In Honor of My Mother and the Power of Love

The last time my mother was in a hospital, an essay by Thich Nhat Hanh moved in front of my eyes. "Our mother is the teacher who first teaches us love, the most important subject in life," he wrote. "Without my mother I could never have known how to love. Thanks to her I can love my neighbors. Thanks to her I can love all living beings. Through her I acquired my first notions of understanding and compassion."

My mother, Miriam A. Solomon, died on January 20, which happened to be the seventh anniversary of the inauguration of a man and a presidential regime that she loathed. Once, several years ago, when I referred to George W. Bush as "an idiot," she made a correction by pointing out he's much worse than that; she used the adjective "evil."

At my parents' apartment, taped on the front door for a long time, a little poster said: "The America I Believe In Doesn't Torture People." The poster was from Amnesty International USA -- an organization that my mom wrote many protest letters to dictators for -- and it summed up her devotion to human decency rather than counterfeit versions of American democracy.

On Monday, the day after my mom died, the Washington Post that arrived on the apartment doorstep carried a lead editorial under the headline "Martin Luther King Jr.: His Words Are More Relevant Than Ever This Election Year." But the editorial did not include the word "war" -- even while it grandly commented on "the vision of Dr. King" and, of course, quoted from his "I Have a Dream" speech.

My mother was among the hundreds of thousands of civil-rights supporters who gathered in front of the Lincoln Memorial and heard King's speech that day in 1963. But unlike the Post's editorial writers she did not suffer from arrested development in subsequent decades.

She shared in King's expansive view of essential struggles for human rights during the last few years of his life. And in the decades that followed, she took to heart his denunciations of economic injustice and what he called "the madness of militarism."

In contrast to the Washington Post -- with its fevered editorial support for the war in Vietnam and, a third of a century later, the war in Iraq -- my mother was a humanist who cared about human life far more than geopolitical positioning. In October 1967, then a 46-year-old mother of four children, she joined in the large antiwar march to the Pentagon.

She was passionate about the Bill of Rights. In the early 1970s she did extensive volunteer work for the ACLU in defense of the civil liberties of antiwar demonstrators. And for decades she worked to get progressive Democrats elected to office. She was never in the limelight, and she never sought it.

Sometimes she'd tell me about her father, Abe Abramowitz, a socialist who did tireless political work in Brooklyn. As a girl, she went with him to branch meetings of The Workmen's Circle, where social justice was on the agenda. Once she showed me how he showed her how to quickly seal a lot of envelopes by wetting many flaps all at once with a sponge. Along the way he supported Norman Thomas for president; later on, as circumstances and possibilities shifted, he opted for Franklin Roosevelt.

My mom adored her father, who had a sparkling sense of humor, a love of literature, and -- most of all -- an overflow of humanistic kindness. He died young, when she was only in her mid-thirties. It must have been a terrible blow to my mother.

My mother did not die young (she was 86), but since then I've felt awful waves of sadness. And sometimes I think of people who are mourning loved ones of all ages, due to distinctly unnatural causes. The people dying in Iraq as a consequence of the U.S. war effort. The children in so many countries who lose their lives to the ravages of poverty. The health-care system in the United States that -- in the absence of full medical coverage for everyone as a human right -- means avoidable death and suffering on a large scale.

In mediaspeak and political discourse, the human toll of corporate domination and the warfare state is routinely abstract. But the results -- in true human terms -- add rage and more grief on top of grief.

Our own mourning should help us understand and strive to prevent the unspeakable pain of others. And whatever love we have for one person, we should try to apply to the world. I won't ever be able to talk with my mother again, but I'm sure that she would agree.

After my mother died, I learned about a poem that she wrote long ago -- apparently soon after her father passed away. The poem is titled "Bereavement." Here is how it ends:

More than cherished memories are left Behind; they leave us -- us To know our duties and our powers And to carry on without much fuss.

In the crushing grief of the moment, we think of how vital and good our loved ones were, and vow to be worthy of them.

Comments

[DougPoet]

Many have died. Many ghosts linger. A poem:
A GHOST WHO LOVES WAR

Noble bystanders observed
her tortured to death
from a diplomatic distance
where culture is relative
because to pacifists
war is bad, but
war is good
when she was
my daughter raped

Be serious and love war
when we win

I died on Normandy beach, I thought
to save you all from Tyranny

Yet you waited to be serious
to be robust
to finally defeat the Soviet Union

My agony did not rest
when I visited prisoners in the Gulag;
I tried to comfort them, but
some did not listen to ghosts
or even believe

You waited to be serious
as I visited prisoners
in Saddam's prisons --
need I tell you they were tortured
in sacred sovereignity
pain not our business
because you're anti-war
against intervention, and
she was my daughter raped
not yours

You waited too long
like Chamberlain
to vomit

I love war
when it's done soon

Next time don't wait.
Evil doesn't wait to teach hate,
to corrupt
to imprison my daughter

I will love the last war the best.
War is good.
Do it soon
do it well
win
so her screams
haunt me less
though I am
more ghost than you
but I fear going to the light--
I could not bear it if
she is not in heaven
or I will not be worthy to visit
http://mojoepoe.wordpress.com

[brooklyncitizen]

Thank you for your moving and poignant post.

"Our own mourning should help us understand and strive to prevent the unspeakable pain of others. And whatever love we have for one person, we should try to apply to the world"

A wonderful reminder to all of us.

[UCOmid]

Wonderful story! No wonder such a devoted activist dedicates a son like you to the society....Bless you... this story tells a lot about you and your incredible work..

[NicoleAnonymous]

I have to admit this is making me cry. Thank you for sharing this with us during this difficult time for you.

[JustifiablyParanoid]

That was inspiring. And believe me, I couldn't give your message (nor the memory of your mother), a higher compliment than that.

[amamomofsons]

What a lovely tribute to your mom. What a wonderful legacy she left in you. I hope my children gather from their Dad and myself the lessons we hold dear and continue the fight we started.

[TommyMcCarthy]

Condolences Norm, thank you for your very moving very PERSONAL post. Knowing a bit about your mom now, and having read your work, I have no doubt she was very proud of you.

Her presence on the mall that day coupled with her life's work is a good reminder that Dr. King's legacy belongs to every American.

Miriam and Abe's, of course, belong to you and your family. That's alot to have available to reach back to. Thanks for sharing a little of that with us.

Now you can talk to her EVERY day. Shalom.........................................tm.

[CaBeachBum]

A beautiful tribute to your mother and legacy for humanity.