AVM Research Fund Blog

Replies: 2 Comments

Leslie and I were friends since 8th grade - we shared all the major life events, from Bat Mitzvah and proms and Red & Blue through weddings and our kids' Bar Mitzvahs and their weddings and, of course, the grandchildren. And the minor events, too, measured in endless phone conversations (our friendship encouraged my parents to get me my own phone) and meetings that were never frequent enough and featured very long goodbyes. We never could get it all in.

I love that the Munzers have honored Leslie through this fund, but we all want her remembered for her wonderful life, not her tragic death. She had a gift for friendship that was so rare - I never knew anyone who didn't love being with her. She gathered friends wherever she lived, and they stayed with her forever. She genuinely liked everyone - but maybe it was easier for her because she had such an unusually wonderful family, both hers and Bob's.

Although she lived under a shadow for nearly 2 decades, she didn't let it cloud her enjoyment of her life, her family, her friends. That gorgeous smile said it all.

I'm grateful that we met when we did and we had so many years in which to share so much. I miss her and grieve with her family. We were all so lucky to have her in our lives.

Nancy Newfield said @ 07/26/2005 06:08 PM EST

Leslie was not only my cousin, but my friend for over forty years..She was kind, warm and fun to be around...I miss her dearly.

Penny Stern said @ 03/17/2005 01:45 PM EST

Eulogy to Mom
December 12, 2004

Thank you for joining us as we simultaneously mourn the loss and celebrate the life of a beautiful, caring and above all, gentle person. A close friend shared with me a poem written by Thomas Hardy entitled “The Going.” My Dad, Michael, the family and I were touched by the words and I would like to share the first few passages with you.

"Why did you give no hint that night,
That quickly after the morrow’s dawn,
And calmly, as if indifferent quite,
You would close your term here, up and be gone.

Where I could not follow,
With wing of swallow,
To gain one glimpse of you ever anon!

Never to bid goodbye,
Or lip me the softest call,
Or utter a wish for word, while I
Saw morning harden upon the wall,
Unmoved, unknowing
That your great going
Had place, that moment, and altered all."

As I contemplated what to tell you about my Mother and how to best honor her memory, it became clear to me that what I needed to write was not a eulogy by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, I found myself visualizing a real life love story in which I have come to realize that we are all players and the story has not ended with her passing. My mother wore her love for her family on her sleeve for all to see. One might even say that she flaunted it and in return, we loved her back unconditionally. Numerous were her friends (painfully long the telephone conversations I might add) and she made no effort to hide her obvious affection for all of you here today. Clearly this story has no end and although my mom’s role was cut short, the story is by no means finished and we owe it to her to continue.

My mom wore many hats and titles: mother, wife and friend, sister, cousin, niece and aunt only to name a few. Her favorite title, however, was Mema and truly fortunate were the precious few allowed to call her by this name. Although our loss is tragic and our time together too short, I can take a small amount of comfort knowing that Mom spent her last days doing what she loved best, caring for and sharing time and of course, spoiling her grandchildren. If love of God and family are achievements, then Mom has built monuments for all to see into the eons.

Mom was the consummate mother, always giving more than she received. She gave me a lifetime of memories, always there to comfort us, teach us, protect us from bullies and push us to achieve more than we thought than we could. No homework assignment was safe from Mom’s red pen, our grammar always subject to her scrutiny and to this day, the universities who accepted my applications probably still believe that the essays submitted were my own. How wrong they were! She taught me to water-ski, ferried me to endless ball games, ski meets and mindless events. Although she would never allow me a mini-bike, regardless of my pre-teen begging and pleading, the word no seldom entered her vocabulary. She just wasn’t the type.

Did I mention that Mom was cool? I have to tell you one of my favorite stories as a teenager: I remember that I was a seventeen year old high school senior at the time and OK, I wasn’t exactly an angel. In this case, my friend across the street found himself under a little extra scrutiny from his parents and knowing that my folks were cooler than most, he asked me a favor. He needed for me to temporarily store his contraband in the closet in my room until the “smoke” cleared at his house. Being the selfless type that I am, I agreed. I guess that I pushed one of Mom’s wrong buttons on this day or maybe, my housekeeping skills hadn’t quite reached the zenith that my mom expected. A bit perturbed at the condition of my room, she announced that we needed to do something about this, announced that we needed to start by cleaning up and she proceeded to march up the stairs in the general direction of my room. Trailing closely behind, my heart in my mouth, Mom threw open my closet door and announced that my closet was the logical place to start. “Look at this mess” she exclaimed as she threw the doors open, prepared to pounce on the piles of clothes and gear adorning the floor. “Look, at all the clothes on the floor. Your tennis racket is buried in last week’s homework. Here’s your gym bag. Can’t you get this stuff into the laundry? Look, over here on the shelf’s your water pipe!” I mean, she didn’t miss a beat and didn’t even turn to look at me. “I hope that you can get this place straightened out,” she said, never said another word on the subject and disappeared out the door. I mean, come on, how cool is that?

Some kids need to “borrow” the family car before getting even their driver license. Not me. How many can say that it was their mom who pulled over on the side of the road, looked over and said, "Look, I know that you don’t even have a learner’s permit yet but…you drive. I’ll teach you." That was Mom. She pitched baseballs in the driveway, knew how to pull a water skier and take a fish off a hook when the going got tough. For years her backhand was better than mine and I had to reach my mid-teens until I could match her on a tennis court. We always found time for each other. The fridge was always stocked with the latest, tastiest snacks and dinner, by her command, was always a family event. She was the matriarch, or as my close friend put it, the pied piper of the family.

Given that my mom grew up in the metropolitan New York area, Mom at least tried to have us believe that the world somehow revolved around Manhattan. Growing up ourselves in rural, northern New York State, she made it her mission to assure that although we might sometimes live like country boys, that we were subjected to what she considered proper culture. She dragged us through endless art museums and collections (to this day I don’t have much interest in returning to the Guggenheim or the Frick) shows and exhibitions, Broadway plays and European cities. Let’s face it, the lady knew her way around a corn beef on rye as well. My father, Michael and I spent a week one afternoon in a London cathedral at Mom’s orders doing brass rubbings. She loved it but to this day, the three of us still can’t figure out why. As a high school senior I had my heart set on attending the University of Vermont. Mom somehow convinced me that Jewish kids from the Adirondacks needed to experience big city life and the potential UVM experience therefore went quickly down the tubes. UVM is but a small example of Mom’s influence, but Mike and I always wanted to please her and our desire to do so affects the people that we are today.

I still can’t believe that she’s physically gone, and I search for even the smallest explanation or tidbit to bring some amount of comfort. A close friend who knew my intimate relationship with my Mom pointed out to me that I was indeed lucky and in fact more fortunate than most. We shared more than 37 wonderful years and for most of that time, we lived in the same house, same city or for a number of years in Knoxville, right down the street from one another. (Thank you Linda for insisting that we move into my parents’ neighborhood. I don’t know if there are many daughters in law who would sign up for such living arrangements.) We enjoyed a special bond that most parents could only wish to have with their children and I know that we packed more love into our time together than most achieve in a lifetime. Mom, I hope that my relationship with you can serve as a model for my relationship with Eric, Daniel and Nicole.

I have been blessed to know and enjoy my own grandparents as both a child and even today as an adult. I feel the greatest sorrow and pain for Linda’s and my children, robbed of the love of two grandmothers within the same week. Fate has suddenly and unfairly denied our children a wonderful luxury that I was so fortunate to enjoy.

So Mom, Mike and I make the following promises to you:

We will keep your memory alive. We’ll speak of you often and although you can’t physically be with us, we will be sure that the children know you. We will do our utmost to uphold the traditions that you enjoyed and that we know were so very dear and important to you.

We will look after Dad for you. We know that this is something that you would want. We’re not sure that we can keep him from dressing in plaids and stripes at the same time, but we’ll do our best. Offer us your patience; you couldn’t always get it done either.

We will include you in our decision making. I have already begun so many of my own thought processes by asking, “What would Mom want for me to do or how would she want me to handle a certain situation.” Your influence and sound judgments will always be there for us. Nobody can take this from us.

We will raise kids that would make you happy and proud. Thanks for your help up to this point and so far, I think that we’re well underway.

And, believe it or not Mom, Mike promises that you’ll get a doctor in the family yet! Just wait and see.

One more thing Mom…we promise never to learn the words to Mah Atzur. We know that you loved to sing it every year at Chanukah but let’s face it; you never knew the words either.

So now Mom, I need to impose on all of our friends and family who have gathered here today. (I know that you wouldn’t mind doling out a little bit of Jewish guilt yourself.) To all of you here, I can unfortunately say that the past days have been harder on us than any words I can offer to describe and our pain is profound. We need to refer back to the love story that I mentioned as I began speaking a few minutes ago. The relationship that all of you share with my mother and my family makes you an essential player in the story. Those of us gathered here are the crucial bridge to the memories of my mother that we need to protect and cherish. I see something of my mother in all of you. Our responsibilities to each other do not end when we leave here today. Let us please continue our relationship to nurture the friendships, and love that my mother weaved.

I love you Mom. I always will love you. I will never forget you.

Steve Munzer said @ 01/26/2005 10:33 AM EST

01/15/2005: "Leslie Munzer - Memories"