Eulogy

Becky

I know I am lucky right now. I had the chance to spend precious time with my mother because I became fully aware of where we were heading several months ago even if she did not. I was given full warning to make the best of every last moment. I knew it was going to be weeks or months. It was no longer some vague thought buried under the debris of millions of memories. I was about to become an orphan at the tender age of 49 or 50.

I have not just lost my mother. Over time Becky was my mother, my daughter, my spouse, my partner in crime, my straight man in our comedy team and most of all, my role model. We were both born in July just two days and 41 years apart. As a child I loved that we shared an astrological sign and we would read our horoscope together. My mother and I shared our fate, our bedroom, our disposition, our sense of humor and so much more. And even though my mother held me close to her over the many years, she was the one who taught me the value of friendships and building relationships that would last a life time. She showed me how to really love life when I was growing up, which by the way took me 36 years, the age I was when I finally moved out of the Becky’s building. She led by example. She never turned down an invitation to go out. My mother loved running around with her friends and to her temple. She loved traveling with her best friend, Bernice and working antique shows with her sister in law Lee. She loved volunteering for the City of Hope. She just wanted to be around people as much as she could. The phone in our apartment was always ringing. My mother encouraged me to be that way also. She always said, if someone calls, you go. So I went out the back door to Roberta’s or Michelle’s and eventually to Melinda’s and Ilene’s. My friends all called my mother Becky just like I did. Most parents were Mrs. Stark or Mrs. Porges, but not my mom. She had a way about her that invited familiarity and made everyone feel so accepted and comfortable. She always reached out to the people who looked disconnected. She would bring them into the fold and wrap her loving ways around them until they became part of the group. Becky did not like being alone and she did not want anyone else to be alone either.


Our lives were parallel in so many ways. We were both older when we got married and had children. It was not what I wanted for myself but it happened that way. Looking back I can understand why. I simply was not ready to set my mother free from her worries of losing one more person in her life. Even if my moving out was not nearly as final as death, to my mother just the thought of not having me there created an anxiety I hated seeing. Her fear of abandonment was justified and all consuming. It started so young for her. Her life, like a Dickens novel, was full of tragic escapades and remarkable recoveries all revolving around her undeniable resourceful strong personality. The same personality saved her, her children, and in many cases friends and relatives. It is difficult to be the daughter of someone with so much personality and determination.

I lost my identity long ago when I realized most people never called me by my own name. Since I was a young child, with the exception of my own friends, to the rest of the world I was “Becky’s daughter.” I often introduced myself that way and still do. Sometimes I even forget my own name. Often I have wondered if being “Becky’s daughter” was not so much about who I was “not” as opposed to who I was. Growing up I sometimes resented being overshadowed by my mother’s brilliant presence. Now instead of looking at the name as an act of losing my identity, I view it as a way of finding it. Becky gave me both the strange name and the need to be heard over her loud life. I wanted to be me, Benita Esther Kirshenbaum. As a teenager I got so frustrated by most people referring to me as Becky’s daughter I started signing my full name everywhere, in year books, on cards, on the backs of photos. My friends always knew I was Benita Esther Kirshenbaum.

Now I realize being “Becky’s daughter” is my own identity more so than being Benita Esther Kirshenbaum. Even with Becky gone, I will continue to be Becky’s Daughter. I want the world to know what a wonderful person my mother was and how she loved life, laughter and making the world a brighter place. I feel so sorry for anyone who did not get to know her. That is what makes me sad today. I want the whole world to know a bright light was shot deep into the night when Becky’s spirit left her aching body breathless. I will always be Becky’s daughter, but now I have the added job of being Becky’s legacy. It is going to be a very challenging job and I hope I will be as strong and determined as my mother Becky was in her life. I will never stop loving Becky.


Benita Esther Kirshenbaum