Taking Mom to see Dad is always memorable

Out of the blue, my mother suddenly said, “Let’s visit the cemetery!” She wanted to go to Mount Ararat in Farmingdale to visit the grave of my dad, who has been gone 10 years, and those of his mother, brothers and cousins.
We did and, although it might not sound appropriate, we had a fun time. It didn’t start out that way, though.
Because of the pandemic, it had been two years since we were there, and I couldn’t recall where to find the cemetery. Not having a GPS didn’t help, either. My mom, who at 92 is legally blind, said, “Oh, don’t worry, I know where it is!” Not quite trusting her judgment (good move on my part), I consulted MapQuest on my phone and found a route.
Of course, we still got lost.
Way down on Route 110 at a traffic light, I asked a young woman in the car next to me, “Where is Mount Ararat Cemetery?” She said she didn’t know but consulted her phone. Fortunately, we had a very long red light staring at us.

She found it. It turns out we were pretty close by, and she said, “I’m not doing much this afternoon. I’ll show you.” And she led us to the cemetery. A sweet gesture.
It was both happy and sad visiting these folks. It seemed amazing that my grandmother has been gone 41 years. Mom provided a running commentary on each relative. “She was wonderful!” Mom said about a doting aunt. For another, “He was a bit meshuga” (“crazy” in Yiddish) about a card-playing cousin.  A few tears over Dad: “He was a good guy."
Even the planes constantly flying overhead cheered Mom. “How do they stay up in the sky?” she asked, with childlike wonder.

Then we set out for nearby Wellwood Cemetery -- where other relatives are buried -- and visited “Mom’s soldier.”  Years before she lost her vision, she had noticed a lone tombstone for a serviceman killed in World War II. It had no family information, nothing.

So Mom “adopted” him, and we stop by to say hello each time we're there. On this visit, Mom approached the grave with her walker, whispered a few words of prayer, paused for a moment of reflection and then said, “Let’s get back to the car.”

At 4:45 pm, we set off for home -- which for her is an assisted living facility in Glen Cove. But I had a feeling she didn’t want to return just yet.

"Do you want to go to Ben's Deli for dinner?" I asked. Mom’s eyes lit up like a little kid's on Christmas morning, or Hanukkah, and off we went. Mom had her favorite meal: a hot dog with mustard, sauerkraut on top, with a cream soda.

When she was asked by the waitress, "Do you want a round knish or a square knish?" Mom replied, “Which one is greasier?" Waitress: “The square one.” Mom: “I’ll take the square one.” And she got it. Mom was in deli heaven (Is it inappropriate to say that after visiting a cemetery?). We returned to the facility, and it started to rain. Someone above, apparently, was watching over us until we got home.
As she got out of the car, Mom looked at me and smiled, "Let's go to the other cemetery and visit MY family next week!"

Reader Saul Schachter lives in Sea Cliff.