For whatever reason, we always assume that our parents are immortal. Regardless of their age or health, we are never ready for the permanence of their passing. Explaining it and understanding it is not easy. When my father passed away, it was our then-six-year-old son who helped put it into perspective, comparing his grandfather’s passing to that of King Mufasa in The Lion King. He said to his younger sister who wanted to know why Grampy had passed away, “It’s just like in The Lion King, it’s the ‘Circle of Life’ and Grampy’s spirit will live on forever.” Although our son’s words have comforted me for much of the last twelve years, they took on extra significance when my mother passed away last month.

During our celebration of my mother’s life, my eight siblings and I reminisced about our wonderful childhood and the support, direction, and reinforcement that our parents provided for us. Although it must have been a challenge to prepare three meals a day for eleven people of different ages, get us all off to school, and do over thirty loads of wash each week, my mother did it easily and with a smile on her face—at least most of the time.

With all the effort she put into managing the household, working fulltime, and doing volunteer and political work throughout the community, she still found ways to let each of us know that we mattered. Her ability to meet our personal needs and to understand that we were all different enabled us to become strong individuals. Perhaps the greatest testimony of her work took place when we got together to celebrate her life. As different as the nine of us are, the respect, support, and understanding that we showed for each other were a tribute to her.

On the last day that my wife and children were still with me in Boston, I was driving in front of my wife in another car when I directed her to go one way to return to Philadelphia and I went another way to spend more time with my siblings. I realized immediately how this proverbial fork in the road was a metaphor for my experience. On the one hand, as my wife and the kids took one road, they were returning to Philadelphia to pick up with our lives and move forward. I, on the other hand, traveled a different road, staying behind to reminisce and make sense of the past. The time with my brothers and sisters was very well spent. The remembrances took on very different characteristics, and as we spent time together, we also visited old haunts that helped us to define our youth.

Among our visits were some places that were pre-planned to include a number of us at the same time—favorite restaurants and the penny candy store where we spent so much time as kids. These visits were calming, reinforcing, and fattening.

There were also places where we found each other by coincidence. One of my sisters and I decided to go visit the house where we grew up. Just after we arrived, one of my brothers, who had no idea we would be there, drove up and parked in front of the house. Similarly, I found myself for at least five minutes on the highway following a car with my father’s old license plate number, N846. It turns out that one of my brothers inherited my father’s license plate, and I was behind his wife, my sister-in-law. These coincidences were unnerving. I wondered whether there was a greater being at work.

As the week drew to a close, the entire experience seemed surreal. To this moment, I can neither explain nor understand any of it. In the time since I have been back, I have been incredibly grateful for the love and support that I received from my parents. I have also been confused and uncertain. With both parents gone, my siblings and I are trying to make sense of our place in the world in a totally different manner. Like it or not, with the exception of our father’s sister, we are the oldest generation. A friend captured it best when she wrote to me: “It’s a weird feeling without parents. The natural barrier between us and mortality is gone, likewise, the links to the past and sources of wisdom on which we have relied, no matter how independent we have outwardly become. We catch ourselves thinking, ‘I’ll ask mom or dad; they’ll know.’”

Paradoxically, while I am deeply saddened by my mother’s passing, I have never been more grateful for what she and my father gave to my siblings and me. My parents lived long and fulfilling lives. We were fortunate to have my mother for so long. Her passing is not a tragedy; it is a testimony to a life well-lived. As we continue to feel the sadness of her passing and celebrate her life, my heart goes out to all those who lose loved ones, especially those whose lives have not been as long, complete, and fulfilled.

By coincidence, a couple of weeks before my mother passed away, a dear friend gave me a book that has helped me to gain further perspective. The Wild Braid by Stanley Kunitz with Genine Lentine is a soothing collection of essays and poetry that deal with the issues of life. Kunitz was a nationally acclaimed and award-winning poet who passed away in 2006. In a piece on gardening, he described the process of life: “…the garden is alive and it is created to endure just the way a human being comes into the world and lives, suffers, enjoys, and is mortal…”

Finally, it is ironic that my mother’s passing coincided with the Red Sox winning the World Series. My mother was a quiet but avid fan. When the Red Sox were trailing the Cleveland Indians 3-1 in the American League Championship Series, I asked her what she thought was going to happen. In her optimistic and sometimes unrealistic manner, she said: “They’re going to win the rest of their games.” Though I could not imagine it at the time, she turned out to be exactly right. The Red Sox won their final seven games and the World Series. Though I am sorry she was not here to see it, I think she knew it was going to happen. Thanks, Mom.

With Thanksgiving upon us, my thoughts are with you and yours. Be sure to hug your loved ones and let them know you love them. As Kunitz says in his poem “The Round,” “I can scarcely wait till tomorrow/ when a new life begins for me,/ as it does each day,/ as it does each day.” Have a great Thanksgiving. 

Warmest regards,

Steven S. Piltch
Head of School

P.S. November at Shipley is filled with events, some of which you’ve probably already enjoyed. In addition to parent conferences, please don’t forget the community Pizza and Book Chat on Three Cups of Tea on the 28th and the Barry Schwartz presentation on “The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less” on the 29th.” I know they will be rewarding and stimulating. Please also note that on Tuesday, November 27th at 10:00 a.m. we will be carrying out another test of our emergency call system, which will come to your phones and email addresses. If you do not receive it, please let us know.