Mother wanted no funeral, no memorial, no obit,
this stream of consciousness is my way of being defiant

I didn't tell her the obvious, because she was very sensitive about "losing her mind." A couple times over lunch she would drift away, again without me commenting. In the middle of a mouthful, she exclaimed "That was the day they bombed the ships! I remember hearing them like it was yesterday. There were so many bombs the ground was shaking"

Now I was getting worried. "Mother, you were never at Pearl Harbor. How could you hear the bombs?" She looked at me like I was the dumbest guy around. "Of course I wasn't at Pearl Harbor" she informed me. "They bombed Shanghai Harbor on the same day!"

I was born in Shanghai 18 months later. From that day until yesterday (16 March 2005), I took history lessons from my mom.

Mother was born on the 18th of January 1917 in Yokohama, Japan. Her mother, Fanny Radbil, was going to a Japanese dental school. Her father, James Benjamin Pelstroosoff, was in Yokahama on business. He was in the import-export business when he met and married my grandmother. In September of 1921, a 6.7 magnitude earthquake prompted my grandmother to tell my grandfather they would have to leave Yokohama for a more stable environment. Notice I said "tell my grandfather." "Tell" or "Ask" didn't matter. If it came from my grandmother, it was an edict. To be obeyed without question.

Most of our relatives left what was becoming the USSR during the purge of White Russians by the Communists. My grandparents, with 4-year-old Valentine, moved to Harbin, China. Mother's sister, Aunt Irene to me, was born in Harbin. The two sisters were educated at a catholic boarding school run by French nuns. Mother's education was extensive in all areas except math and science. She remained a proud ludite until her death. She did speak, fluently, Russian (her native tongue), English, French and Italian. She could converse in Mandarin/Cantonese dialects as well as some Japanese. Her passion was books. She devoured the written word and passed away with a book in hand.

Sometime in the late '30's, the Pellstroosoffs moved to Shanghai. When Mother and her pals would get together and reminisce about Shanghai, they would mostly remember the fun they had dating the English and American servicemen. My dad, a Merchant Marine, persuaded and won the hand of my mom and they were married in June of 1942. I came along a year later. This began a journey we shared for almost 62 years.

My dad became a POW before I was born. He was released at the end of WW II and returned to the US. Mother and I followed, and arrived in San Francisco in August of 1947. We lived near Twin Peaks where Mother began her new life as an "American Housewife". In April of 1948, Brent was born.

While in Shanghai I was cared for by my "Amma" or nursemaid. I was also doted over by all of Mother and Irene's friends. In the US, she was on her own. The first time Mother went shopping was at Tower Market on Portola (now a Mollie Stone's). She dressed in her finest clothes, a hat with a veil, gloves and appropriate jewelry and walked to the market. She stood at the entrance for about five minutes while store employees would glance over and wonder what she was doing. There were no "self-serve" stores in Mother?s life. She was waiting to be greeted by the grocer before venturing further into the store.

This was typical of how she had to learn the ways of the modern woman of the fifties. Luckily it didn't fully take. She remained somewhat skeptical of the changes and strove to retain many of the values and ideas of a more genteel time. She never wore pants. Skirts and dresses for the ladies. She never wore shirts, only blouses. The fact that she tolerated my attire (pegged red pants to total tie dye) was a tribute to both her unwavering love for me and a tolerance for human foibles, a tolerance I admired and try to follow to this day.

After Brent was born, we moved to 45th Avenue near Noriega. My father then purchased the house I am living in today. My grandparents came from Shanghai and moved in with us. They remained here when we moved to the East Coast. My father's poor health required his going to Johns Hopkins University Hospital, where in 1951 he had a heart bypass operation. Beyond tremendous odds, Dad lived. We left San Francisco and settled in Northern Virginia. My dad got a job at Sears and despite being in poor health, managed to provide a comfortable life for the four of us. He remained a patient of the US Government and, when the National Institutes Of Health was created, he became part of the "open-heart surgery" community at the NIH hospital. He spent one week a year at the hospital to be monitored. In 1955 he became the first person survive a second open-heart surgery.

In 1955 we moved from Arlington to Fairfax County. Mother began volunteering at the local library. It was located in an old southern two-story home. After a few months of volunteering, Mother began working part time, 10 hours a week. She had worked, as a secretary, while in Shanghai and was very happy to be back among the workers again. The little money she made usually went to buy things for me and my brother that were deemed too expensive, or too frivolous, or to extravagant according to my dad. I don't remember Mother ever placing herself or her comfort, before Brent and I were provided with all we could desire.

In February of 1962 my dad died. Mother was under the thumb of her parents until she was married. My father ruled the roost during the time they were together. Now my grandparents summoned Mother back to the fold. Brent, Mother, Red (Brent's dog - meaning Mother took care of him) and I packed up and moved back to San Francisco. I proclaimed on day 1 that it was a temporary move for me. My job was kept open for three months until I could sort out my home life. Mother received instructions from her parents on how to run her life, mine and Brent's. We lasted about 8 weeks and returned to Virginia

I moved out (I had been living at home off and on for about a year already.) Mother was left to raise Brent on her own. I was no help. I visited infrequently, usually for money or a meal. I moved to Maryland in '65 and to the West Coast (Everett, Washington) in late 1967. I drew further away both physically and emotionally from my mother.

In mid '68 I decided to move back to San Francisco. Here working on the RFK campaign my plans were upended as a result of his assassination. I moved down in November and lived for a few weeks with Irene and my Uncle Bill. I moved to Sunnyvale and renewed my career in software development. I spoke infrequently to my mother and when she questioned me on it, I didn't talk to her for almost six horrible months.

Guilt is always with me, but you have to remain in contact with "Jewish Mothers" if you want a decent night?s sleep. In 1972 I had a three-month assignment in College Park Maryland. I visited mom, and for the first time recognized what a spectacular person my mother was. We agreed that mother/son issues would always be there but it shouldn't interfere with the possibility of us becoming friends. Probably the single most important decision in my lifetime (at least a close second to red over white.)

Brent and his Bride moved to Oklahoma in the early 70's and Mother was finally on her own and could do what she wanted when she wanted. She visited San Francisco every couple years and I stopped in to see her when I made a business trip to the East Coast.

In 1978 Brent returned to his home town. When Mother retired in 1980, we argued as to whether she should move out. Her parents had died a few years earlier but she had her sister and both her sons living in San Francisco. Tragically, after she decided to move out, her sister, Aunt Irene died. Still, a few friends from Shanghai remained in SF, along with her boys, so she moved here in 1981.

She became a major factor in my life and remained so until her passing this week. We had symphony season tickets, attended theater and ballet performances and occasionally went to a movie. She cooked dinner for Brent and I and sometimes our friends. She adopted all of our friends as part of the family and, until her health problems became pre-emanate, would always inquire as to their well being. She attended my dinners and my parties and accepted all the weird behavior we could muster. When questioned about my smoking grass, she replied: "at least he doesn't drink as much."

In 1997, at 80, she was unable to pass the drivers test. One of the questions she missed was because in her mind politeness trumped safety. It was devastating to her. Not only was her independence over, it was the first official act telling her that she was placed in the category of "used people".

Brent and Roz convinced her to move to Concord. They found a place that was designed for her situation. I didn't want her to leave the City, but deferred to Brent and Roz who spent more time with her than I did. I began visiting twice a week when work would allow it. We would go to lunch and run whatever errands she might have. I thought it was a real nice place and felt the commute was tolerable if she was happy.

It was a few months after she lived in Concord that her health began to deteriorate She had minor heart attacks and as a result of complications of diabetes lost her leg from the knee down. In the Tashman Tradition, she was out of shape and rejected therapy and learning to walk with a prosthetic. (I contend that with patience and time she would have come around - no chance in world of HMO's.) She couldn't return home as the facility was not prepared for people who required her level of care. We had 48 hours to find a place for her to live. We agreed that she would remain in the Concord area. She moved into Able Rest Homes and began the next phase of her life

I began calling her every day. In the last 6 years of her life I spoke with her every day. I may have missed 3 or 4 and paid a big price for it, but it was a ritual in my life. I would call and ask how she was "Oh, the same I guess" was the most common response. I tried to visit two or three times a week, but because of the long drive it was usually once or twice. I usually brought food since nothing they cooked in the board and care was to her liking. The house was always chaotic. The owner was a madman, most of the caregivers were illegals and adherence to rules was enforced only when inspectors would visit. Mother secretly loved it. She was the sane one in a loony bin. It drove me nuts.

The fire department was called to the house one day for another matter. When they observed how my mother was lifted in and out of bed (she was dropped a couple times), they told the owner to provide a higher level of care for mother. The next day mother got evicted. Everyone else was upset, I was jumping for joy (no, not literally!) I convinced Brent and Roz to allow her to move closer to me. I found a place in San Bruno. I agreed to pay the added cost and she moved in the fall of 2002.

Although the level of care was dramatically improved, Mother liked the old place better. Her caregivers were her pals. It was like they were in some caper together. They would bring their kids and Mother would watch them. I don't think I mentioned children loved my mom. Including babies. They would stop crying when she held them. She had the same effect on animals. Dogs, cats, birds, squirrels knew they would come to no harm from this human.

Anyway back to our story ... I now would visit 3 times a week. She was a 20-minute ride from my house. She had very little contact with the outside world. All her friends had died before her. Perhaps the biggest blow to her failing health was Brent's death. He was young and although not in good physical condition he was a companion over the phone.

A few weeks ago, 911 had to be called and mother was taken to the hospital. She remained for observation for 3 days. She was out for two days and went back again. When I spoke with the doctor and asked how she was, I got a strange response. To paraphrase: "She has a weak heart. Her diabetes is difficult to control. She has a weak heart. She is anemic. She has a weak heart. Her blood pressure is erratic. She has aaaah ... she is such a sweet old lady. I want to keep her one more night, then she can go home." I had a feeling.

The next week she was weak and incoherent, although she seemed to improve each day. I called her one morning and she talked about having to go to a convalesant home. I assumed the doctor had determined that she needed 24-hour medical attention and she would have to be moved. When I visited the next day she began explaining about the convalesant hospital. In mid-sentence, she switched from "convalesant" to "hospice" when referring to her care, and my heart skipped. I got no better an explanation from any of the caregivers at the house. They were very happy that she didn't have to leave the house after all. I placed a call to the number left for me.

It turns out that Kaiser has a treatment plan they call "Hospice Care." It is for patients whose medical condition is beyond their ability and that the patient may have less than six months to live. Of course, the sugar coating is that they "really don't know when." Anyway, the program emphasizes comfort rather than cure. Had I known 4 years ago, I would have recommended that type of care and mother would have been happy about it 4 years ago, if we knew about it. When I am ready to go, remember I like the idea of comfort

I visited Monday (the 14th) and we discussed her condition which she said was improving. Each time she went through one of these ordeals, I think that then I am going to lose her. She would bounce back and get better each time. I brought her a mango, ripe and ready to eat. We talked about how it would be fruit season soon and I could bring her a treat each visit.

I talked with her on Tuesday and asked if she wanted me to bring anything when I visited the next day. She said "no" and told me to have a good time at the concert and to say hello to Lori. She liked it when I went out and had fun! After all those years she tried to get me to stay home once in a while, she was now worried about my staying home too much. Truth is, if I could go where I wanted to, I would end up at home anyway

I called on Wednesday and asked if she wanted a scone from the coffee place. She declined and decided to go after visiting her. She was distant when I arrived and it took a while to engage her in conversation. This was not unusual even when she was in her fifties. She was concerned that, because she had been reading a lot, she might run out of books. She indicated that she would call Keri (her own personal librarian) and inform her.

When I told her about the good time I had at the show the previous night, it elicited a big smile. I could tell she thought I was a silly teenage girl, the way I enthusiastically talked about the show. She asked when the next show was and who I was seeing. We also talked about my bringing bagels on Friday and getting sandwiches from Little Lucca's next week.

Before I left, I asked if she had any further thought about Hospice and what had transpired last week. "No" was her simple reply. It wasn't an answer which I was allowed to question. I put on my sunglasses, gave her a big hug. She kissed the side of my face and patted me on the head.

I left her at about 11:15.

She died about 12:15.