjoying the gentle breeze and soothing sounds of the water lapping against the dock. Those were our happiest times together, and I'll try to hold that image as I confront his shriveled, dying body, and contemplate a future without him.
I love him and will miss him terribly.
The blog will be down during my impending travels.
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