Today would have been my mother’s 76th birthday. I’ve written a post about her every year on her birthday and called them all “The Judy Miller Show” after the recurring Saturday Night Live sketch from the 1970s starring Gilda Radner as a hyperactive little girl named Judy Miller putting on shows in her bedroom. It was so weird that Gilda’s character shared my mom’s name because she reminded me so much of her.
Each year I’ve shared different family memorabilia related to my mom and talked about different aspects of her life and personality. But as I sit here today, I find myself just thinking about how long it’s been since she’s been gone. My mother died on May 23, 1999 and for the first time it seems like a lifetime ago. Her memory will never fade for me, my family members, or her countless friends, but SO much has happened since then that she seems part of a different world. Even a different century. I hate that my mother didn’t quite make it to the year 2000 because of everyone I knew, she was the one who was most excited about reaching the 21st century. I hate that she worked so hard most of her life, dreaming of retirement, and died just before hitting that goal. And, most of all, I hate that she never got to meet her grandchildren Sammy Tweedy and Charlie Miller. Oh, how she loved spending time with Leah and Spencer. Both of them remember her, but they were so young that their memories are growing fuzzier by the minute, bolstered only by photographs and our reminiscences about “Buba.”
My mom had just turned 65 when she died. Way too young. Before we know it, her kids will be passing that milestone. But as the years pass, I am growing weary of math calculations and “what ifs.” I no longer consult newspaper obituaries, trying in a weird, awful way to “feel better” by finding people who died younger than my mom. I realize now that one of the main lessons of life is to learn to accept things as they are, without needing to rationalize the unpleasantness or find comparisons that make it seem more bearable.
Dealing with and accepting loss is a difficult and important journey for most of us. I’ve gotten much better at it as I’ve gotten older, but I still, as anyone who reads this blog well knows, place a very high value on remembering those who are no longer with us. I will never apologize for that or worry about it, as long as it doesn’t become a debilitating “living in the past” that keeps me from appreciating the present moment. I’ve also learned as time has passed that I can’t intellectualize my way out of feelings, as much as I’ve spent most of my life trying to. I love my life, I appreciate my family, but I’m still sad today to think of my mother not being with us. But I accept it, I really do. I’m able to accept it because I’ve stopped trying to “figure it out.” She got cancer and died, that’s just what happened.
My mom’s life was certainly not without strife. I can’t bring myself to read through my old birthday posts right now but I know I’ve written many times about my parents’ ugly divorce in the early 1970s and how my mom was the one who moved out of our house when I was 12 years old. She never lived with us again but I spent many weekends at her Mary Richards-like bachelorette pad. My mother had such a huge impact on me in all sorts of ways, and her legacy lives on through her grandchildren. Songs that we sing, movies that we like, Leah’s love of theatre. On Saturday night Leah and I went to the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood where the creators and star of “Glee” were on hand to introduce a screening of a beautiful dye-transfer print of the film “Funny Girl.” Leah had never seen it, or any other Barbra Streisand film, but she quickly declared on her Facebook status that “Funny Girl” was her new favorite film. I couldn’t help but remember seeing that movie for the first time with my mom at the Lakeshore Theatre in Chicago over 40 years ago. It was so crowded that we had to sit in the very first row which was just a few feet from the screen (I still like sitting on top of the screen in movie theatres!). How my mother loved Babs. Just like Leah.
When I heard that Lena Horne died yesterday I remembered my mother and I seeing her Tony Award-winning performance, “The Lady and Her Music.” Again, we were sitting way up close and I remember Lena practically in our laps when she bent down in the middle of the show and pulled back her hair with her hands. “See! No facelifts, I swear!” she said, to the uproarious laughter and applause of the crowd, my mother most of all. My mother worshipped Horne and so many of the other stars of her childhood.
My mother was not a singer or actress, but for some reason I think she and Lena Horne had a lot in common. Both had to overcome a lot of judgment and expectation and both took a long time to feel really good about themselves. I think of Lena’s quote, “It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it,” and how much that applies to my mom as well. I can imagine Lena Horne and Judy Miller being good friends. Hope my mom was there to cheer her on yesterday.
I will continue to notice my mother’s legacy in my life and the lives of my children. I will continue to miss her and talk about her while also doing my best to live in the present.
Happy Birthday, Mom! We love you so much.
So beautiful. The way you tied your mother to Lena Horne was so effective. Well done.
Posted by: Julie R. | May 10, 2010 at 04:52 PM
Oh Danny, I kick myself that I never got to know your Mom even though i lived just a few short blocks away. i think i sensed that a fabulous incredible woman lived in that house! She was simply gorgeous, stunning, and i know that for a fact we would've hit it off! She was and is a goddess of the universe!
Posted by: susan specter | May 10, 2010 at 05:21 PM
I am so glad I got the chance to meet your Mom. What a wonderful woman. Love to you and your sister and to all those who miss your Mom today.
Posted by: laurie | May 10, 2010 at 05:38 PM
Danny, Your post about your mother really touched me on many levels. Your mom was such a beautiful woman. When you talked about trying to figure out what happened but then saying she just got cancer and died, I really related. I lost my sister to breast cancer in 2001 and to this day I get so angry about it and wonder why her. She would of loved being a grandma and did not get to experience that joy.Thanks for sharing your stories.And that skit on Saturday Night Live, The Judy Miller show was one of my favorites back in the day.
Posted by: Robin | May 10, 2010 at 05:59 PM
Hi Danny,
Don't know if your remember me but I always enjoyed it when you came to Special Consensus gigs with Sue. I met your mother during a turbulent time for her, yet she maintained a poise and youthfulness that demanded that you accepted her on her terms. She seemed more like your sister than your mother, but a wise sister.
It's great that you have saved these memories. I look forward to reading more about her in the coming days and weeks.
Marc Edelstein
Posted by: Marc Edelstein | May 10, 2010 at 08:22 PM
Such a beautiful post. My father passed away 3.5 years ago... when I was 4 months pregnant with my son... therefore it truly seems like he was from another lifetime ago. My dad also LOVED Lena Horne... when I heard she died today, my first thought was of him.
Your mother sounds like such a special lady -- she was so beautiful, too! Thank you for sharing your memories of her.
Posted by: Beth | May 10, 2010 at 10:40 PM
Wonderful tribute to you mom and to Lena Horne. Like you, I lost a parent to cancer at a young age. My father was just 45 when he died nearly 35 years ago and next year he would have been 80. I often feel that I can hardly remember the world he lived in or reconcile it with the one we live in now.
I met Lena Horne briefly when she and Vic Damone did a concert with the Pittsburgh Symphony Pops here in the late 1970s. She was actually screaming at the staff back stage in a very diva-like manner while I interviewed Vic Damone. Someone in one of her obits called her a "very angry woman" and that was certainly evident when I met her. I only hope she found more peace later in life.
Posted by: Pam G | May 11, 2010 at 05:00 AM
I love your tributes to your mom. My mom died when she was 43, so I know exactly what you're saying when you write, "But as the years pass, I am growing weary of math calculations and 'what ifs.' "
Posted by: churlita | May 11, 2010 at 12:00 PM
It's not often that someone else's memoriam pisses me off so much that I didn't get to know the person who died. I'm really pissed off that your mother is gone. She looks like someone I'd be friends with (maybe we were!) and I'd love to know the stories of the Mary Richards pad. I had one of those too...in Santa Monica. Where was hers???
Posted by: Jane | May 11, 2010 at 01:53 PM
Judy was a truly kind person and not just on her own terms--she was very aware of the feelings of those around her. I will always be grateful for her warmth, compassion and humor.
(My Dad on the other hand, was grateful for her mini-skirts.)
Posted by: helena | May 11, 2010 at 07:02 PM
Such a small world: I lost my mom at too young an age (for either of us). It was cancer, and her birthday is this month as well. Her favorite movie was Funny Girl (...Cabaret was a close second).
I really get a lot out of reading your blog, Danny. So glad we connected.
Oh, and one more "small world" link: I'm in Chicago every week for work, and feel a certain pang of envy as I get to know more people who grew up as native Chicagoans.
I've decided that Chi-town people are just truly friendly, salt-of-the-earth types that could turn the world on with their smile (take THAT, Mary Richards).
My mom gave me the gift of valuing people over material things. It's obvious that your mom gave you many gifts, Danny - not the least of which is your profound talent for capturing the indelible spirit of each member of your wonderful family.
The Judy Miller show lives on in something that is far better than syndicated reruns...
Posted by: Connie Burke | May 11, 2010 at 07:03 PM
I never knew your mom, Danny, but feel as though I did through your memories of her. She must have been a terrific person because she passed such wonderful qualities on to you. Hopefully, all those wonderful traits will continue on through her grandkids .... all of them.
Posted by: Marilyn Molnar | May 11, 2010 at 07:57 PM
Every time I read anything you write about your family, I want to throw myself in the adoption ring because along with the certain pain that's part of almost all families, there's a depth and richness to your experiences that I love reading about.
Your mom, in sideways fashion, did live to see 2000 and 2010. You keep her alive in spirit by sharing your memories.
Posted by: Jane (the other one) | May 12, 2010 at 09:29 AM
I always love reading your blog and especially in the midst of stress in my life, reading your blog is always a pleasure. Even as I worried what was meant by season finale...don't ever stop writing about your mom! Each year may bring fresh insights.
Posted by: Judy | May 12, 2010 at 11:53 AM
Beautiful post as always Danny. Your take on things is encouragement for a lot of us. Keep up the good work. And a belated happy birthday to your mom!
Posted by: Dave | May 13, 2010 at 03:02 AM
Danny, I was in Chicago last month....walked by 507 and the Lakeshore(it has some new name now). I will always remember all those redheads on the second floor.
Posted by: Michael Sideman | May 13, 2010 at 07:00 AM
This post in all its beauty made me shudder at the start and that chill stayed with me. I remember the Judy Miller show on SNL and am amazed that that character reminded you of your mom. That character reminded me of me, which is to say of my mom. I didn't realize, or didn't want to admit how much of my mom is in me - until she died five months ago. Thank you for writing such a lovely post and modelling how to write and remember.
Posted by: neil fleischmann | May 22, 2010 at 08:27 PM