That That Was, Was

That

That Was,

Was

That that was, was.

That that is, is.

That that will be, will be.

Is that not so?

Embrace the moment!

A Collection of Memories,

Stories, and Ramblings from

the Mind of Beverly Lerner

That That Was, Was

© 2012 by Beverly Lerner

Smashwords Edition

Contents

Life-Changing Words

Shakespeare Avenue

My First Home

Through the Window

The Train

Grandma’s House

Keety, the Apartment Pet

Dennis

Faith

From Head to Heart

A Ghost Story

Revelations from Dayton to Ft. Lauderdale

Mexico Cancer Treatment

A Eulogy to My Husband, Dennis

From Merrily Married to Suddenly Single: Losses

From Merrily Married to Suddenly Single: Spirituality

Things My Mother Never Taught Me

The End of Another Decade

A New Love

A-Hiking We Went

Airplanes in My Life

More Planes and Instructors in My Life

Pilot Bev

A Pilot at Last

Airplanes are Meant to Fly, but I Only Want to Land

Have Fun

Yom Kippur Thoughts 2010/5771

The Circle of Life

The Parent Cycle

Webster and Sammy Part 1

Webster and Sammy Part 2

Webster and Sammy Part 3

An Annual Ritual

Acknowledgments

This book has no plot. The stories sort of meander through the pages, much the way that life itself does. It might appear then, that there is no point to the book, but that is not the case. That That Was, Was has meaning to anyone who had a childhood, raised children, and dealt with illness and death.

I wrote That That Was, Was primarily as a keepsake, a family history, for my children and grandchildren. I lovingly dedicate it to them: Kevin, Rudy, Glen, Sarah, David and Hannah. I hope they will share it with future generations.

While my children inspired me to write this book, I was encouraged by my many friends and relatives to continue writing and complete this collection of memories. The members of my writers groups in Winter Haven and Lake Wales provided help, support, and motivation. I most especially appreciate the guidance of Jean Reynolds, Ph.D., my writing coach, who spent countless hours formatting, revising, and editing.

Thank you, Kevin, for transforming Rudy’s vision into the beautiful and appropriate book cover.

My biggest thanks, and the true motivator responsible for the publication of That That Was, Was, is Earle Richardson, my loving companion. His computer knowledge often rescued me from the tangle of technology. As my strongest supporter, he endured my obsessive deliberations about each word, phrase and picture in this book. He listened patiently as I read and reread stories, pondered the appropriateness of different book sizes, changed my mind about the design of the cover, and vacillated, almost daily, about the sequence of the stories. His laughter, smiles, and tears told me that my story was making an impact. Thank you for your impact on my life.

Life-Changing Words

Now that I am retired, I have the time to look back leisurely on my life in uninterrupted reflection. I see how family, friends, and my teaching career, shaped my life. The memories of those day-to-day images play in my mind’s eye like a movie. I close my eyes and see the people moving in and out of their various activities. The weekly subway rides as a young child to Grandma’s house…my courtship and wedding with Dennis….my children performing in school plays…getting my Specialist Degree in Education…being selected Teacher of the Year…learning to fly.

These adventures are the life movies of my mind -the visual memories. But there is also a sound track that echoes in my head like verbal signposts. These words that I hear in my head directed the course of my life. Once spoken, life as I knew it changed.

Life is calmer now. The movies and sound track are less frantic. I have the advantage of hindsight and I can look back on my life, take inventory, and see how its course was shaped by those key phrases.

So with the luxury of time that retirement affords, here is my list of my most significant life altering words: The words that changed my life.

My daddy died last night.

We’re moving to Florida.

It’s a boy!

It’s another boy.

Your mother can’t live alone any more.

Mom, I’m gay.

Bev, I have cancer.

Kevin, Glen, your father is dead.

Welcome to Love at AOL.

Boys, this is Earle.

Mom, this is Sarah.

Mom, this is Rudy.

Sarah and I are getting married.

I wish I could marry Rudy.

Mr. Principal, I quit.

Earle and I are moving to Winter Haven.

Sarah’s pregnant.

It’s a boy!

Sarah’s pregnant again.

Each of these utterances is a memoir, a story, a legacy to leave to my children or anyone else who is interested. This is the perfect time to begin writing these stories.

***

MY DADDY DIED LAST NIGHT, I said softly as soon as my boyfriend Dennis answered the phone. It happened right after you dropped me off. He was in the bathroom. I was sitting at the table eating a bowl of Jell-O. Mom and I heard a loud thump. Mom opened the bathroom door and saw him crumpled up on the floor in the small area between the sink and bathtub.

I’ll be right over, Dennis said.

My daddy, Julius (Julie) Cohen, was the most handsome, smartest person in my life. I regret that I didn’t know him for very long. He died when I was 18, while I was still involved in my self-centered adolescent world. He died of heart failure, and the end came quickly and painlessly. He was dead before he hit the bathroom floor.

My mother knew when she married him that he probably wouldn’t live beyond 50. The rheumatic fever that killed his younger brother as a teenager left my father with a damaged heart. Without the medications and surgeries available today, he was destined to live a short life. My mother knew in 1963 that my father’s health was failing and his death was near, but neither my brother nor I knew that. It was her attempt to protect us.

The night he died, I had left for my evening with Dennis without kissing my father goodbye, something I had never done before, and the memory has haunted me ever since.

My parents had spent a pleasant evening with friends. Alan, my brother, was still out with Rozi, his future wife. When he returned home, my mother greeted him with a stark welcome. Don’t go in the bathroom, she said. Your father is dead on the floor.

I remember my mom calling our family physician who sent a young doctor to our house to certify the death. He’s dead. I said when I opened the door.

I remember Mom making more phone calls.

Julie died last night.

Your brother died last night

Your son died last night.

And I said, My father died last night and I didn’t get to kiss him goodbye.

***

WE’RE MOVING TO FLORIDA, Dennis said to me. I looked at him and I cried.

It was February of 1968, a few months after we had moved to our second apartment in the Bronx. Our new apartment building was at the bottom of a hill that faced the Bronx River. Each day after work, I would walk downhill from the train station. The west wind coming over the river would sting my face and freeze the tears on my cheeks. I’m sure it was the coldest block in the world during the coldest winter on record in New York City. It had been minus zero degrees for three days in a row. Even so, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to move to Florida.

New York had always been my home. No one in the family had strayed far. My niece, Julie had just been born. How could I leave my mother, brother, his new family and everything that was familiar and comfortable? There had already been so many recent changes in my life.

My father had died in March 1963. My brother and Rozi were married in August of 1964, three months before Dennis and I were married. It never occurred to me how difficult it must have been for my mother to deal with both her children marrying and leaving home within such a short span of time after her husband’s death. I never thought about that then. I didn’t think about a lot of things; I was too involved in myself.

I finished college six months after we were married, began my teaching career, and played the role of dutiful wife and daughter. Dennis was working for Prudential Insurance Company. He was a good salesman and very often led his team in life insurance sales, qualifying him for bonuses and trips to conferences all over the United States. Each year the sales conference was held in Miami Beach, Florida. While we were there, we visited Dennis’ father and grandmother. Dennis marveled at the good climate and how well they lived as a result of the lower cost of food, clothing and housing. I didn’t care. I was content with the predictable, routine pattern of my life in New York. I didn’t share Dennis’ vision that by changing our location we would improve our situation.

I never realized that I had a choice in the decision to move. When Dennis said, We’re moving to Florida, it was a statement, not a request. My mother’s edict of Your place is with your husband, was forever in my head, not to be disobeyed. I cried when I told my principal I was leaving. I cried as I packed our belongings. And I cried as we drove to Florida in June. The only thing that gave me comfort was knowing that my mother would move to Florida in January and be with us.

We’re moving to Florida, I told