Mom

by Dave Isay

  José: Well, it was sad when I heard her sing and say how much she loved me, but it also felt good because I was hearing her voice, and I had never heard a recording of my mother’s voice before. I think it was 1960, and we didn’t have access to technology the way we do now—we didn’t even have a camera, and we had just gotten a refrigerator. But to be able to listen to her voice—to me, my mother became like a movie star. So I was happy, although I did feel a yearning to be with her.

  I think the saddest moment was when I saw her get on the airplane for New York City in 1957. That was sad. I remember that my uncle said, “You’re going to cry when your mom leaves.” And I said, “I’m not going to cry,” because I thought he was going to make fun of me. I kept my tears inside—but I think I’ve been crying ever since.

  For the longest time I just kept wanting to come to New York to be with her. Not that I felt lonely—I was never lonely in Santo Domingo because I had so many cousins and there was so many things to do. But I used to look at those postcards my mother would send, and I always imagined that I would either live on Fifth Avenue or in the Empire State Building—that I would live in those postcards. But when I came to New York, I was a little bit disappointed because we lived in West Harlem, and instead of living in the Empire State Building, we lived in the basement of a tenement building. But the fact that I was in New York compensated for all that—I finally was living with my mother.

  One of the things that kept me going as a child is that my mother told me that I was the cutest thing in Villa Juana [a neighborhood in Santo Domingo]. She would say to me, “Tú eres lo más lindo de Villa Juana,” and she would give me a big kiss. I felt so good. As I grew older, I met this girl named Edwina. She said to me, “José, you’re a big-headed, ugly fool!” And I said, “Edwina, you’re crazy! My mother told me I was the cutest thing in Villa Juana! My mother says I’m handsome, and that’s what’s important to me!” She couldn’t understand what I was talking about, but I knew. So my mother built the self-confidence in me that no one could take away.

  My mother worked hard, and she told me when we first came to New York, “You know, I brought you to United States so that you could have the opportunity that I never had. I want you to take advantage of everything this country has to offer.” I was in seventh grade, and I remember thinking about that and seeing her go to work, come home, cook dinner, and then leave to go to night classes to study English. And I never heard her complain: “Oh, I’m so tired! This work is so terrible!” I just saw her do what she had to do and ask me, “Have you done your homework?” So she has been, without a doubt, the most influential person in my life—in terms of work ethic, in terms of morals, in terms of just being grateful for what you have.

  Grace: Based on that, are there any words of wisdom you’d like to pass along to me?

  José: Well, to you I would say something that my mother told me once. She called me Chichi. She said, “Chichi, I see what other kids are doing. I don’t ever want you to do anything in your life that would bring dishonor to who you are or to me.” She said, “You know what I would like you to be, Chichi? Just like you’ve been so far: Always make me proud of you. I don’t want you to be the smartest kid, I don’t want you to be the best—just do the best you can, and I will always be proud of you, and I will always love you.” I’ll never forget that.

  Recorded in New York, New York, on July 12, 2009.

  VALERIE JO EGZIBHER, 62 speaks with her husband, HAGOS EGZIBHER, 59 Hagos’s mother, Zodie, moved from Ethiopia to the United States in 1989.

  Valerie Jo Egzibher: I learned many, many lessons from your mom. When she came over from Addis Ababa, we got to share things with her that she hadn’t seen or ever been exposed to before. I’ll never forget when we took her to see the singing Christmas tree—the tears were streaming down her face. I didn’t know what the tears were about until after we’d left, and on the way home she said, “I didn’t know God would let me live to see anything this beautiful!” That will live in my memory forever. She was just so touched by beauty of any kind.

  Hagos Egzibher: I loved when your mom came to visit, too. Those were the happiest times for me, because your mom didn’t understand a word my mom said, but they got along so well. They both loved cooking and they both liked children, so they just communicated by hand. They got everything they wanted done. They’d be laughing when we’d come home from work, and I’d say, “Did you have a good day?” With that beautiful smile your mother would say, “Oh, we just had a wonderful day today.” I loved that, I loved that. I miss that.

  Valerie Jo: I loved that, too. My mom would speak in English, and your mom would speak in Amharic, and then they’d laugh and throw their hands up. During that first visit, I said, “Mom, I don’t understand how this is working.” She said, “Oh, honey, I know Zodie’s telling me about when Hagos was a boy, and I’m telling her about all the funny things you did. We know we’re talking about how much we love our kids.” They came to love each other.

  Sometimes it was frustrating for me, because I would want so much to explain to your mom why something had happened or to ask more about her life. As she stayed with us, she did develop English to a certain extent so we could have superficial conversations, but we couldn’t get into very many details.

  We did fine in the kitchen, though. That’s where I learned the most Amharic, because she taught me how to cook wonderful food, and as we would cook she would identify the names of the different vegetables and so forth. She had a wonderful way of communicating with me. Like one time her neck hurt and I gave her a neck massage, and she picked up my hand and kissed it. Your mom brought tears to my eyes a lot, because she was so tender and so loving, and that really came through every day of her life.

  I think part of what’s made our life together so beautiful is the influence that our moms have on us.

  Hagos: I feel the same way. We’ve been married for over twenty-two years. Mixing our two cultures together, we had our problems, but I think our moms helped us to get over that. I know your mom loved me because she always supported me when we had any issues, and my mom was always on your side. I remember if we argued about anything, my mom used to tell you, “He’s a stone head,” meaning that I’m a hardheaded person, and then she’d just laugh.

  Valerie Jo: I know—she would take my side. And if you and I would get upset and I’d say anything to my mom about it on the phone, she would always say, “He’s a wise man, honey. You need to listen to what he has to say.” She always would say that, and she was right. That was really a smart thing for them to do, wasn’t it? I mean, when I think about it, if you want to help keep things in balance, it’s better to take the side of the person that is not your blood relative.

  But your mom loved everybody—she was so nonjudgmental about people. I mean, whoever walked through the door, your mom was there to greet them, and she was so warm and loving with everybody, no matter what walk of life they came from. She was so gracious.

  Hagos: You know, my mom was born and lived all her life in Ethiopia, and she thought she was probably going to die there. She was born in Addis Ababa and buried in Charlotte, North Carolina. To me that seems just unreal.

  Recorded in Charlotte, North Carolina, on February 9, 2008.

  JODY HOUSTON, 57 interviews her daughter, BARBARA COOPER, 30

  Jody Houston: You were born prematurely. The doctor came into the recovery room, and he told me that your first twenty-four hours would be very touch and go. He didn’t know if you were going to make it. I couldn’t wait to get into the nursery to see you. You looked like a little bird that had fallen out of the nest.You were just so fragile and looked like you needed to grow your feathers.

  When you were about three months old, they sent us to Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston. We were told that you had progeria and that it was a very grave situation, and to take you home and enjoy you—and that’s what I’ve done for thirty years. They said that they would love to see you when you were a year old.
When you were eighteen months old, I decided I’d better call them. They couldn’t believe that you were still alive.

  Barbara Cooper: Progeria is a genetic, premature-aging disorder. It’s a rapid aging process: you skip puberty and everything else, and it’s a very short life expectancy. I presented at birth with all of the characteristics, which is extremely unusual. But I don’t fit all the categories—I’m tall and I don’t have heart problems—and so when I was eleven, they changed the diagnosis to an unknown progeroid syndrome. I love proving doctors wrong. It’s been a wild ride, but fun. I don’t ever remember being sad or fearful.

  Jody: You always woke up from your naps happy, and you always woke up in the morning happy. I would find myself just hoping that you’d wake up, because I knew that you were going to be happy and that we were going to have a good time.

  When you were about three years old, your older sister and her friends were outside skating, and you wanted a pair of skates more than anything in the world. So we went over to Toys “R” Us, and we got you a pair of clip-on, hot pink roller skates, and we went home and put them on you. You started for the door, and I said, “No, you have to skate in the house. I don’t want you to get hurt.” So you learned to roller skate on deep shag carpet.You looked like a little roller-derby queen—you know, moving those arms and moving those legs, and you were content with that for a little while. And then one day you walked up to me and you put your hands on your hips, and you said, “You cannot keep me in this house forever!” That just opened up my eyes: I knew that you needed to go out there and skin your knees. So I said, “Well, that’s fine. You just go out there and skate, but don’t come in the house bleeding.”

  It was a defining moment for me when I realized that I had to let you experience life. Can you remember any of those defining moments in your life?

  Barbara: Probably the most important was whenever I finally lost my vision. I miss the little things that people take for granted: just being able to glance and know what something is, like a Coke can or a gum wrapper, without having to feel for it. I’m extremely lucky that I was sighted for a long time, so I know what things look like. But I do miss rainbows and the reflections of clouds in the water and not being able to see the bobber when you go fishing.

  Jody: I love it when you go shopping with me and I try on clothes, and you tell me that it looks really great. I know that you really can’t see it, but it always makes me feel so good about myself. We talked the other day about how you remember your reflection in the mirror, and that you will always be young in your mind. I was so excited to hear that, because now I’ll be forever young in your eyes, too!

  Can you think of some of your happiest times?

  Barbara:Yes, and it has to do with you. Out of all of my surgeries, you have always been there when I woke up.You’re the first person I’ve seen, and I knew no matter what, when I went to sleep I never had to worry because you were always going to be there holding my hand and talking to me when I woke up.

  I’m very lucky to have you.You’re just the best mom in the world, and I could never repay you for that. You’ve always taught me that we can get through it—it may not be okay, but it gets better. And that’s one thing I think is definitely true: things may not be okay, but at least they’ll be better.

  Jody: I’ve always felt that when you inhale, I exhale. The closeness that we’ve had through all of this has been one of the most rewarding things in my life.

  You call me so many times, and you’ll say, “Just remember to breathe.” That means so much, because I know that you know that it’s been a hard day.

  Barbara: And you know when I’m having a hard day, and it’s just, Breathe.Take it minute by minute.You may not be happy that minute but—Okay, let’s have a five-minute pity party, get it over with, and then let’s move on. Because it’s not going to do any good to keep dragging it out.

  It’s easier to go through life being happy than sad. If you’re sad, everything is humdrum and boring. That doesn’t get you anywhere. There’s always someone out there that has it worse than you, so I’m like, Well, at least I’m still moving around and enjoying things—let’s just see what fun we can have!

  Jody:You know, Barbie, children aren’t supposed to die before their parents do. And heaven forbid that you go before I do. But if you did, how would you want me to remember you?

  Barbara: That I did everything that I’ve ever wanted to do, and that you made that possible. I’ve enjoyed every moment with you—every moment.You’ve been my best friend.

  Recorded in Abilene, Texas, on March 28, 2008.

  MILLY GUBERMAN KRAVETZ, 84 talks with her daughter-in-law, JAYNE GUBERMAN, 56

  Milly Guberman Kravetz: You and I started as friends. I knew that you and my son David were going out together—you were in an off-and-on relationship. At the time, my husband was in the hospital—he became ill in September of ’75 and died in January of ’76. It was a hard time, needless to say. You came to visit when David was at the hospital, and then you’d also come sometimes to spend some time with me, and that’s something I’ve never, ever forgotten. I remember walking the corridor with you. I walked beside you, sort of with my arms around my body, and it occurred to me a good bit later that what I was really doing was quite literally holding myself together. But you were there beside me. Sometimes we’d be talking about David, and if it was a period when things were kind of rocky, I would say, “Well, Jaynie, if you really love him, have patience, and it will be good in the end. Relationships are complicated at best, and you have to be patient if you want something good to come of it.”

  Jayne Guberman: Right from the beginning, no matter what was going on with David, I think you and I always had a really special connection. It was probably the first time I had found a woman my mother’s age who was interested in the things which were really at the heart of my interests. Then, of course, we both shared a love for David. I remember saying to people that I think I probably fell in love with you before I fell in love with David.

  Milly: That’s a wonderful thing to hear. I think it was the fact that we could talk—I felt free to share with you. Do we want to get into how that has become complicated?

  Jayne: It’s kind of an unusual relationship—

  Milly: It gets complicated.You and David got married, and David is my son. And I married Nate, and you’re Nate’s daughter. So I guess we’re a good example of some kind of new math. [laughs]

  Jayne: You met my father when David and I became engaged. You had been widowed for four years at that point, and my father had been widowed for maybe a year and a half. I don’t really remember when I became aware that something was happening between the two of you.

  Milly: We took a trip to Philadelphia. I remember we went to register at the desk, and there was a question of one room or two rooms for Nate and me.Your father did the registering, and I was kind of curious as to what he would say. He said, “One room,” and sort of looked at you guys.

  Jayne: [laughs] So David and I were married in August of 1980, and you were married in March of 1981. You married my father, I married your son, and it was very wonderful in lots of ways. What do you think were the best parts of that? I mean besides knowing that we would always be with you for the holidays.

  Milly: I think your two daughters, Rachel and Dalia. Rachel was the one who made me a bubbe, a grandmother, and I’ll never forget that.

  Jayne: There have also been challenges—I had breast cancer when Rachel was born.

  Milly: I’d be in bed with you at night while you were filling the bucket after chemotherapy, and I would empty it. It was maybe the only way I had at the time of expressing my love for you—who wants to empty a bucket of vomit? But I was grateful that I was there and able to do it.

  Jayne: I don’t think I could have gotten through that time without you, Milly. You have taught me so much about what it means to love someone. Over the years, especially when the girls were young, you were the person that I would most turn to w
hen I was trying to think through how to be a mother. I don’t know how many people have that kind of a relationship with their mother-in-law, but that’s the way in which you were always much more than that in my life and in the lives of our kids.

  Many years ago, a friend said to me, “Don’t ever go to Milly with complaints about David. No matter what—no matter how much she loves you and you love her—her primary allegiance is always going to be to her son.”

  Milly: That does bring up the biggest issue for us, which is that we really can’t speak openly about things that bother me about your father, or you about David. I think we have somehow established, without really discussing it, that those are places we just don’t go. I find that very hard, because we’re open about so many things. But I think we’ve handled it well. . . .

  Jayne: I guess we have, because we’re still here.

  Milly: When I introduce you, I say, “This is my daughter-in-law,” and then I kind of grin and say, “She’s also my step-daughter . . . but mostly, she’s my friend.” That’s how I’ve always felt.

  Recorded in Boston, Massachusetts, on October 20, 2006.

  SUSAN LISKER, 53 talks with her daughters, ELIZABETH LISKER, 21 and MADELYN LISKER, 13

  Susan Lisker: Our family formed in just a magical way. I had had several miscarriages, and I wasn’t able to carry a child. I used to say I didn’t care if a bird dropped it off on my doorstep, I just wanted to be a mom. And when you came along, Elizabeth, we literally adopted you and closed on your case the next day.

  I was very concerned about discrimination with you and then when we adopted Pete—you’re both Korean—and in the beginning there was a lot of it. Now there are so many children that are adopted from other countries—you see that pretty much everywhere you go. But twenty-one years ago it was not as common for Caucasian families to have Asian children, and some very disparaging remarks were made to us. We were at a hot-dog stand once, and a man came up to us and said, “I guess they’ll send anything from China these days.” People would just be very forward with questions. On the grocery line, someone once said to me, “Is your husband Japanese?”