Remembering Dad
November 13, 1964 - perhaps 6:15 a.m.
"Boys, wakeup! Daddy died this morning"
Clothes Loose - Body Wasting Away
I was 13 - Friday, the 13th - 1964 - my brother only 11!
Immature as I was, I'd not thought at all about the fact that my father was dying! At the same time, it made perfect sense that he had died.
My maternal grandfather Max Kesten, accompanied by my aunt, came from New York for the funeral on Sunday. Moses Marx, my other grandfather was in Jerusalem, having moved there 1 1/2 years earlier with my grandmother.
Labor Day Weekend (or around it) 1961, we were going to visit the Copelands in Evanston, Illinois, if the results of Dad's tests were okay. Our trip was cancelled.
Christmas Vacation, 1961, Ma was crying a lot! Dad had been told that he had a stomach ulcer. Ma was told that he had terminal stomach cancer, and decided he wouldn't be told - a world away from today - with so many other, more progressive in my mind, perspectives on death and dying.
Dad had surgery and healed, and got medical permission, his cancer in remission. August, 1962 - we went on the Oslofjord, a Norwegian boat from NYC to Bergen, Stavanger, Kristiansand, and finally Oslo.
Then to Stockholm for the Quadra-Annual International Math Conference, no doubt a great thing for dad. We went on to Copenhagen - Tivoli Gardens - the highlight for my brother and I (though the picture below is from 1965, not 1962)
We continued to Amsterdam, The Hague, Rotterdam, London (where we were with Family - including Dad's oldest (surviving) aunt Helene Felsenstein in Golder's Green.
With relatives there, Dad spoke of the totally wrong Vietnam War, U.S. Government oppression of the Vietnamese People. He was "aware" unlike most American People. We learned a Social Justice Framework.
In the Summer of either 1961 or 1961 - we had been in a Civil Rights March around the Square in Lafayette, across the river from where we lived. I remember that - people staring at us - not out of fear or hatred. They'd never seen a demonstration.
This was the "beginning of my education" (or part of it!
We settled in Zurich where Dad was studying at the Technical University on Sabbatical.
It was a wonderous year for all four of us! A physician Ma brought Dad to in Zurich - didn't believe it when Ma told him Dad had terminal cancer. We traveled weekends on the trains of Switzerland exploring together - playing card games as the trains moved along.
Christmas Vacation was Paris - two different things - for us - being left watching Laurel and Hardy movies and the like while our parents enjoyed churches artwork and museums that would bore us to no end.
The most meaningful part of the trip for Dad was the six weeks - three in Italy - then leaving on a Zim Boat from Naples to Haifa. We arrived in Israel - the day that Pesach (Passover) began - having a Seder with the Haraeli's - Benjamin - where my son's name came from - and: Daniel (Eliasburg) - where my brother's name came from (he died in the Naqba in 1948).
Dad hadn't seen most of his relatives since leaving Berlin in 1927. I have no clear memory of it, but we visited briefly probably with SY (Shai) Agnon, Dad's uncle (by marriage) - who was Israel's first Nobel Laureate (shared - Literature, 1966 - after Dad's death - the award made the front page of the Lafayette Journal and Courier).
After we returned to Zurich - Moses and Ani Marx - my paternal grandparents flew to Jerusalem, visiting us in Zurich.
In August, 1963 - we concluded our wonderous year going to Belgium and then back to The Netherlands, taking a Dutch ship back to NYC. Dad - didn't want us to fly -and boats were then a cheaper way of traveling than flying.
Back in Indiana, the cancer returned. In April, 1964 - Dad was back in Billings (U of Chicago Hospital) - and got a pass to come back to Lafayette for my Bar Mitzvah, which was held on a Thursday evening, to comply with the (religious) beliefs of Grandpa Max, and my aunt, who were there.
Ma had told the rabbi to keep the prayers short, but he messed up! Dad - had to leave to get back to the bus to Chicago (so he'd be back in the hospital before midnight and not have to be discharged and readmitted) - while the Rabbi was saying The Kaddish- the Jewish prayer for the Deceased. Ma - was very, very angry - at that!
We traveled on the train to Oakland as The Summer of 1964 began. Dad had been invited by his best friend from grad school Al Blank to work on a high school calculus text book project at Stanford. We lived in a frat house on the Campus.
The picture of my father's gaunt figure came from that summer as his health rapidly declined. I was beginning my (brief) teen rebellion period, with some peer kids also there, taking water polo lessons at Stanford, and having my first private trumpet lessons (after playing in school in the preceding years.
Dan and I took the train to Los Angeles before our parents joined us. I saw Sandy Koufax pitch - my first major league baseball game - a thrill. We took the train and visited The Grand Canyon, but stopping in Denver was cancelled because of how badly Dad was doing.
I recall Ma telling me much later of how a fellow math prof came to the door, when Dad was out. He asked her if: "Dad had 'IT" - one didn't even use the word "cancer"- as if one could spread the disease by uttering his word.
Dad had walked and taken his bike to campus, not more than a half mile, if that, away. Now, Ma drove him and carried his briefcase.
Dad began to realize that he wasn't going to live until June, 1965 - when he had planned to visit his parents in Jerusalem. A trip during the Christmas Break was rapidly planned for the two of them. Seemingly, he was "better" briefly.
On November 11, 1964 - my parents went to see The Louisville Symphony at the Hall of Music at Purdue. The first piece wasn't good, and Ma suggested that they leave. Dad - said it would get better and it did.
Thursday morning Dad taught his class - roughly 10 a.m. - his work - was most important to him (unfortunately for Dan and I - we weren't really that near "the top" in priorities). Our parents had tried to "protect us" - by NOT talking about the Cancer and related things (in retrospect clearly Wrong).
Dad felt very bad, so Mom took him to St. Elizabeth's Hospital in Lafayette. They didn't find anything notably wrong. (Being pre-Medicare - when hospital costs weren't very high) - they said that he could stay overnight in the hospital - because he had test scheduled for Friday morning.
Ma, got a call from the hospital, and was with him either just before or just after he died at about 5:30 that Friday morning. We saw his body in his bed - a first for both of us. I wasn't deeply pained by that.
Dad's death was obviously much more difficult for Dan - only 11 - who was much closer emotionally to Dad than I was.
I have very mixed feelings about my father - thinking back! He had a social justice - view of the world, which I admire very much! We were taught to think for ourselves - and not to be intimidated by the dominant norms of apathy and inaction.
At the same time, Dad's world - was all - "in the head" - there was ZERO dealing with feelings virtually all the time. I would have never thought of discussing that I was being bullied, if I even understood what was happening, with either parent, not out of fear, but - I was largely - "left alone" - growing up very emotionally isolated.
Our household - was not at all - "child focused". That made it difficult for both of us children. We didn't learn how to navigate being "different" in so many ways. Being Autistic - didn't make it easy - particularly for me.
Dad meant well! He was the son "his father wished he could have been" - becoming a Mathematician. His father was very important to him! Dad cared about family - and I have similarly cared about the Marx side of the Family.
Reflecting with a lot of tears, my one deep regret, is something that I did to myself. I didn't cry, when my father died. I did a "number" on myself - falsely comparing things until 1981 or 1982. I said to myself - "How does X compare to death of Dad?" Tears - crying - and deep emotion - I didn't allow myself - until my learning of Feminism in my second male support group - helped me a little get out of that massive rut.
Dad - now - I'm - the only one left of my generation. It's challenging to try to share - with Ben - and my granddaughter is only six years old.
I'm sad, very sad! I'm also most appreciative that I have my tears - now!
A Younger - More Innocent Day!
Comments
Post a Comment