A Mother's Day wish: Don't arrest me | Opinion
A warning to Hamilton County prosecutors: If you choose to charge me with disorderly conduct on Mother’s Day, my defense will be simple. My mom, Serna Shatz, made me do it, and I have written proof.
It comes in the form of a handwritten note penned to me and my siblings after hearing us describe the pain and sadness of our first Father’s Day without Dad. Though sympathetic, Mom would have none it.
"I am asking my children to make a promise that after I die, do NOT go to the cemetery to visit me every Mother’s Day," she wrote in her distinctive swooping script. Then, the instructions got specific. "Go to a mall, a beauty shop or Kosher deli and YELL at the top of your lungs ‘Hi Mom, I’m thinking of you,’ then laugh and go about your day wearing a big smile."
They are appropriate marching orders from a woman grounded in laughter, love and silliness. While adjectives do her no justice, quirky comes close .
Alzheimer’s could not dim her sparkle. We moved Mom to Cincinnati not long after her diagnosis. Doctors recommended books and the growing stack on my nightstand painted a frightening picture of what lie ahead. Most of it came true. But somehow, Mom stayed grounded in the irony and humor found in her Mother’s Day request. It was an unlikely gift from a cruel disease.
The first of what would be many hallucinations prompted a 2 a.m. phone call. “What do women wear these days?” Mom asked brightly, flashing back to decades running a department store in Chicago as she prepped her apartment for a big sale. Groggy but succinct I answered, “Cotton.” Eliciting a long sigh, Mom could not hide her disappointment. “Oh honey, I forgot you’ve never picked up an iron,” she muttered and then hung up.
As confusion morphed into agitation, Mom fixated on the growing list of things in her world she no longer understood. Diversion proved a powerful weapon to bring comfort. I quickly mastered redirection. Though often successful, I was never far from reminders that even when deeply compromised, Mom’s quick wit was no match.
That was obvious in any exam room filled with tension and yelling soon after Mom arrived. When all else failed, her primary care doctor would shoot me a glance and I was off to change topic. After one especially long riff, Mom looked at me and said, ”Honey, that was a long trip to nowhere.” Making sure no one missed the point, she reminded the doc, “Jay is my cutest kid, but not the smartest.”
Mom drew smiles and buck teeth on her masks as COVID-19 became the new normal. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The isolation fueled her Alzheimer’s. But somehow, she was able to appreciate and even celebrate the absurdity of her new life. Sitting down at her assisted care facility in a plexiglass booth for an early pandemic visit, she raised her hands in the air to exclaim, “Finally, I’m in a magic show!”
I will long treasure a fleeting moment that captures a lifetime of grace and humor. Isolated in Memory Care for a month with no visitors, nurses wheeled Mom into a tiny room for a long delayed visit. Since we saw her last, Mom had lost the ability to dress herself, fix her hair or apply make-up. Catching a glimpse in the mirror, Mom stared silently at the pale, unfamiliar figure. Then, with timing that would make Jack Benny proud, glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Now I know what killed your dad.”
And so here I am finally ready to carry out Mom’s orders. She died peacefully in November 2022, months shy of her 90th birthday. I adored her and miss her. And while tears will come easily on this first Mother’s Day without her, so will the laughter, smiles and yelling while I make some noise, disturbing the peace to celebrate one heckuva mom.
Jay Shatz lives in Amberley Village.
This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: If I get arrested on Mother's Day, blame my mom | Opinion
