My mother died in 2019. We had a seriously unstable relationship for my whole life. Yet it was me in the end who was by her side, fighting for her every day. Here is the obituary I delivered at her memorial service.

Thank you all for joining us to honor our mother and to support our family. We are so grateful for all of you.

Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall; it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that you are half water. If you can’t go through the obstacle, go around it, water does. — Margaret Atwood.

From the time I was born, water played an important role in my life. When I was born, we lived on the top floor of a high rise on the coast of the Long Island Sound, overlooking the Throgs Neck Bridge. Days and nights were spent with my mom holding me — peering out at the moving waters, watching tides come in and out and flowing between us and the scary Bronx.

As I grew, and we moved away from the water for a brief period of time, water was still the constant metaphor. We moved to Atlanta for 5 years, where we had to take another shape of our new container just like water. We were Jewish Yankees in a not-so-friendly-to-our-kind south. I picked up a deep southern accent much to my Brooklyn mom’s dismay. She started to reteach me how to speak and how to get rid of some of those extraneous syllables that southerners like to add to every word.

While we were in Atlanta, my father was on the road as a salesman all week. It was really just me and mom learning the ropes of the south. She raised me to be a compassionate person, taught me how to find the best in people, and most importantly, taught me that just because someone looks or acts different, doesn’t mean that they are. I learned from an early age that we are all equals, no matter our race, religion, sexuality, or most important to her — ability or disability. She took me to work with her to expose me to kids my age with severe disabilities and taught me not to be scared or judgmental, but to accept and understand. I became quick friends with a little girl named Jennifer who was wheelchair bound and had cerebral palsy. This was just the beginning of mom teaching me about facing differences and flowing through life — just like water.

My parents grew tired of the southern way, the outlandish, anti-hippie politics, the lack of decent pizza and Italian pastries and ices, and of course, family, so we headed back to Queens — and shortly after, found ourselves in a home 5 blocks from the water. This time, on a clear night, you could see both bridges — the Throgs Neck and the Whitestone. Again, we spent hours on walks and bike rides around our little neighborhood peninsula watching the sailboats, and waters flow, always checking the tide schedule posted on our fridge so we knew when we could try to walk across to Great Neck or sit by the small beach and feel the small waves crash into us. Mom and I continued to be malleable — just like the waters.

When I was 14, everything changed. I never had a clear understanding of why, but it was my new reality. From where I sat, my mother abandoned me like a shipwreck and I was left alone with my father and five-year-old brother — and now I had to teach them how to weather the storms and the rough waters, too. While I was able to carry everything she had taught me to date, the gaping hole in my heart and soul were evident and my teenage years through the end of my thirties were completely void of the guidance of my mother and the only hope I had to be a good person, contributing citizen, was whatever I was able to garner in my first 14 years. As I grew older, I slowly changed my blatant anger and feelings of rejection and began to try to understand this woman who once was my caring and nurturing mom and was now a stranger. To say it was complicated and sometimes way beyond my ability to truly understand, would be an understatement.

At 38, while going through my own life changes with my family, I decided I needed to try to turn things around more consciously. I had spent the prior 24 years forging relationships with friends’ mothers and women who were older than me who could potentially fill the void of a maternal guide or simply just be a female role model. I was really good at it. I am always so grateful for the countless moms over the years who took me in as their own and treated me like family. I think of all of them, every Mother’s Day and appreciate that they have all made a long-lasting impact on the woman I am today.

But, at 38, I decided that wasn’t enough for me and it wasn’t enough for my sons. I went on a voyage to find out who my mother was and wanted to find out if we had a relationship that could be salvaged. For the last six years, I hit countless brick walls. It seemed impossible that we would ever understand each other. I didn’t give up, but I was discouraged more and more every time. While my mom was an amazing, loving, engaging and appreciating Grandma to Gavin and Jonah — I still could not get through to her and vice versa. There was so much history of anger, betrayal, abandonment and really just time, that it seemed like an impossible feat… but we hung in there.

When mom’s health began to decline about a year ago, everything changed. This was it. This was the opportunity I had and the last opportunity — to show my mother that I was strong and could be depended on. And she resisted — and I got frustrated — and she resisted more — and I danced back and forth — but I always came back. She started to let her guard down a little, but her health was declining so rapidly, that I was losing my moment to have “the closure talk” with her. I made a conscious decision not to. It was only for me and not for her — she wasn’t emotionally capable anymore and I didn’t want to air grievances on a dying woman. I had made peace with myself, knowing that I may never have closure.

Starting at twenty-four days before mom passed, we thought everyday was the last day with her. This went on for eleven days. She was not lucid, she was extremely agitated which we could only confuse for pain, she was showing all of the signs of this being the end. We had made peace with ourselves and we were as prepared as we were going to be.

Then, thirteen days before she passed — the tide changed drastically with a vengeance and everything changed in that moment. She began her thirteen-day long rally — she was lucid, sitting up, eating and drinking, and we felt like the time was rewound to five months prior. Some people called it a miracle and the work of God and in some cases, even Jesus, but we quickly realized that my mother’s agitation and her ability to come back to life in a sense, was her way of telling us that she had more to say. So, in this moment, the Saturday before Memorial Day, my mother made it clear as the night sky, that she desperately needed me to understand her and she trusted me for possibly the first time. She confided in my brother Danny and me that her life leading up to this point was not ok, she was in significant emotional duress and she was counting on us to make everything right. Amidst our daily conversations and beginning to understand her, Danny and I began to carry out her wishes to make everything right and just in her eyes. We called on our village who rallied alongside of us and helped us make things right in the world. We are forever grateful to our village — and we know our mother is too.

When I was alone by my mother’s bedside as she was taking her last breaths on Thursday night, I was holding her hand and telling her how much we all loved her and that she was safe and brave and strong, she knew in those last moments that I was there and I can be trusted with her deepest and darkest thoughts and I was on her side.

Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired; it need not be deserved. — Erich Fromm

I feel so overwhelmingly fortunate that in the end, I understand this quote. I never needed to earn back the love from my mother, it was always there. While my relationship with my mother weathered severe storms and calm waters, we finally built our own bridge to understand one another and to finally comprehend what unconditional love really means.

Always be like a water.

Remember that you are half water. If you can’t go through the obstacle, go around it, water does.

My mother may have been a teacher to thousands of children with all kinds of special needs and disabilities — but we were lucky enough to be her lifelong students.

• I learned compassion for others, no matter how different they seem to be.
• I learned resilience.
• I learned that sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do for someone you love.
• I learned that love can really be unconditional and there is no love comparable to a mother’s love.
• I learned that if you have a dollar or a million in your bank account, you can always find a way to give of yourself to others who need you.
• I learned that while it’s not always popular in most circles to be a hippie, I can get away with it anyway.
• I learned that if I make mistakes, I can always fix them and be a better person for it.
• I learned that no matter the hour, it is always the right time to do the right thing.
• I learned that I am who I am because of my mother. I carry her compassion and love though me and can impact others.
• I learned that no matter how rough the waters are, you can always build a bridge and get to the other side safely.