About My Mom

Leah could not give up on many axioms, one of which was her firm belief that if you really want something and try hard enough, anything is achievable. Her life, until recently, affirmed this thesis. Leah made a career as the senior designer in a tailor shop in the fashion district. Leah made it so she and her husband could afford to buy a grand house in Long Island with a pool. She made sure her daughter got into and graduated from Pace University, followed by a successful marriage. The list of Leah’s achievements is long and she assumed that they would only keep growing in the future.

However, our mother’s two horrible illnesses suddenly underlined this list in bold. Leah could not accept the fact that not everything was in her power, that there are things which she couldn’t control. Mother will soon pass away.

Leah wanted to organize the impending funeral and do whatever little she still could for Mom. She wanted to choose, if you can say this, a reputable funeral home and cemetery plot. These things were important to her. She thought about which dress we would bury our mother in.

Dress! Of course, in that same green-blue dress, stitched with a golden thread, which mother wore only during the special occasions. We definitely had to paint her lips with bright red lipstick, since it was her favorite color. It complimented her light skin and black hair well, her hair which retained its volume until her last days, and only got gray a few weeks before she passed.

Leah finally had a serious discussion with Dad, and he eventually agreed that since the time to discuss funeral plans had come, we should also buy a plot for him, next to Mom, and pay in advance for all the services for both of them. The total cost for everything would amount to approximately twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars.

But I had no money. I came to Dad and, shamefacedly bowing my head, confessed everything to him: “You understand, dad, sometimes it seems to me that the novel is already complete, that it’s a success. I find yet another editor, pay him for his edits, but soon it becomes apparent to me that it’s full of flaws and I start to rewrite it again. Who could have guessed that the services of these damned editors cost so much?! Don’t forget I’m unemployed . . .”