My mother lived a quiet, independent life. She never judged other people. She never offered advice. She was not confrontational. Most important, she was an enabler.
Our family shared understanding, support and unconditional love with our Bumba. She taught us many, many things, but never preached. Her philosophies were succinctly verbalized, always delivered with humor, and born of experience. These were lessons of love and life, never demanding or insistent; simply offered. She valued our abilities, intelligence, and uniqueness. She assumed we were capable of good judgment, would make rational decisions, and be responsible for our actions.
I was loved by her, even adored, and was empowered by that love. She was awed by the children she produced, and my brother Dickie and I were uplifted for it, and sustained by it.
Her grandchildren and their spouses, Eric & Mary, Cheryl & Rob, Adam & Anna, and Jo-Ellen & Peter, loved her for her wit, intelligence, kindness, the way she valued their individuality, and the steady, guiltless presence and love that she provided them for more than four decades.
She was a force in the lives of her great-grandchildren, Ben, Nate, Ted, Dana, Faye, and Griffin. Gail and Peter, too young to have developed lasting memories of her, will learn how they hit the genetic jackpot with their Great-Grandmother, Bumba. She was a model of quiet dignity and strength of character, which will provide dimension to their world view as they mature.
Her son-in-law, my husband Sy, enjoyed a close, loving and respectful relationship with her for more than 50 years, partly because she never meddled in our marriage, or demanded attention.
Rube and Gussie Freed passed on their loving, intelligent, gregarious and non-judgmental traits to their first born daughter, Thelma.
Thelma and her sister, Leonore, enjoyed a beautiful relationship, the kind of non-competitive, purely loving experience all sisters hope to share, but few realize.
Her nieces and nephews loved her, each knowing they held a special place in her heart.
Best of all, she was always upbeat and optimistic, attributes also inherited from the Freed family. It was not in her nature to complain or carp about circumstance.
She accepted life as a positive force, embracing the world’s promise, congeniality, hospitality, and sensuality.
She loved to say that the Hungarians were the most charming people on earth, and being one of them was her only prideful declaration.
But, she was charming, and people were drawn to her. She developed many life-long friendships, and when, after a 54 year marriage to my father, she was widowed, she embarked on an 18 year love affair with another man, Sy Birnbaum. Loving, and being loved, was her raison d’être.
She was never sick. Even at 93, she took no prescription drugs. Her diet was a source of wonder; small amounts of food, often. She loved chocolate, her sweet tooth still active until she finally refused all food, last week.
Aunt Leonore nicknamed Thelma “The Ostrich”.
When sickness, handicap, or crisis presented during the course of her lifetime, my mother withdrew. She was unable to accept responsibility during emergency or times of peril.
She rarely offered, or asked for, advice or opinion, so stress was kept at bay. She made no apology for this quirk in her personality.
“The Ostrich” was a family joke, but the chiding was loving, not accusatory. This was simply accepted as a part of Thelma, just as she accepted all the parts of all of us.
Perhaps that was the key to her longevity, a simple diet to sustain her, very little stress, and keeping love in her center.
Thank you, Mama, for giving us life. We honor and praise you for all you shared with us so fully and honestly. Goodbye, and rest well surrounded by our love, as you so deserve.