As I weather through the chapter in life of losing my mom Elsie, I am learning a lot about grief. When you experience a loss, grief is unavoidable. It’s a normal part of the healing process. Moreover, my wife Laurie said to me yesterday a powerful truth: “Where there was great love, there is great grief.” How true. In that vein, I see this period of grief as a gift, a reward for a lifetime of love.
However, through this process, I have also learned about a different type of grief. The lesson came from a phone call Laurie and I had one day while driving to Austin. The call was with Dr. Carole Rogers, a psychologist with Fort Worth’s Jewish Family Services. Carole is a godsend in our community. So many of us turn to her for guidance as we navigate life’s challenges.
Here’s how the conversation went. My mom’s health at that time was rapidly declining. When my brother Irwin died nine years ago, I became an only child. My mom depended on me heavily. As I’ve experienced vocal issues over the last year, she wasn’t able to hear me over the phone. So her daily multiple phone calls were going to Laurie. She was becoming more and more needy. It was even worse on those days when we were traveling. Laurie and I were struggling with the pressure of trying to fulfill all her needs and meet her expectations of us. I am sure many of you with elderly parents can relate. We turned to Carole for help.
Carole assured us that our feelings were normal. We were vacillating between feelings of resentment and guilt. No matter what we did, it seemed to never be enough. But if we didn’t do it, we felt guilty. It was heavy.
Once again, Carole rescued us from our angst. She wound the clock forward for us to picture the day Elsie would be gone. She wanted us to imagine how we would feel. Carole wisely was protecting us from feelings of regret. She urged us to convert our feelings into having compassion for my mom. My mom was suffering and fearful. She didn’t want to die, but she knew her body was failing. She turned to us for much-needed support so she could manage through the final months/weeks/days, however long it might be. Laurie and I understood. Carole’s advice worked. We spent the remaining few months with a different attitude, focused on being there for Elsie with compassion.
On the 4th of July, my mom called Laurie that morning. She was agitated and struggling. Without hesitation, we cancelled all our holiday plans and stayed by her side all day. We felt compassion. That turned out to be our final chance to visit with her. That night, she asked Laurie, “Am I dying?” Laurie answered, “Only G-d knows.” At that moment, my mom (totally weak and unable to move on her own by then), propelled herself up and sat sideways in her bed, all by herself. She covered her eyes, and we know she was praying the Jewish prayer “Shema,” when we cover our eyes and pray, “Hear, Oh Israel, the Lord our G-d, the Lord is One.” As a young girl, Elsie would sit bedside with her grandmother (with whom she shared a bed) and pray Shema together every night. Elsie was going back to that little girl and those powerful roots.
She then put her head back on her pillow, reached up to the sky, and called out “Bessie!” Bessie was her best friend, who happened to die exactly one year before on July 5, 2025. On July 5, 2026, Elsie joined Bessie in heaven.
It was peaceful. We are grieving, but we are at peace. And thanks to Dr. Carole Rogers, our grief isn’t “complicated grief.”
To anyone who might one day have the risk of experiencing “complicated grief,” I urge you to learn from Dr. Rogers the way we did. Find it in your heart to have compassion. Make up for any past conflicts. Don’t have unfinished business. Let go of any ill will. It isn’t worth it. You don’t want to later have regret, and you certainly don’t want “complicated grief.”
Marvin E. Blum
Marvin Blum’s dear departed mother Elsie (left) with Dr. Carole Rogers, whose guidance saved Marvin and Laurie from experiencing “complicated grief” when Elsie passed.
Picture in your mind Elsie as a young girl, praying Shema nightly at bedside with her grandmother Leah Weinstock.