On December 11, 2019, yud gimmel Kislev, in the early afternoon, my Bubby, Tzerel Mindel (Celia) Neuman, a”h, was niftera. That is one sentence. But it took me a long time to be able to write it. My grandmother was the strongest, most incredible woman you could have ever met. She was sweet, funny, and kind. She was a huge part of my life, for all of my life. The memories are endless. And the world needs to know what it lost – because she was not just a light that flickered and went out. She was a grand finale firework that kept the night alight.
How can I express it? How can I make you understand why my heart now feels like shattered glass after her death? I don’t know how, but I’m going to try.
My Bubby raised five boys: Uncle Shmuel; Uncle Jeffrey; Uncle Craig; my father, Richard; and Uncle Gary. To this day, when I say that I’m Richie’s daughter, people in the community tell me what they remember of my Bubby and Zaidy and their boys. Raising five boys may seem like a daunting task, but Bubby always talked about how much she loved it. She was an excellent cook, and that is an understatement. Chicken livers, toast with shvamin (warm mushroom sauce), meat rolls, griven, lamb stew, and more: These were dishes that she grew up with, ones that children of my generation may have never heard of. But she would make them for me. It was a way that I could have meals that I otherwise wouldn’t be able to have. She loved to cook for us, and we didn’t even have to schedule a time.
Once, I randomly decided to come to my Bubby and Zaidy’s house on a weeknight just to say hello. Bubby opened the door and said, “Good, you’re here! There’s rice and chicken for you. Sit down.” I paused, thinking, Bubby did you somehow know that I was coming even before I did? But her doors were always open. And you couldn’t smell her food and walk out with an empty stomach. It was impossible.
My uncles and my father told me so many stories about Bubby growing up. How much they loved Bubby, and how much she did for them. They would play in the backyard, break things (including bones!) and she would take care of them (including hospital visits!) My father told me that, when he was a teenager, he parked in a no-parking zone and the car was towed. He told my Bubby, and he was very nervous about the trouble he would be in. She told him not to worry. She got my Zaidy to sign a blank of piece of paper, so that she could write a letter of acknowledgement above it to get the car back. I don’t even know if they ever told Zaidy. (Well, Zaidy, I guess you know now.) Another story that my father told me was that, before I was born, there was a debate about whether to keep the JCC open on Shabbos. My father went to a rally with my Bubby. It seemed that the JCC would be decidedly opened on Shabbos, until my Bubby screamed, “You should be ashamed of yourselves! How could you be michalel Shabbos like that!” My father said that everyone was silenced. I laugh now because I can hear her saying it.
But Bubby was also really protective of her grandchildren. When I was young, the whole Neuman family went to a Pesach hotel together. My cousins and I were playing a game on Yuntiff, and there was a woman sitting on a couch, staring at us. My grandmother went up to her and said, “Excuse me, is there an issue?” the woman stated that she didn’t believe that children should play games on Yuntiff. My Bubby looked at her and stated “These are my grandchildren! And they are none of your business!” She was always fighting for us.
Not many people can say that their Bubby was their closest friend, but I’m blessed because my Bubby was one of mine. Bubby was at every one of my school plays and productions, and she even cheered for me at my tenth-grade debate team competition. Many times, I went to stay with my Bubby and Zaidy in Boca Raton, Florida during the winter. Once, when we were eating dinner, I caused something to fall, which led to a domino effect across the table. I watched in horror, unable to stop it, until watermelon juice poured over the side of the table, directly onto my Zaidy’s socks. All was quiet. My Bubby and Zaidy looked at each other – and they just laughed. So I laughed. I had to fight my Bubby to let me help clean up. I think she knew I was feeling embarrassed. She wanted me to just go and have fun.
Another time when I was fourteen, I got sick. Now, there is one important thing to mention about my Bubby: She never slept. As a mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother, she was always taking care of us. So, when I was sick at four in the morning, Bubby was awake, cooking in the kitchen. And, she took care of me. She put moist towels on my head, made me toast and jam, and held my hair back as I, you know, did what children with stomach viruses occasionally do. I remember looking at her and saying I was sorry. All of her children were grown up. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. She barely acknowledged the comment. I think she may have rolled her eyes at me. Her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren, we were all hers. She would never stop taking care of us.
When I went away to sleep-away camp as a young girl, Bubby sent packages with every type of chocolate known to man. And devil dogs. I always told her that I had inherited her addiction to chocolate. We loved to eat it together. When I was thirteen, she sent me a teddy bear along with the candy: a pretty pink one, with lots of fluff and a pink ribbon tied at its neck. I named her Sunset.
I also never needed to buy postcards for camp. Bubby bought them for me, ones with baby angels and teddy bears on the other side. I sent her letters while I was in camp, telling her about all my adventures. Years later, when I was looking for a game in one of my Bubby and Zaidy’s closets, I found my letters. She kept every single one.
Growing up, I went to my Bubby and Zaidy’s house almost every Shabbos afternoon. Bubby and I would talk for hours. That was the best. We would sit at the kitchen table and just talk. There was nothing that she didn’t know about me. There was nothing that I couldn’t tell her. You may laugh, but as a frum Jewish Orthodox girl, there isn’t that much drama in our lives. But whatever drama there was, my Bubby knew it. And she would tell me stories about her parents and her brother, my Great Uncle Ralph, and how much she loved and missed them. But there were a lot of funny stories, too. I loved talking with my Bubby and I dreaded the end of Shabbos. The only thing that consoled me was that I’d be coming back the next week.
When my Bubby got sick, it was a progression. I still went to see her on Shabbos, and she seemed fine. But I heard my uncles, my father, and my Zaidy – and they were worried. I didn’t understand why. Bubby seemed a little out of sorts but overall fine to me. I realize now that she was hiding it from me. She didn’t want me to worry. And she hid it from me until she couldn’t anymore. Before Bubby got sick, we loved to talk about the books that we were reading. My Bubby was a very educated woman; she skipped a grade in high school and entered college at 16. But when she got sick, she couldn’t read anymore. So I read to her. We were reading Anne of Green Gables.
Just before Rosh Hashanah, I was at the Park Heights JCC when I got the call that Bubby was in the hospital. I had just been with her the Shabbos before. It would be my last Shabbos with my Bubby at the kitchen table.
That night in the hospital, the doctors told us that Bubby didn’t have long. My world – my heart, my everything – shattered. I went home, and I hugged my bear, Sunset. It had been 10 years since my Bubby gave her to me. She was a comfort now. It was then that I decided that I would bring her to Bubby, because Bubby needed her. I brought her, and I know that it might sound silly, but when the nurses were switching Bubby to a room in the ICU, I made sure that they would keep Sunset with her. Despite all odds, Bubby pulled through. She still needed medical attention, so we brought her to Levindale. But Sunset wasn’t there. I looked around Bubby’s room, but I couldn’t find Sunset. I told myself it was okay, though. All that mattered was that Bubby was alright.
I went to talk to her and read to her often over the past few months. I reminded her of all of our times at the kitchen table, and she would smile. Once, the nurses asked her who I was. It was hard for her to talk, but she pointed to herself and slowly, lovingly, said, “She’s mine.” Over these months, we had quite a few scares. But Bubby always proved everyone wrong. Always proved how strong she was. And she was. She was so, so strong.
On our last day together, I read to her. I talked to her a lot. I held her hand, and she squeezed mine. And I stayed in the hospital with her, my Zaidy, my uncles and aunts, and my parents, until one in the morning. Before I left, I had one last conversation with her. I kissed her, she tried to talk, and she opened her eyes. I knew that was hard for her to do then. I like to think that she was telling me that she loved me and that it was going to be okay. That I was going to be okay. She was there when I got into law school and when I first got published in the Where What When. Before she got really sick, she would tell me how proud she was – as if I hadn’t heard it enough from her, I also heard it from everyone whom she spoke to. And now… now I think that my Bubby was telling me that she was always going to be proud of me. That she would be there to guide me.
The day of Bubby’s levayah (funeral) was the second hardest day of my life. The first was when I found out that she was niftera. I cannot accurately describe the pain that I feel after her passing. Right now, it has only been a few days since I last saw her, and I already miss her so much. I miss her hugs, her smile, her laugh. I even miss how she smelled. After Bubby’s kevurah, I thought to myself: This is the worst thing I have ever done. At the shiva following the kevurah, I was inconsolable. I walked into the kitchen and faced that table, the one we talked at for hours on a thousand Shabbos afternoons.
And then I saw it. I’m not exaggerating when I say that light shone through the window – landing on a pink bear. Sunset had been waiting for me. At that kitchen table, Bubby gave her back to me. She knew that I was the one who would need our bear now.
One of my earliest memories of my Bubby was when my sister and I were sleeping over her house. We must have been maybe four or five. Our Zaidy was reading us a bedtime story. My Bubby was hiding in the corner, taking pictures of the sweet moment. And I remember laughing and yelling, “I know you’re there! I see you!” And she laughed and continued to take pictures. After my Bubby passed, I realized that I can still say the same thing: Bubby, I know you’re there. And in a way, I see you. I see you in my cousins and in my siblings. I see you in my aunts and in my uncles. I see you in my mother and in my father. I see you in my Zaidy. And when I look in the mirror Bubby, I see you in myself.
I love you. I will always, always love you.
Sunset
