Nancy's Eulogy

Dear Monte, Morgan and Melissa,

I just want to say again that my heart goes out to you. You have incurred an incalculable and irreplaceable loss. Only time can mitigate the pain but it will never erase your memories of Nancy.

Cheryl gave such a touching eulogy at the funeral service. I appreciated her very specific memories of Nancy, and the way she highlighted Nancy’s high-spirited personality at college and beyond. I’m sure if I’d walked into that same classroom I would have picked out Nancy to be my friend as well.

Nancy always said she met me earlier at some synagogue meeting for mothers, but my first memory of her takes me back to an unusually warm day in January, 1992. We met on the playground at Bedford and Avenue V. Morgan, not quite two, and Jason, almost two and a half, were climbing the same wooden blocks. I asked Nancy how old Morgan was, and with her characteristic crusty humor, she answered, “She’ll be two in two weeks – if I let her live that long!”

Jason and Morgan took a liking to each other, and Nancy and I began arranging to meet at the playground, McDonald’s, and Burger King. Later, when the kids reached preschool age, we began arranging weekly playdates every Friday afternoon at the library, followed by an early dinner at a fast-food place with a playroom.

As soon as they caught sight of each other, Jason and Morgan would make a beeline for each other and start playing. Nancy often referred to them as a “corporation.” Once, when they were four, Jason and I visited Nancy at the Palms Shore Club and Jason spent the day in the day camp along with Morgan. A friend greeted Nancy as we arrived and she introduced me as her “mockitainista.” I got a huge laugh out of that when I found out it was the Yiddish word for the relationship between the parents of the bride and groom!

As I got to know Nancy better I learned that she did indeed have an infectious laugh and great sense of humor. She was also a strong woman who took no guff from anyone, and she would speak out in no uncertain terms, especially in defense of her family. She could be a strict mother, summarily taking Morgan home from the park when she disobeyed, but her love and caring for both her daughters was never to be doubted. She was passionately devoted to her husband and her children, always spoke to me admiringly of her sister Ellen and brother-in-law Michael, and was so grateful for her mother Jenny and the way Jenny supported her marriage and never interfered.

When Nancy’s cancer was first discovered she fought hard. She must have been shocked to wake up after surgery and find that there was much more of a problem than a simple burst cyst. How she explained her hair loss and sickness after chemotherapy that first year out, I don’t know, but I do know that she did not want to tell Morgan, who was only seven. She did not want to frighten Morgan or disrupt her childhood with the spectre of cancer. Instead, she fought back and she seemed to win. Her hair grew back. I asked her once if she worried the cancer might return, and she declared, “It’s NOT coming back.”

Her tone was final, dismissive. I believed her. No mere cancer cell would dare to mess with a determined Nancy! I thought of her as someone who beat cancer, and she was one of the role models I looked to for hope when I had my own bout with breast cancer the following winter.

When I had my mastectomy, Nancy visited me at the hospital and brought me a Harlequin romance and a book about Big Beautiful Women. This must have seemed to her an analogy to my missing breast: beauty of a type that society has been slow to recognize. The book discussed pride in one’s body, and I found it a reassuring and thoughtful gift.

After my recovery, we continued to meet at libraries every Friday afternoon until Jason and Morgan were in middle school. Sometimes we met at the Homecrest library; other times at Kings Bay or Gerritsen Beach. Afterwards we ate at Burger King on Coney Island Avenue or McDonalds on Nostrand.

Once, when Jason was nine or ten, we had a bad incident at McDonalds. I was there with Nancy and Elyse, and Jason, Steven and Morgan were in the playroom. Because kids had to remove their shoes before entering the playroom area, Jason was in his stocking feet, and the heavy playroom door swung back and caught his toe. He came out crying and bleeding, with part of his toenail ripped off. At that time I didn’t know whether his toe was broken (fortunately, it wasn’t).

The manager dropped a couple of Band Aids on the table and left us to our own devices. As I tended to Jason, a crowd of teenagers collected and began making pointed comments and nasty remarks. One told me not to let him bleed on the table because he might have AIDS. In exasperation I said, “Why don’t you get out of my face and let me take care of my kid?”

At this point they became threatening. I was still trying to get Jason’s bleeding to stop so I could take him to Dr. Ehrlich, and I couldn’t do anything to defend us, plus I had the nightmarish knowledge that if this gang attacked us we could not even run away. Jason’s toe was injured and he was already too big to carry.

Nancy and Elyse went to the manager, who pretended to be busy, and it was Nancy’s voice booming out over the workers’ feeble excuses, demanding the manager come out and help us. He was indifferent, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “What do you want me to do, call the police?”

Nancy answered him, loud and clear: “Yes! Call the police!”

If anyone could take the lead and protect her friends and family, it was Nancy.
The weekly meetings broke up around 2001, not long after 9/11. After that I didn’t see Nancy often. I know we visited when Monte’s father died, and Jason visited once during summer vacation a couple of years ago.

Back in March or April, we met Nancy at the H & R Block on Avenue U and E. 13th Street. She was happy to see us but busy with her job, and said we’d talk sometime soon.

We never did. I never even knew she was sick, so it came as a complete surprise and dreadful shock when I read Monte’s email Monday night.

Nothing can bring back a strong, vibrant and loving woman like Nancy. She lost her battle with cancer way too young, and missed out on the things we look forward to later in life. But we have our memories, and I hope I have given you a few more to cherish, that you may not have known about.

May you find comfort in loving each other, and in knowing that Nancy loved you all deeply. She is remembered with love in many hearts in addition to your own.