Sara Cohen Goodman 1916-2008
The epic of Gilgamesh is the story of one man’s quest for immortality after the death of his best friend, only to find that it is in his legacy he leaves behind that will grant him his wish. My grandmother would always joke about how she was the follower of all her sisters, but to me she was an example. How she lived her life and ultimately how she died should be an example for everyone. She will live on in my heart forever.
My fondest memories of her as I grew up are nothing spectacular, but she always seemed to make the ordinary memorable. Lunchtime meals at her basement apartment on Carlton stand out in my mind. The food she served may have been the same as what I had a home, but it always smelled better, tasted as if I was trying it for the first time, and seemed never-ending.
As I grew up, I realized that she was a wellspring of fascinating stories. I remember the time she told me of how she learnt how to swim; her sister Dorothy pushed her into a lake, which as she said, forced her to learn quickly.
There was also the time she told me about what happened to her when she lived on Cumberland. Where they lived, there was a long hallway with the bathroom at the end. The front door was never locked as Ava, David, and my mom were always coming in and out. She was in the bathroom, sitting on the throne doing what she had to do, when she heard someone in the house and yelled, “Who is it?” A man walked up to the bathroom and opened the door. She yelled, and he said, “I thought you were so-and-so.” When she got up, she found her wallet on the bureau, the money gone.
This past year had been a tumultuous one for my grandmother. I feel fortunate that I was able to be with her during that trying time. It was besheret that I could be there to take care of her and spend the precious time with her. One day I brought over a box full of family pictures and had her tell me the names of everyone in them. She reminisced as we went through the lot of them. A picture of her and my grandfather at Bear Mountain, circa 1947, had her exclaim: “Oh look how dark I was! I was always the darkest!” She would also express her sentiment about things that she could no longer control with a firm and confident “to hell with it!”, her favorite expression she assured me.
She was an example to me. She lived comfortably within her means, was a bargain hunter – although I am told no one could beat her sister Belle at flea market bargain hunting – and was always considerate and sweet. If she had one fault, it was that she only saw the good in other people, no matter what. Everyone who met her would inevitably comment how sweet she was. No one disliked her, and I do not know how anyone could.
I feel fortunate to have been her only grandchild, and to have been able to receive the love and affection she wholeheartedly gave me. The last thing I told her 2 hours before she died was that I loved her.
My fondest memories of her as I grew up are nothing spectacular, but she always seemed to make the ordinary memorable. Lunchtime meals at her basement apartment on Carlton stand out in my mind. The food she served may have been the same as what I had a home, but it always smelled better, tasted as if I was trying it for the first time, and seemed never-ending.
As I grew up, I realized that she was a wellspring of fascinating stories. I remember the time she told me of how she learnt how to swim; her sister Dorothy pushed her into a lake, which as she said, forced her to learn quickly.
There was also the time she told me about what happened to her when she lived on Cumberland. Where they lived, there was a long hallway with the bathroom at the end. The front door was never locked as Ava, David, and my mom were always coming in and out. She was in the bathroom, sitting on the throne doing what she had to do, when she heard someone in the house and yelled, “Who is it?” A man walked up to the bathroom and opened the door. She yelled, and he said, “I thought you were so-and-so.” When she got up, she found her wallet on the bureau, the money gone.
This past year had been a tumultuous one for my grandmother. I feel fortunate that I was able to be with her during that trying time. It was besheret that I could be there to take care of her and spend the precious time with her. One day I brought over a box full of family pictures and had her tell me the names of everyone in them. She reminisced as we went through the lot of them. A picture of her and my grandfather at Bear Mountain, circa 1947, had her exclaim: “Oh look how dark I was! I was always the darkest!” She would also express her sentiment about things that she could no longer control with a firm and confident “to hell with it!”, her favorite expression she assured me.
She was an example to me. She lived comfortably within her means, was a bargain hunter – although I am told no one could beat her sister Belle at flea market bargain hunting – and was always considerate and sweet. If she had one fault, it was that she only saw the good in other people, no matter what. Everyone who met her would inevitably comment how sweet she was. No one disliked her, and I do not know how anyone could.
I feel fortunate to have been her only grandchild, and to have been able to receive the love and affection she wholeheartedly gave me. The last thing I told her 2 hours before she died was that I loved her.
posted by Stuphalina at 3/28/2008 07:08:00 p.m.
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