Candlelit Glow of Remembrance and The Empowering Fist Pump

My beloved Mom, DiaNNe (with two N’s, or you will hear it!), battled Alzheimer’s. This year is my mom’s fourth Yahrzeit, the anniversary of her death. The date is based on the Hebrew calendar, a lunar datebook with 29 monthly days alternating with 30 days. It’s too confusing for me to calculate, so I rely on the reminder from the Temple each year.

Tradition

There are certain religious traditions that I follow. One of them is honoring family members who have passed by lighting the Yahrzeit candle.

After Mom’s funeral, my dad, brother, and I were given a large candle in a tall glass container to light at home.  The flame remained for seven days, symbolizing the seven days of mourning.

I spoke to that flickering candle each morning, “Hi, Mom. I’m thinking of you.” Later, I discovered that my dad and brother were also conversing with their candle. Great Minds? Genetics? Or A bit Nuts?

When the candle finally extinguished, I sensed that Mom was truly gone.

Another light that was extinguished was Mom’s essence of self. This was slowly removed by the harsh diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. I live in WNY, and my mom is in Florida. Our bond was through daily calls. She was my go-to, my person. 

At first, the diminished conversations signaled what was to come. In the days past, Dad would answer the “home phone” or “land phone,” as he refers to it.  “Hi, Sweetheart, here’s mom.” Dad picked up the slack as Mom’s vocabulary declined. Dad and I became phone buddies and continue to this day.

She Knew

Mom knew what was happening to her and was angry! She often repeated the word “Unbelievable,” lamenting how did this happen? Mom’s language became more colorful or spicey, as my grandson would say until she lost all language, but Mom never forgot us.

Fist Pump

One distinct story of how Mom remembered us was an interaction with our future son-in-law, Steve. Our nephew was celebrating his bar mitzvah in October of 2010. The virus H1N1 was a big news topic. Mom was up on all the current health reports. Our family traveled to New Jersey to attend the family celebration. We all met in the hotel lobby. Mom hugged each of us until she met face-to-face with Carly’s boyfriend, Steve. Mom hesitated; Steve was new and not yet family. Logic did not play a role in her decision not to hug since any one of us could have been infected with any number of viruses. But the buck stopped at Steve.

Together, they negotiated the fist pump. It was all done with good humor, and I believe Steve did not take it personally. Over time, the fist pump became their thing. Whenever they met up, there would be a warm smile and an immediate fist pump. It was their secret handshake.

Memory

Mom’s memory continued to descend as Alzheimer’s continued to ascend. Our daughter Carly and my son-in-law Steve returned for what they believed was a final visit with their grandmother.  Mom was in bed with little energy or facial expression.  As Steve was about to leave, Mom raised her hand and offered a final fist pump.

She never forgot us – Whatever Alzheimer’s stole from Mom, the diagnosis did not steal Mom’s memory of those closest to her; she never forgot that she loved us and how to show she knew who we were.

Remembrance

Mom, I think of you every day; I don’t need a lunar calendar or a candle to remind me, but I light one in your honor and as a formal day of remembrance. May you always rest in peace.

Discover more from Vickie Rubin: Special Educator, Advocate, & Mom

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20 thoughts on “Candlelit Glow of Remembrance and The Empowering Fist Pump”

  1. mADI KAPLAN

    I TOO REMEMBER MOM–ALL THE GOOD TIMES WE HAD AT C.S.C.C. THE GOLF-THE CRAZY COSTUME PARTIES. I LOST MY ONLY SIBLING MY SISTER TO ALZHEIMERS–
    IT WAS HARD. BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR WONDERFULL STORIES–THEY PUT A
    SMILE ON MY FACE !

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  2. MADI KAPLAN

    I TOO REMEMBER MOM–ALL THE GOOD TIMES WE HAD AT C.S.C.C. –THE CRAZY
    COSTUME PARTIES. ILOST MY SISTER TO ALZHEIMERS AND YES IT WAS HARD.
    SO KEEP WRITING YOUR WONDERFULL STORIES– THEY MAKE ME SMILE. MADI K.

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  3. Anonymous

    Our mothers are our first experience of love. And our teachers of what we can be.
    In a recent conversation with a friend, we talked about our definitions of “a lady “. My mother’s definition immediately came to mind. “A lady treats everyone with respect and acknowledges everyone’s unique qualities.” Our beloved Lilly’s life ended when she was only 57, with her youngest grandchild, my Leah, as yet unborn. She continues to guide and inspire my family through my memories of her words and her example.

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  5. Ab

    I learned about the Yahrzeit candle tradition through you today, Vickie. What a beautiful tradition. I can see how lighting it and talking to your mom feels like she’s there with you – and she is!

    Alzheimer’s is such a horrible disease and I can sense your pain as you recounted this trauma and what it took from your mom and family. But I also sense the love for the way you continued to communicate and feel each others presence through non verbal ways.

    Happy 4th anniversary and may she continue to rest in peace.

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    1. raisingjessstory Post author

      Thank you, Ab. I know you know the pain of losing your Ma. I agree that the annual lighting of the candle IS A Beautiful tradition that makes you STOP , THINK and HONOR the departed.
      And for lack of a better phrase, Alzheimer’s Sucks!!!!
      Thanks for your note, my friend
      V

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  6. Anonymous

    Moms are special and I remember her like it was yesterday. She loved golf but the most important thing she loved the most was her family.

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  8. Anonymous

    Loved your sharing story about your mom. It helps to stop and reflect on the impact that person had on your life and to talk about the moments of love.

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  9. Victoria

    I love the tradition of the Yahrzeit candle, Vickie. Love it. Almost as much as your mom’s fist bumps with Steve. It’s all of those little things — populating our memory banks – keeping our departed loved ones close. xo to you, dear one! 💕

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