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avivasedai at 11:19am on 09/11/2025
avivasedai at 11:19am on 09/11/2025G'ma Shirley died at 12:15 PM yesterday, on shabbat Vayera; if she had lasted another week it would have fittingly been Chayei Sarah (the death of Sarah, first matriarch). (Her Hebrew name was Sura bat Miryam Bayla.) She was definitely the matriarch of her family: 2 bio-kids, 2 kids she took as her own with her second marriage. (She leaves behind 3 living children, 9 grandkids, 13 great-grands and 2 great-great-grands.) She is predeceased by her parents and in-laws, 3 husbands, 3 (2? 3??) sisters, and one son. I had the privilege of being alive with G'pa Sammy and G'ma Betty (Shirley's parents), Papa Pinney and G'ma Anne (Shirley's in-laws), G'pa Marty (Mom's dad), G'pa Les (Mom's stepdad), and G'pa Lenny (Shirley's 3rd husband when she was in her 70's). I barely knew my great-aunts; one died when I was younger than 10, and the others I saw rarely.
She taught 4th grade for a long time, and retired in the late 80's I think. I got to visit her classroom once; I was probably in 5th grade so I felt so grown-up compared to the kids in her class! She had fun stuff to do at her house, games and Lincoln logs and word searches and other word games (acrostics and the like). In my early years, when both my family and my Yogman family (Mom's stepsister Judy et al) lived in western PA, we would all go to G'ma Shirley's house for Thanksgiving, as well as a few other visits a year. We played with chalk on the backyard concrete pad and jumped rope and chased bubbles; we held impromptu concerts with our cousins and played hide-and-seek inside. She had a cool really skinny cupboard attached to the back door that held the cereal; I haven't seen that anywhere else.
She could be stern if we were misbehaving; she would pinch our cheeks and give silly kisses and make funny voices. She bought me the most sensible shoes I ever owned, and I really hated them because they were pretty ugly old-lady brown shoes with a big insole or something and were completely embarrasing, in only the way of shoes mattering to a young girl.
Living in Union, New Jersey, adjacent to Elizabeth, NJ, there were a few kosher restaurants within ordering distance, so when "the kids" would descend, there would usually be at least one meal from Jerusalem Pizza (they made the BEST pizza, with a thin crust and gooey oily cheese, and I remember having mine with mushroom topping; I think they were New York style but I didn't know that then. They also made falafel and fixings, which was the other half of those orders) and one meal from the Chinese kosher place whose name I don't recall (ohmyGOD the General Tzo's chicken was so good; just thinking about the deep-fried batter with a deep orange sweetly savory sauce makes me feel ill now from the sheer amount of oil involved). I loved those meals; we didn't have anything like that in my small-town home. When she made soup as part of a meal, it was always so terribly bland, because G'pa Les had high cholesterol and couldn't have salt. You try having chicken soup without salt: it tastes like nothing with a few bits of vegetable floating around.
She would claim to have any illness anyone else had but worse and for longer. She kept the medications her husband left behind and sometimes took them (pretty sure). She would say "I'm keeping 4 doctors employed" as she dealt with her stomach, her eyes, her GP, whatever. When I lived in NYC and was only an hour's drive from her, I didn't see her enough (my own feeling), but once she asked for help and I took time off work for it. She needed to get eye surgery, a cataract removed, and she couldn't drive herself home after of course. I took the day and drove her to and from, and possibly on that trip she also directed me around to see places that mattered to her. Ever after she would say "You saved my eyesight!" I was obviously her favorite grandchild, and she told me that, but when we compared notes she also said that to each of my siblings. *grin*
When going through her house, I found folders she kept of mail she'd received, organized by who sent it to her. She had a thick folder from my father: it looked like for years he would send her his sermons. They had a good relationship, I think, my abba and G'ma Shirley. She was the first person I heard calling him "Elie," and I didn't really think about it then but for years I found it weird when people called him that instead of "Rabbi," just like I found it weird that my cousins called him "Uncle Elie;" it seemed to me like that was just not my Abba, that was someone different. However, she was always "G'ma Shirley" to me and my cousins, and my parents would refer to her that way, like parents do with children: "Your G'ma Shirley called... your G'ma Shirley loves you... we're going to go to G'ma Shirley's house." My aunt called her Shirl; Abba would call her Mom when speaking with her.
It was special to visit her. First it was a 7-hour drive across PA; memorable points were traversing the Delaware Water Gap, going through part of NYC and across the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge to get to NJ. I remember once in particular, Abba picked each one of us up from our beds and placed us in the Volvo station wagon with the seats down, in our sleeping bags, and he drove through the night to get to NJ by breakfast. I woke up as we entered the city; it was dark but the lights were so bright, it was disorienting.
Then it was driving from Michigan to NJ, but only for a few years, and then it was FL to NJ, which was quite the trip. During these trips I grew to love the landscape, the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, and maps, particularly the Triptiks from AAA with our route already highlighted.
It was a blessing to have her in our lives for this long. It wasn't always easy; she was prickly in a few ways. In our adulthoods my siblings and I would not tell her all our troubles, as we didn't want her one-upsmanship of disasters, or to worry her with things we couldn't do anything about. (?) For instance, I didn't tell her about my diabetes for years, as I wasn't ready to hear how she whatever, nor was I ready for her help in dealing with it. I didn't tell her that Rick and I were getting a divorce, though she would have probably understood, given her own relationship history. It might have been not wanting her to worry about us, or not wanting to disappoint her, but generally we only wanted her to be happy.
I'm really sad she's gone. I'm sad she's not going to call me again. I'm sad that Tahl has lost another vibrant pillar of her life: Tahl lived with her for maybe 2 years while going to JTS. It feels very much like this is the year of losing my entire older generations; this is not technically true but it feels like it. People are asking me how I feel and I vaccilate between "okay/sad/(deflect)" in my answers. It's a tough year.
She has no more complaints, no more loneliness, no more missing us, no more worrying about her lack of memory, no more pains. Her will was strong and her brain wanted to be engaged but her body just couldn't make it any longer. Fucking COVID took another of my family members and there's nothing to be done about that. She was loved, in her completeness.
She taught 4th grade for a long time, and retired in the late 80's I think. I got to visit her classroom once; I was probably in 5th grade so I felt so grown-up compared to the kids in her class! She had fun stuff to do at her house, games and Lincoln logs and word searches and other word games (acrostics and the like). In my early years, when both my family and my Yogman family (Mom's stepsister Judy et al) lived in western PA, we would all go to G'ma Shirley's house for Thanksgiving, as well as a few other visits a year. We played with chalk on the backyard concrete pad and jumped rope and chased bubbles; we held impromptu concerts with our cousins and played hide-and-seek inside. She had a cool really skinny cupboard attached to the back door that held the cereal; I haven't seen that anywhere else.
She could be stern if we were misbehaving; she would pinch our cheeks and give silly kisses and make funny voices. She bought me the most sensible shoes I ever owned, and I really hated them because they were pretty ugly old-lady brown shoes with a big insole or something and were completely embarrasing, in only the way of shoes mattering to a young girl.
Living in Union, New Jersey, adjacent to Elizabeth, NJ, there were a few kosher restaurants within ordering distance, so when "the kids" would descend, there would usually be at least one meal from Jerusalem Pizza (they made the BEST pizza, with a thin crust and gooey oily cheese, and I remember having mine with mushroom topping; I think they were New York style but I didn't know that then. They also made falafel and fixings, which was the other half of those orders) and one meal from the Chinese kosher place whose name I don't recall (ohmyGOD the General Tzo's chicken was so good; just thinking about the deep-fried batter with a deep orange sweetly savory sauce makes me feel ill now from the sheer amount of oil involved). I loved those meals; we didn't have anything like that in my small-town home. When she made soup as part of a meal, it was always so terribly bland, because G'pa Les had high cholesterol and couldn't have salt. You try having chicken soup without salt: it tastes like nothing with a few bits of vegetable floating around.
She would claim to have any illness anyone else had but worse and for longer. She kept the medications her husband left behind and sometimes took them (pretty sure). She would say "I'm keeping 4 doctors employed" as she dealt with her stomach, her eyes, her GP, whatever. When I lived in NYC and was only an hour's drive from her, I didn't see her enough (my own feeling), but once she asked for help and I took time off work for it. She needed to get eye surgery, a cataract removed, and she couldn't drive herself home after of course. I took the day and drove her to and from, and possibly on that trip she also directed me around to see places that mattered to her. Ever after she would say "You saved my eyesight!" I was obviously her favorite grandchild, and she told me that, but when we compared notes she also said that to each of my siblings. *grin*
When going through her house, I found folders she kept of mail she'd received, organized by who sent it to her. She had a thick folder from my father: it looked like for years he would send her his sermons. They had a good relationship, I think, my abba and G'ma Shirley. She was the first person I heard calling him "Elie," and I didn't really think about it then but for years I found it weird when people called him that instead of "Rabbi," just like I found it weird that my cousins called him "Uncle Elie;" it seemed to me like that was just not my Abba, that was someone different. However, she was always "G'ma Shirley" to me and my cousins, and my parents would refer to her that way, like parents do with children: "Your G'ma Shirley called... your G'ma Shirley loves you... we're going to go to G'ma Shirley's house." My aunt called her Shirl; Abba would call her Mom when speaking with her.
It was special to visit her. First it was a 7-hour drive across PA; memorable points were traversing the Delaware Water Gap, going through part of NYC and across the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge to get to NJ. I remember once in particular, Abba picked each one of us up from our beds and placed us in the Volvo station wagon with the seats down, in our sleeping bags, and he drove through the night to get to NJ by breakfast. I woke up as we entered the city; it was dark but the lights were so bright, it was disorienting.
Then it was driving from Michigan to NJ, but only for a few years, and then it was FL to NJ, which was quite the trip. During these trips I grew to love the landscape, the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, and maps, particularly the Triptiks from AAA with our route already highlighted.
It was a blessing to have her in our lives for this long. It wasn't always easy; she was prickly in a few ways. In our adulthoods my siblings and I would not tell her all our troubles, as we didn't want her one-upsmanship of disasters, or to worry her with things we couldn't do anything about. (?) For instance, I didn't tell her about my diabetes for years, as I wasn't ready to hear how she whatever, nor was I ready for her help in dealing with it. I didn't tell her that Rick and I were getting a divorce, though she would have probably understood, given her own relationship history. It might have been not wanting her to worry about us, or not wanting to disappoint her, but generally we only wanted her to be happy.
I'm really sad she's gone. I'm sad she's not going to call me again. I'm sad that Tahl has lost another vibrant pillar of her life: Tahl lived with her for maybe 2 years while going to JTS. It feels very much like this is the year of losing my entire older generations; this is not technically true but it feels like it. People are asking me how I feel and I vaccilate between "okay/sad/(deflect)" in my answers. It's a tough year.
She has no more complaints, no more loneliness, no more missing us, no more worrying about her lack of memory, no more pains. Her will was strong and her brain wanted to be engaged but her body just couldn't make it any longer. Fucking COVID took another of my family members and there's nothing to be done about that. She was loved, in her completeness.
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