Getting Things Done...

5/11/2016

Well, as I expected, it has indeed been very hectic here in Chicago dealing with all the machinations that go into losing a parent, and your last remaining. Lots of legal issues and paperwork, not just official from the government and hospitals, but at his residence, too. Then there's organizing the memorial service. And lastly (and not remotely leastly) there the breaking down of the apartment and dealing with everything there. I'm not getting into any of the details, or other side issues.

Happily, there have been a few people to help, most especially my Aunt Joan, who is the kind of person you want in a fox hole with you.

Yesterday, we got a rabbi for the memorial service, Evan Moffic. He seemed a great guy, with whom we surprisingly had some overlaps. (Among other things, he also writes for the Huffington Post.) And the founding rabbi of his temple had been a patient of my dad (who was a medical doctor.) Also, he knew of and once met my friend Rabbi Jack Moline, who people here might recall is on the Board of Directors for Elisberg Industry. But best of all is that he knows and thinks the world of the oft-mentioned here Nell Minow! So, that was an incredibly lucky happenstance.

We were at the funeral home today, and afterwards she asked me if my dad had a photo copier, and if I could make a copy of one of the documents for her. To my surprse, she didn't want to bother the funeral director with something so small. I immediately turned to him and said, "Can you make a copy?" Of course he could, and walked off to do so. I said to my aunt, "We just paid he thousand of dollars, he can make a photocopy for us." She laughed and said I was right.

Tonight, I had dinner here at the residence with a lovely lady I think the world of who on July 1 is going to turn 100. When I got back to the apartment, I called a relative Elinor Miller, who I wrote about here last year when she turned 100. I was well-bookended. And felt incredibly young.

Lots more ramblings tomorrow. The elves taking care of the homestead are laughing at me since they are having a grand time simply relaxing there.

Updates as they occur.

2 Comments

GregVB

5/12/2016 07:29:08 pm

Bob -- As I posted on Facebook, "Zichrono livracha."

I have my own quasi-lighthearted moment while arranging my father's disposition. He died shortly after our marriage--and at the middle of a trimester at UCLA---and as executor, I was left to deal with those details you mentioned. I'm not sure why, but my aunt (father's sister) offered to join me, and she and I ended up going to the funeral home home together.

Through the years, she and I had spent far too few moments alone together; I could not even have told you what her beliefs were (it was a pretty strict upbringing in their parents' home--Southern Baptists--but she had married a divorced man (a scandal!), and we spent our Thanksgiving with them every year, the youngsters relegated to the children's table, and the evening ending with her playing the organ. I'm pretty sure there were highballs at the beginning and well into the evenings (strictly forbidden by my grandparents), so I thought she was pretty cool, albeit not someone I had an inkling at that age to spend quality time with.

Back to the funeral home. We took a seat, and were greeted by a pleasant-enough gentleman who managed the facility. He was the quintessential funeral home guy, at least what one envisions (I never watched "Six Feet Under"): pallid complexion, smile pasted on his face, and a voice that seemed eerily similar to Jack Handey (he of "Deep Thoughts" from SNL).

At one point, after some minutes of "pleasantries", he excused himself to go get some information. My aunt and I took a moment to watch him leave the room, then turned to each other, and then did one of those laughs that start out as a nose "reverse-snort" and progressed to busting a gut. There were no words necessary -- we just knew what each other was thinking. It lasted way too many seconds for proper decorum, it seemed, until we both uttered one of those under-breath "oohs". I'm not sure any more which of us whispered, "Can you ***believe*** this guy?"

I hope to God there were no closed circuit cameras, and I have no idea how we managed to pull ourselves together before the gentleman returned. We got through the rest of the meeting without improper decorum (we probably had our own smiles pasted on our faces to freeze them into positions), but I swear we did not dare look at each other during the rest of the meeting.

I guess that there is humor to be found in any situation, if one is open to seeing it!

Robert Elisberg

5/12/2016 08:07:40 pm

Greg, thanks for the story. Very funny. And yes, there were some other stories related to our funeral home experience, as well. Though mainly it was low-key and oddly-lighthearted. (At one point, the funeral director ran through a LONG list of codicils that were each merely legalistic. When he finished, I said, "So, those are the Yada Yada points." He laughed, and said, "Yes. Especially if you watch Seinfeld." Actually, although I knew that's the most-common awareness, I wasn't referring to it when I quipped, since I knew well of Yada Yada long before the TV episode...)

Getting Things Done...

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