(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 2) To know me is to...

(via RRBC 30-DAY BLOGGING CHALLENGE - DAY 2)

To know me is to understand my family; therefore, I’m sharing my parent’s wedding picture. I took a photo of the framed image. My parents are no longer with me, but I carry them in my heart.
I’ve always thought I resembled my father, but now I can see my mother in me. I can also see her fears and uncertainties. She had a hard life that later robbed her of her spirit.
Rose Wagshal grew up in a small town, Tilmenowa, in Poland. I don’t know how it’s spelled or if it’s the correct name since I can’t find it anywhere online. I know little of her early life since the story she told me began when WWII broke out right before Hitler invaded Poland. My grandfather booked passage to the United States to find work as a Mashgiach, a Rabbi ensuring a Kosher product. He took my mother with him since her brother was in summer camp. Her mother and brother were supposed to follow, but Hitler invaded. They both died in a concentration camp.
My grandfather left my mother with relatives in Williamsburg, New York, even though she was beginning to lose her vision. Later, I learned she had Retinitis Pigmentosa, a genetic disease. I used to be afraid I would have it. But it’s a recessive disease where both parents have the recessive gene. My mother’s parents were first cousins, so her fate was sealed.
Luckily, she met my father, who was also born in Poland. He married her even though he knew she was losing her sight. I don’t know if he understood she would be totally blind by age 3o, but he was her eyes until she died. Her father remarried and pretty much deserted her.
More unhappiness came her way when her son, my brother, was in a car accident and died after two years in a coma. My parents traveled every month to Boston to visit him until his death. In her eighties, she developed dementia. We had to place her in a nursing home, where she sat alone in the dark, forgetting who I was and living the past in her confused mind.
So, to understand me, you had to meet my mother. She brought me up the best she could with the help of my brother, who was 11 years older than me. I lived through her fears and unhappiness. I hope I brought up my daughters with less fear and uncertainty. Some days, I’m not too sure.

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