One day, in the Summer of 1947, a girl who dreamed of being an actress, who grew up with cooks, maids and chefs, in the heart of Orthodox Judaism, met a boy who grew up with nothing but a mother who was his best friend, a passion for music and a desire so fierce to help others that he enlisted in the Army when he was just 17. At 19, she was asked if she wanted to go on a blind date with the boyās friend and of course, obliged. She heard him playing the piano, turned around, and decided any thought of going out with his friend was dashed.Ā
They locked eyes, went on a walk, and he asked her, āSo, howāre you going to make my eggs in the morning?ā They laughed and laughed, and didnāt stop laughing for nearly 74 years. They got married in an elegant, movie-star style wedding in 1951 and before they knew it, had four young daughters to watch over, take care of, and help through life. They held each otherās hearts and made room for each child. Their first child, they insisted, was cooking at just two years old! Their second graduated law school before she could legally drink. Their third spent her life inspiring others through charity and social work, only to lose her life to AIDS in the early nineties. Finally, their fourthā¦well, she is my mother and she is the single most caring person I know, she spends her life as a hospital chaplain helping patients and families through the hardest moments of their lives.Ā
My grandparents helped raise me, taught me that faith was a vehicle to help those you love, that music was a mode of escaping the trials and tribulations of life, that theater allowed you to be anyone you wanted to be, to chase your dreams, and to explore everything life has to offer. Most of all, they taught me how to careāto care for others, myself, and indirectly, how to curate their legacy through storytelling.Ā
Whenever my grandmother heard a story, she would exclaim, āWrite that down!ā My grandfather would begin every phone call, Shabbat dinner, or run in with a friend with, ātell me a funny story.ā The deep care and compassion they had for each other manifested every day in the way he had her pill schedule memorized, refused to eat lunch without her, in the way that she walked up to check on him in his office in spite of how painful walking had become for her and how sheād sing for him to bring a smile to his face. They created a beautiful table every Friday night and everyone was welcome.Ā
I spent almost everyday with them this past winter break, watching musicals, cooking, going on āarcheological digsā as Grandpop would say and in the process, I gained such an appreciation for a life based upon taking care of others and healing them when possible. My third full day of college began with a phone call from my dad telling me I had an hour to decide if I was coming home or Iād never see my grandmother again. Of course, I was going. We sat around her bed, singing I Couldāve Danced All Night from My Fair Lady and On A Clear Day by Barbra Streisand, serenading her with my Torah portion and telling her the most recent stories. She was in a comatic state, completely out of it, but Iām very sure she could hear us.Ā
Grandpop announced, āI know what she needsā and asked her aide to help feed her mint chocolate chip ice cream. Although my mom and I worried sheād choke, she enjoyed every last bite and it kept her alive for an extra eight days. He just knew the love of his life so well that there was no doubt in his mind thatās what she needed. She died on Valentineās Day and it broke our hearts, but his enduring spirit kept us going. I talked to him everyday, sometimes twice a day, in the three months that followed. He was rushed to the hospital for a stomach ache but everyone was sure heād be home in no time. One morning, I insisted that he promise me heād get better so we could have our summer together and he told me heād call me when he was feeling better. Of course, that call never came. Months later and my heart is still broken, with only their legacies to console me.Ā
They both would always say ātomorrow will be a better day.ā Grandpop lives on in his jokes, his interviews as a WWII vet and his book, āDear Everybodyā (available on Amazon) but my Grandmom, Minya Yudenfriend was so busy helping and supporting othersā stories that hers was never told publicly. She was a writer, a storyteller, and above all a marvelous heart (she would often squeeze my hand and tell me thatās what I was but I think it more aptly fits her), so my great hope is that I can share her stories from a lifetime of keeping track and treasuring each memory.