Five times in the last month we thought she had closed her eyes for good. We sat with her and talked to her and tried to accept that her illness had finally won. Five times we found her the next day, sitting up in bed – once reading a magazine — like nothing had happened…. And asking, ‘pourquoi vous ne venez jamais me voir??’ or ‘Did you bring me a cappuccino?’
Classic Ruth.
My mother was a fighter. She fought with the nurses. She fought with family and friends. She fought with her shadow. And she fought her illness like she fought her whole life – with everything she had. It was hard to watch my mother fade away. It would be hard to watch anyone who up until a few months ago, lived on her own, traveled to places like China, Turkey, South Africa, who would walk the dogs with Barbara for hours at a time, who trekked in the treetops, who survived the death camps… and who insisted on driving her car even at age 87… it would be hard to watch anyone with that vitality fade away. It was especially hard for me to watch my mother, who was for me a beacon of independence, strength, individuality and above all had a willingness to always try something new – how many 87 year olds do you know with their own blog? And Facebook!
It was even harder for her, because her mind stayed sharp right up until the last few days, and she was all too aware of what she was no longer able to do on her own. That was hard for all of us to watch.
My mother’s wishes were very clear. She had told me several times that I had her full permission to ‘pull the plug’. That’s the decision she took when her own mother suffered a stroke 40 years ago in Montreal. That’s what she would have wanted me to do for her.
I wish there had been a plug to pull!!! She was soldiering on by sheer will, because that’s what she’d always done. It was as if some part of her brain took over and said, ‘you’ll have to kill me first’. Oh yes, did I mention she was stubborn sometimes?
But a friend once told me that he never realized how important the dying process was until his father passed away. Over the past 3 months, I have come to understand what he meant.
Over the past 3 months, we have all sat with Ruth at different times. She never went a day without visitors – usually we’d overlap and several of us would try to cram into her room at Baycrest. And we’d often toast the occasion with a shot of whiskey. The nurses knew exactly why I kept asking for more of those little plastic cups they use to give patients their pills — made for a perfect shot glass. A different sort of medication I guess.
As recently as 2 weeks ago, she took out her camera and started taking pictures of her friends. She wanted to keep the memories. She loved having visitors – and she had a lot of them. But when we’d ask her if she had any visitors, she’d say, ‘non’.
Classic Ruth.
Barbara, Tara and I barely missed a day – and then only when we knew for certain that she has other visitors. Our other kids visited every chance they got. We had Skype visits and brought everyone together in the same virtual room from different parts of the country. My mother traveled vicariously through the pictures and stories of Courtney’s adventures in the mountains out west. She would ask Dustin about his studies. And the Boston Nerays flew in many times for marathon weekend visits.
When I was with her alone, I took advantage of the opportunity to talk to her about things we never talked about. And we connected at a deeper level than we had ever experienced before, not only as mother to son but as soul to soul. Those who know both Ruth and me know that there’s a lot of her in me. Sometimes more than I would admit — to anyone.
In our unhurried conversations when there was nothing else to do but sit and talk, it was as if I was picking apart each simple piece of a complex whole. Sometimes, I felt like I was understanding myself.
But even more importantly, it felt as though she felt understood – quite possibly for the first time in her life. After all, isn’t that what all of us want – simply to be understood.
So as difficult a time it has been and is now for me and the family, it was also an incredibly, richly rewarding experience, and I feel truly fortunate. The last three months were truly a gift.
One thing my mother was not good at was being a wallflower. When Ruth walked into the room, everyone knew it. She didn’t have a big ego – she was as insecure, sensitive and internally conflicted as the rest of us… she simply had this big personality… huge energy – and she wasn’t afraid to let it out. No, she had this need to let it out – to be completely who she was all the time, for good or worse.
We talked about that.
She knew that some people felt intimidated by her. Being in Ruth’s presence was not for the faint of heart. She knew that, and she accepted that about herself. She was a model for me.
Another time, she told me that even at age 87 she still felt totally amazed that she had survived Auschwitz. She had escaped death so often — and that’s why she took risks. It was the only way she could feel truly alive.
Sometimes it was physical risk like crossing a busy street without waiting for the cars to stop. Other times it was an emotional risk, which she took by getting involved in the human potential movement and personal transformation. Sometimes it was simply the risk of embarrassment – like when she would sing like a happy, crazy woman, downtown, in the middle of the day, with her 10 year-old son beside her. That was embarrassing – for me.
I remember taking a few steps away from her – but the lesson wasn’t lost on me.
It was like she was always daring and challenging herself. So that’s where I got it. And I couldn’t have asked for a better role model for my kids.
When we sent the news out about her passing, many, many people sent comments and memories by email. They all say something different, and yet they all say the same thing.
Ruth had great joie de vivre. She took such pleasure in the simple things – whether it was going to the beach or eating a lobster. — Lea in New York
le champagne n’aura plus jamais le meme gout. — Michel in Paris
I can still hear her voice right now, in my head, “Alors, cheri, qu’est-ce qu’on fait..?” Ruth was a wonderful and courageous and admirable person, and who, I am honored to say, was my friend. — Gilbert in Toronto
Pour nous tous elle restera une figure emblématique de femme courageuse, pleine de vie et de gaité “envers et malgré tout”. — Jean et Tanya in Paris
We loved Ruth. She inspired me with her courage, and her honesty to be herself. — Mike in Vancouver
You will carry your own memory and image of Ruth in your mind’s eye. For me, the image of her that I love so much – the image that reflects everything she was for me – was from a few years ago, on her 83 birthday. We were all in my backyard with my kids. It was a beautiful day. And suddenly, Ruth starts dancing.
There was no music. She just felt like it.
Classic Ruth.
The post Eulogy by Ruth’s son, Michel Neray appeared first on To Auschwitz and Back.