I took Katom in to the vet at 9:00 this morning for his appointment. He stayed there today to get an IV for hydration and antibiotics. The vet is concerned because Katom doesn't use his back legs at all, but he doesn't have the capability of actually checking nerve connections. When I picked Katom up in the evening, the vet said that he had eaten on his own a bit today, which is a good sign. When I got home, I put him on the bed, and, a while later, he had gotten down onto the floor on his own. That, too, is good news. So, we'll see. I have to drop him off again at the vets tomorrow morning.
In the late morning, I went over to the local campus of Ben Gurion University and talked with a woman in administration there. I explained my background and interest in teaching and left my résumé with her. She seemed very nice, but only time will tell if anything comes of this. I hope it will.
I also did the weekly grocery shopping this morning, including getting food and drink and supplies for the little reception after the Shloshim Memorial today.
I filled the car with gas and got it washed, and then I went and ate lunch at Rachel Café.
In the afternoon, I listened to a performance of the entire Brahms German Requiem (on YouTube, conducted by Herbert Blomstedt). Although I can't agree with some of the theology, this music transcends doctrines and even religion to speak directly to the heart. Of course I cried, but it was very therapeutic.
In the early evening, before dark, we had a beautiful Shloshim (30 days) memorial for David at the cemetery, followed by a L'chaim and some refreshments. Thanks to all who came to help me with this! I was very pleased with how it went.
Here's my eulogy for David that I gave today:
Eulogy for David Fyffe
There’s no way to capture the full essence of an individual in any eulogy, so I think the goal is to find key qualities and talk about them, so that’s what I’ll try to do.
A theme woven throughout David’s life was his love of animals. He grew up in the country, so he was blessed to have goats, a loyal dog, chickens, a horse, and even a cow. Many times he told me of how he cared for them and how much they meant to him. During the time that I knew him, he rescued several animals, including a gopher snake on a main road in California and various street cats. And he really loved our household cats. He was hospitalized many times, of course, and the main reason he always gave for wanting to be released (often LONG before that would be possible) was that he wanted to see his cats.
David also loved children, and one of his biggest regrets, I know, was that he was never able to have any of his own. Even though my children never lived with us, David considered them to be his, as well. And he doted over nieces, nephews, and, especially, his grand niece (his sister’s granddaughter). There weren’t very many children in our Los Angeles synagogue because most members were gay or lesbian, but David was always concerned that the children be well taken care of, and he watched their growth and development with pride.
Throughout his whole life, David was especially attuned to the elders of the community. He often told me about his grandparents and even great-grandparents, as well as other older people in the world he grew up in. At Beth Chaim Chadashim (our LA synagogue), he had many older friends and always showed such respect for them and interest in them. He was also very active in Project Caring, a program in which some of us from our synagogue took a Torah scroll and did a short Shabbat morning service, once a month, at a rest home in LA. David went out of his way to talk with some of the residents, the ones who were still mentally alert, to get to know them.
One of the most important people in David’s life turned out, interestingly, to be my own mother. From the time they first met (very soon after David and I met, in fact!), there was a very special bond between them. He took her to doctor’s appointments, did her hair, and just generally doted over her. I credit him with drawing me even closer to my own mother. When she was in a board-and-care home in her last years with Alzheimer’s, he made a small quilt for her out of pieces of fabric we had found when we were clearing out her house before she sold it. As soon as she saw it, her face lit up. She knew the work and the love that had gone into it, and it became a great symbol for her until the day she died. When it returned to us, we always treasured it, too, of course. In David’s last months, he frequently complained that his feet were cold even though they really weren’t. I would often put Mom’s little quilt over his feet, and then they would feel warm again. David and I then remarked on the love that it represented to all of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment