Hi Friends,
I hope this email finds you well. It’s a chilly, sunny day here in Brooklyn and you can feel the murmur of Spring in the air.
The changing light and shifting temperatures have set off what I have come to understand as my spring grief cycle.
You see, my dad also passed away around this time of year in 2013 and as soon as the seasons begin to change, a wave of big feelings, exhaustion, and sadness follows.
The last few weeks have been hard.
I am missing both my parents dearly and wondering how the hell I got here. 36 and an orphan. WTF.
My inner child’s old coping mechanism chimes in:
“You’re lucky you had loving parents at all—some people never experience that.”
But the wiser part of me gently reminds me that it’s okay to be angry, that I don’t need to fix my feelings—just let them come.
So I’ve been sad and angry and trying to be okay with the immense discomfort these feelings bring me.
I’ve always prided myself as a relentless optimist and still struggle to let the harder feelings just be.
But I am trying.
I almost started a whole post about how angry I feel, but today is the 13th of Adar – my mother’s birthday on the Hebrew calendar – and instead of sharing how pissed I’ve been, I’d like to honor here memory by sharing the eulogy I wrote for her and gave at her funeral.
I hope it reaches you where it is needed and inspires one act of kindness or one act of beauty in her honor.
Happy Birthday Maj, I love you to forever.
PS. Purim Sameach!
PSS. Don’t worry, I’m planning a looong piece on anger that I will share another time.
With gratitude to you on the other side of the screen ✌
Faith
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Eulogy for my beloved mother, Joan Sara Brigham:
Like all human beings who are fortunate enough to live seventy decades, there are so many different chapters of her life and so many different parts of her that made up the woman we knew and love. Today I can only humbly offer a slice of the perspective I gained from my 36 with her as my mom. I hope in time to hear your stories, memories, and perspectives, too.
To begin, her birthday (on the English and Hebrew calendars) were so very fitting for her. She was born in Washington, DC on February 14, 1946 – a valentine’s baby! It only makes sense that someone with such a big heart and such a propensity to give to others would claim this day for her arrival.
My entire life, I watched my mother give tzedakah- charity- without hesitation. It gave her great joy to give to others, and she was always quick to write a check when someone would ask. Right now there are probably dozens of charities all over the world that receive monthly checks from her, feeding the hungry, supporting nuns, sustaining mikvaot, bolstering the Israeli defense forces, planting trees in Israel, the list goes on.
More than offering her financial resources, my mother offered her heart, her wisdom, and her discernment. I can’t count the number of people I met over the years, some who she employed as her helpers, who would tell me that it was them who she was helping. She housed people when they needed somewhere to stay, and she always rushed to support a sick friend.
I remember vividly as a child her devotion to visiting AIDS patients who were homebound and ostracized. She took my sister Emily and I with her, to deliver blankets and new clothes, to sit with them, to hold their hands, and to look them squarely in the eye, offering encouragement and dignity, compassion and care.
As someone who suffered from an autoimmune disease that left her bed-ridden for a year at age 18 and began a life of chronic pain, she was no stranger to suffering. She also refused to take any pain medicines. She chose to use her own suffering to propel a life of giving to others, especially those experiencing difficulties.
When we were in the hospital together last week and she could barely move, one of her major concerns was making sure that she paid the cleaning lady at Fripp Island - where we have shared a beach house with our dear friends for many years -so that her close friends who she had invited to use the house, wouldn’t have to. When I told her I think they’d understand that circumstances were more complicated now, she said she wanted to give that to them and was adamant I find a way. She was also a woman of her word.
When Jon and I had our third child, and we moved from man to man to zone defense, she saw how stressed we were and she preemptively declared that once a week we were to order a “maj dinner” - basically dinner, on her, no questions ask, just put in the Amex. I could talk endlessly about her heart and her giving nature, as I know many of you could. But being born on valentine's day is a fitting symbol of this core part of who she was.
On the Hebrew calendar she was born on the 13th of Adar Bet. The 13th of Adar is a potent day in Jewish history, as it is the day we commemorate the great Queen Esther who risked her life to save the Jewish people when we faced annihilation under the King of Persia where many Jews lived after the destruction of the First Temple. It is a fast day, set aside to remember the great risk the Queen took when she went to the king without prior permission, to help save the Jews. With God’s help, Esther was successful in her request, and ultimately we now have the holiday of Purim where we celebrate this triumph over great odds.
Like Esther, my mother was a trailblazing feminist – not in her political orientation, but in her actions. She was one of only 3 women in her medical school class at Michigan State. She never let anyone tell her she could not do something - including when the doctors told her at age 40 she could never have children because of her age and medical history.
Because of her great intelligence, she was a master at finding creative solutions to challenging problems. Because of her faith, she always had hope. She was an extremely attractive young woman, and had a magnetic personality. I remember her telling me stories about people misjudging her or writing her off because of those qualities, not taking her seriously and trying to manipulate her. As we all know, she was a serious person and didn’t let anybody mess with her. Even in the hospital this past week she earned a reputation as a feisty lady who knew her own mind.
Also, like Esther, my mother had tremendous courage and unwavering faith. As I mentioned, she lived a life of chronic pain, compounded by many heart-aches. Beginning in her 20s she suffered from struggles with mental health which must have been bewildering and painful as she was known for her intelligence, charisma, and extroverted personality.
When her beloved father died at 78 from a heart attack, she immediately went into menopause and within a few years, separated from my father. She adored my father and their separation truly devastated her entire being - physically, mentally, and spiritually.
In these years she suffered greatly from depression and ulcerative colitis. But like Esther, her faith kept her bound in the land of the living and acted as a guide for her. I remember during these years always finding the Bible on her bed, in the kitchen, on a couch, right next to a half consumed cup of black coffee. She was constantly reading, absorbing the Tanakah. Her encyclopedic knowledge of the prophets would even astound some Rabbis.
I remember a story she told me about how one day she was so sick in bed, unable to get up, feeling totally lost when she looked up and saw outside her window, a tiny little cloud hovering right there, close to the ground. She thought she was hallucinating but it stayed there and sat with her. She later told this story to I believe Chanie Weiss, and Chanie said this reminded her of the Cloud’s of Glory that God would send ahead of the Israelites as they were wandering in the desert. The Clouds would keep them cool, and provide comfort as they were a miraculous sign of the hand of God. Like Esther, she was a woman who experienced many miracles. God was truly with her in remarkable ways. Too many to recount here.
The root of the name Esther, the Queen who we honor on her Hebrew birthday, means to be hidden. This too feels like an important piece of my mother, especially in her older years. As she aged and became less extroverted, she kept much closer to her heart. I’ve heard her friends in Galax call her private, which at first I didn’t understand.
The woman who raised me was unbelievably vulnerable, open minded, and connected to many people and many communities. So many people lamented that she didn't pick up their calls or texts. Sorry guys, but she always picked up mine and Esther’s calls and she gave everything she could to her grandchildren. Up until the day I flew down to her last week, we easily spoke three times a day and she had become one of my most important emotional supports. She clearly made a decision to focus her energy in very specific ways and she didn’t care what other people thought about it.
I also can’t count the number of people in my life, some of whom I’ve never met or heard of, who have told me that my mom touched them, changed their lives, or gave them insight or wisdom when they needed it. Looking back I realize that this quality was driven not by a desire to share about her own internal world, but her deep interest and compassion in listening to the stories, heart aches, questions, and reflections of others.
As a child, when we’d travel to Chicago or NYC to see family, she’d spend the entire ride getting to know the cab driver's story- learning about their country of origin, their families, and their lives. Sometimes based on what they said, she;d encourage them to even see a doctor about a specific issue that her internal radar picked up. She also never bragged or shared about half the things she did for others - she “hid” them so to speak, keeping them close to her heart, to allow for the most dignity for whoever she was helping. In all these ways, she truly embodied much of the grandeur of Queen Esther.
Which brings me to another part of my mom – her grandeur and her propensity for creating beauty. As many of you know or were privileged to experience, my mother loved art and beautiful things. Her homes were her canvas which she filled with the most extraordinary pieces of art and antiques from all over the world.
She had a unique ability to mix types of art together, bringing everything into vibrant harmony. One of her most beloved collections was her black folk art from the gullah region of South Carolina. I was always so moved that despite living in a very white world, she specifically hung this art prominently and told me about the importance of keeping this legacy alive and her great pride at knowing that when anyone walked into her home, they would see diverse representation on her walls- that they could see themselves.
She had extremely high end art like Chagall, Andy Warhol, Sandra Chia, Wolf Kahn, the list goes on. And then she had paintings and sculptures made by friends and folks she met from Oregon, to Chicago, NYC, to Charlotte, and Israel. Another favorite piece was her turtle bed - a literal bed carved completely from one piece of wood that used to be an African tribal leader’s bed on which he would dream prophetic dreams. She adorned this bed with many orchids, another form of beauty that she loved and cultivated in all her homes.
She loved her extensive Judaica collection and took pride in giving a home to dozens of paintings from Jerusalem. To her, art was a way to honor the past, enliven her present, and give others the gift of being surrounded by beauty. Another artform she enjoyed was her extensive cultivation of gardens. In each home I knew her to have, in all three, she created stunning gardens filled with irises, roses, and trees, many fruit bearing.
For many years her gardens and homes were the centerpiece of her service to her friends in Charlotte. She hosted countless delegations and visitors to America through her connection to International House, and she was always happy to host a dinner party, baby shower, you name it. Her parties weren’t just catered food. She would literally call over four guys from who knows where to come the day before and she would rearrange all the downstairs furniture to suit whatever vision she had.
It was not uncommon to see a new living room emerge somewhere, or paintings rearranged, fresh flowers cut, and large salad bowls being made by the dozens. She even ended up building a caterers kitchen in our house because she hosted so much! I always felt surrounded by beauty, and still to this day, she would send me gorgeous dresses from her favorite catalogs. Things I’d never buy for myself, but were absolutely art in their own right! I will cherish each of these pieces the rest of my life.
The last piece I feel called to share today was just how much she loved her grandchildren. How much pride she took from her 6 seeds, as she would say! Since our eldest Hudi was born, she quickly embraced grandma hood as her primary occupation. She talked to my kids and Esther’s kids almost every day and was always asking how she could help us, whether it was for paying for a camp for one of the kids, or sending us tickets to fly down to her beach house. She spent her last few years, extremely happy in her portion and for this I am so grateful.
As we prepare to lay her to rest, I want to share with you all that she was not in pain when she died, and she was surrounded by 10 of her oldest friends and family. She died swiftly and peacefully, to psalms, prayers, and voices of love. Given her health conditions, I believe it was ultimately a gift for her as we know she would never agree to live in a nursing home.
Finally, my husband Jon shared with me that because of the upcoming Jewish holiday which begins tonight at sundown, we do not hold a typical shiva - a seven day mourning period where we sit in our homes coping with the immediate reality of our loss. According to the great sage, the Chatam Sofer, “a festival cancels the shiva because a festival annuls the phase of heavenly judgment on the soul of the deceased.” I like to think that this means that your passage to the world of souls will be swift and miraculously, without judgment. You can walk peacefully and easily to the next side, embracing so many loved ones you’ve missed for so long.
On our side, we will miss you so much Maj, but we are glad you are not suffering and like you modeled in life, we will find a way to rise in courage and use our adversity to build a more beautiful world around us..My mom always said that we should look for signs for her when she is gone from little round birds - so keep an eye out.
Thank you for everything, Maj, I love you forever, always connected through the invisible string.
Hi dear Faith, your aunt shares with you my lifelong admiration for my beautiful sister and your loving mother. I also share our deep sadness and anger about her passing on and leaving us without her earthly presence. Love, Auntie M
I think of your sweet mom all the time and how much she blessed my life. And you and your sister do the same. God truly blessed me when he brought all of you into my life. Love Libby💜