Jacqueline Hirschler's Obituary
« Ne me quitte pas. » Obituary of Jacqueline Hirschler 1918-2014
Ne me quitte pas. Ne me quitte pas. Ainsi chantait le chansonnier belge Jacques Brel. N’empeche, maman nous a quittes lundi matin le 3 novembre tres tot dans la matinee. On a beau s’emporter contre la chandelle qui s’eteint, de s’emporter comme le poete qui fait rage lorsque ma douce mere glisse dans la longue nuit. Neanmoins, ose-t-on protester ? Quatre-vingt-seize ans que tu nous a benis par ta presence. Cela doit suffire. Et pourtant, je suis si avare de toi maman. Jaurais voulu encore quelques moments, quelques jours, quelques semaines, quelques annees. Pardonnez-moi, car je suis egoiste. Le deuil c’est ca. On se lamente.
Merci maman. Tu nous as fait connaitre le bonheur de notre enfance. Tu as toujours su adoucir les peines. Tu ne connaissais pas le cafard, ni la rancune. Heureuse enfance, heureuse vie.
Il y a peu de consolations que tu ne sois plus parmi nous. Sauf une. Que je ne sois pas oblige de dire a Monique, ta fille bien-aimee, que sa mere n’est plus. Monique s’est eteinte avant toi il y bien longtemps de cela. Elle aussi t’adorait. Nous parlions peu de notre chere Monique. On en pensait toujours.
Nee en France avant que les canons de la Grande Guerre cessent de rugir, en Normandie, tu accompagnes ton père en amerique en 1931 en pleine « Grand Depression . » Tu ne parles pas un mot d’anglais. Tu te promenes seule, une jolie fille blondinette aux yeux bleus, sur la plage en Floride attendant ton père. Ta mere ne t’accompagne pas. Tu ne l’as jamais connue. Elle est morte de tuberculose lorsque tu avais deux ans.
Tu as survecu trois maris. J’ai connu les deux derniers qui t’adoraient. Je m’imagine qu’il en était de meme de ton premier mari. Tu etais aussi bonne epouse que mere. A l’age de quatre vingt huit ans, tu finalement consents a un pontage coronarien et cela apres cinq ans de plaidoiries. Plus question avant le pontage de gravir les marches du metro. Convalescense sans accrocs. J’avais presque oublie l’endarterectomie carotidienne en 2008 et une fracture du femur. Recuperation. Toujours le sourire, la bonne humeur. Une chute en 2013 et Marlena, Fatima et Vennie se relaient pour etre avec toi vingt- quatre heures sur vingt-quatre. Tu manges au restaurant cinq jours par semaine. Tu bois ton pinard en bonne francaise. Seulement les dernieres semaines tu faiblis visiblement et finalement tu fermes les yeux pour de bon et glisse dans la nuit reveche. Adieu maman. Je pleure pour nous.
Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. So implored the Belgian balladeer Jacques Brel. Nevertheless, mom left us Monday, November 3rd in the early hours of the morning before dawn. It is futile to rage against the dying of the light, to rage like the Welsh poet when my sweet mother slid into that long gentle (?) night. Dare one protest? We were blessed by her presence for ninety-six years. This should suffice and yet I am stingy with my mother’s time. I wish to hoard every moment. I wanted a few more moments, a few more days, a few more weeks, a few more years…Forgive me because I am selfish. When we mourn ultimately we mourn ourselves.
Thank you mom. You left us a happy childhood. You knew how to soften our pains, to enhance our joys. You were a stranger to melancholy. I never knew you to hold a grudge. Happy childhood, happy life.
There are few consolations that you are no longer with us. Except for one: that I need not inform your beloved daughter Monique that her mother is no more. Monique passed away many years ago well before you. She also adored you. We spoke little afterwards of Monique but she was never far from our thoughts.
Born in France in 1918 before the canons of World War I had ceased to roar, in Normandy, you accompanied your father to America in 1931 at the height of the Great Depression. You didn’t speak a word of English. You wandered alone on the beach in Florida, a pretty young girl with blond curls and blue eyes waiting for your father. Your mother does not accompany you. You never knew her. She died when you were two years-old from tuberculosis.
You outlived three husbands, Robert, Robert and George. I knew the last two who adored you. I imagine that was the case with your first husband. You were a very good mother and a very good wife. At the age of eighty-eight, you finally consented to undergo coronary bypass surgery and this after five years of pleading. The surgery and recovery went without a hitch. I had almost forgotten the carotid endarterectomy in 2008 and the femoral fracture in 2011. You were always smiling and in a good mood. You loved going to the Berkeley Senior Center and sitting at your table of friends (including some interested gentlemen). A fall in 2013 and Marlena, Fatima and Vennie relay one another to your constant companions. You manage to eat in restaurants five days a week and attend movies regularly. You have your “pinard” that is an alcoholic beverage in the evening as all good French persons do. It is only during the last few weeks that you visibly weaken and close your eyes for good as you slipped in that bitter night. If there are angels surely you will join their ranks. Adieu maman.
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