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Ed1ER's NoTe
What I Learned
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3/5
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64 Detroit Jewish News
MANE
Ili Hard 'Tb Stop A 7hine.
N. OAKLAND
682-9090
GROSSE POINTE
882-4870
henever my mother
calls, my children run to
the phone. Sometimes
they just nod to her questions (even
as I am prompting, "You have to
say yes!"), and sometimes they
chatter away.
As only a grandmother can be,
my mother is always interested in
their stories of making a
planter for lima beans or
building a snowman with a
parsnip nose.
One time my 7-year-old
daughter, Adina, said her
grandma sounded tired, and
I explained that she was just
concerned. A friend of hers,
Patricia, was very sick and had
been moved into a nursing home.
The next day, Adina returned from a
sale at the Akiva library; she'd had
S 2 to spend and bought a book-
mark for her grandmother, "and for
Grandma's friend who is sick." Both
had a picture of a horse that seemed
to be dancing in the clouds.
When we visited Kansas City
recently, my mother asked if we
would go with her to see Patricia. I
admit I didn't exactly jump at the
idea. I was hesitant because my
children have never been to a nurs-
ing home, and I was worried they
might find the sight of so many frail
elderly disturbing.
We were a large group that day
with my mother, my three children
and I, and my sister and her young
son and baby. But there was more
to notice than just that: Both my 5-
year-old son, Yitzhak, and my
nephew, Elan, wear kippot. We
were quite a standout in this
Catholic nursing home.
Still, for all the fanfare we might
have been royalty. A group of resi-
dents we had never met and likely
will never again see made a fuss
over the children. "Darling!" and
"adorable!" they said. They offered
their hands, trembling and frail. One
woman admired Elan's strong grip;
another, upon hearing my boy's
name, said, "Yitzhak Applebaum. A
good name."
In Patricia's room, my daughter
was charmed to see her bookmark
in the guest book the family had at
the front. She touched it
gently with her small fingers.
I didn't know Patricia well,
though I know my mother
loves her. She was a great
drama teacher under whom
my mother studied.
Entering Patricia's room,
my mother leaned close and
whispered hello to her. We all
crowded alongside the bed where
Patricia lay, quiet and fragile,
though still with bright eyes. My
mother introduced each of us. We
made conversation for a moment .or
iwo, then it was time to go. The
aide explained: "She's very tired
today."
As we left, Yitz waved goodbye
to Patricia and called in his tiny
voice, "See you soon!"
The other day Adina asked how
Patricia was doing. I said she was still
sick. Adina said: "She is beautiful."
Sometimes I think I know so much
about my children: that they could
eat popcorn for every meal, that
they would rather do almost any-
thing than go to bed on time, that
they love to draw.
But then I see them run when I fear
they can barely walk, see them
speak poetry when I imagine they
struggle to make a bare sentence.
And I am astounded, breathless, and
I realize I know nothing at all. PI
Elizabeth Applebaum
AppleTree Editor
c/