Aunt Sylvia

Aunt Sylvia was a treasure. She was my Dad's sister whom I knew for her whole married life. When I was a teen-ager, I would visit her and Nat whenever I was having problems with growing up. They would put my head back on straight and send me home. The rest of my life they were beacons to guide me. Now that they are gone, I have to provide my own guideposts.

We would talk on the telephone several times a year, and she knew who I was, even when she did not remember who many people were. As I was her first nephew, she remembered things that I had forgotten. Once she mentioned them, I remembered. I am not suffering from Alzheimer's, but childhood was so long ago. A few hints do help.

Her children, David, Ned, and Sue, will remember her differently. To me, she was the one who would end our telephone conversations with "thanks a million" and "I love you, Allan." And I loved her. She has gone, but I will see her, somewhere, in the not-too-distant future.

Allan Golden

Dear Family and Friends,

I grew up with Sylvia and Nat and their children, in Mt. Vernon, NY. My earliest memories include swinging on their swing set. Our families always were close, and we remained in contact even when Sylvia and Nat went westward. Sylvia, for me, was more like an aunt than a distant cousin. She was loving, always learning, and always interested in my kids and grandkids. May her soul continue to shine brightly for all of us, and our memories of her bless our lives.

Blessings for you, Cousin Sylvia.

With much love, Cousin Shohama

Sylvia is one of my inspirations. I have worked more than thirty years in nursing and Syliva stands in my heart and mind with a few others as the 'reason I stay in skilled nursing'.
The day I met her until the day she left us for a deservedly better place, she always demonstrated grace and kindness. She could barely see and hardly hear at all, yet she was an outgoing social person. To my mind, this was the worse kind of hell: a people person who could no longer relate well to people. She could not read nor listen to music. I frequenly asked her how she was managing, what did she do all day. She would look at me with those big wisdom filled eyes and in a voice devoid of judgment say: "Well, what else can I do but what I can do?
Her memory was such that each time we spoke she was happy to meet me. She always said great things about Chaparral House once she realized that she was talking to the 'manager' and was always quick to say" I am not saying this just because you are the manager."
Sylvia to me defines bravery. Her senses and memory failed her, yet her faith in people and life never left her down and sustained her far beyond what I expected was possible. Her inner life carried her when her body and once formidable mind, became victims of time and disease.
Sylvia always wore lipstick and a particular perfume. The scent she told me was once given to her by her husband, when she was very young. She liked it too well to ever change or try something else. Like the suit she wore, the perfume was her 'signature'. The suit, skirt, jacket and silkie blouse with one of those tie thingies woman in business adopted. I once dared to suggest that she try wearing something else, perhaps something more comfortable. "Why?" she responded. That one word answered all my questions. Comfort was comfort. Sylvia was totally comfortable as she was. What didn't I understand?
Sylvia was the ultimate hostess. She always offered candy and apologized for not having 'a little something to eat' when I visited her in her 'apartment'.
Sylvia asked everyone about their family, sometimes several times in the same conversation since her memory and her hearing made 'normal' conversation impossible. Family was always the first subject of converstation. She talked to me several times about my decision not to have children, always ending up with sage advice: "Well it is too late now, but I am sure you understand how important children are and would have been too you." There is no argument with that logic.
Sylvia inspires me. Her bravery sets high standards for my own behavior as a Future Old Lady who hopes to have a smidgen of her graciousness and class.
My heart grieves with her family with whom she was so close.
KJ Page Administrator Chaparral House

I loved Sylvia very much. Upon her passing I know that the only way to truly honor her spirit, and her life, is to carry her character and good nature throughout my own actions, in my journey as a mother, as a daughter, as a friend, and in the future as a wife.I will learn from her goodness and strength. I am humbled in her wisdom, kindness and gracious disposition.

I am very grateful she and I shared a visit with my son Marcel recently. After giving me a little advice about his upbringing, she apologized several times for not having anything to eat or drink to offer me, each time asking if I would like some of her Boost nutritional drink. She was always so gracious and accommodating, thinking of others even when she didn't feel her best. Again, I will honor her spirit by thinking of her in moments wherein I am forced to make difficult decisions. I am honored to celebrate her life. I will miss her very much.

Laura

Oh, Sylvia!

Oh, Sylvia! How remarkable that we knew each other for nearly fifty years, years that brought you and me so much; children, grandchildren, marriages, divorces, health and sickness. But one thing remained strong and rooted and unshakable, and that was your remarkable courage, honesty, and unconditional love. Could there ever have been a better ex-mother-in-law?

Your wisdom and humor guided me and so many others by your example. To be in your presence was to be safe and valued. We could talk about world affairs or recipes with equal fervor. Much has been written about you already, but above all you were the most authentic person I have ever met. Never once in all the years we knew each other did I witness a moment of insincerity. Never were your words empty or careless. How extraordinary this was! And how brave you were, Sylvia. I have seen you speak the truth when not easy. I have seen you risk your life by fending off an attack dog that dared to harm little Tony. I have seen you stand by family during the most difficult times, and I have seen you remain gracious and elegant in the midst of what most must face in old age. No matter how weary your body became or how hard it was to hear or see, you continued to be grateful for good cheer and simple kindnesses, graceful and beautiful, and always au courant with the times. I expect all who knew you noticed that economic inflation did not go unnoticed by you. Your usual “Thanks a million,” morphed into “Thanks a billion” in recent years. Thanks a billion, Sylvia, for showing me how a strong woman can live a life of love and joy and strength and absolute honesty. Your example guides me still. Thanks a billion!

With love forever,

Arline

Conviction was not a cliche

A friend of mine who never met Nana asked me about her yesterday, and I had trouble limiting my answer to less than 10 descriptors:

• Conviction
• Dignity
• Respect
• Fairness
• Honesty
• Unconditional love for family
• Unflappable
• Drawing a clear line between right and wrong
• Composed
• Gracious (as Leslie said)

I'm so proud that Sylvia Cohen was my grandmother. This may sound like a cliche, but her deep convictions speak to a different time when a few special individuals truly believed that they could effect the kind of change we often philosophize about over drinks. It occurred to me that both she and Nathan Cohen came from a time and background where it was okay to succumb to what we now call a "cliche" as long as it was about doing the right thing.

I went to Max's deli with my mother this morning, and we were discussing Sylvia's composure. I recalled that the only times I ever saw her shaken was when she saw something she considered wrong, whether it were small or large in scope, and it was rarely personal in nature. This goes to Leslie's earlier post: "I never saw Sylvia mired in pettiness. She was completely accepting and loving."

I would agree, with only one caveat: there was right and there was wrong with little gray area in between. Each had its own scale, meaning you could be exceptional or just good on the "right" end of the spectrum; but on the wrong end of the spectrum the scale was less forgiving, and I would say it ranged from "taking instead of giving" and "thoughtless pettiness" to "doing harm to others" or any form of cruelty, even if not blatant in nature. She was quick to offer second chances to those she loved, and likely to others as well, but cruelty and pettiness were simply unacceptable.

I'm not necessarily qualified to say she was a feminist before her time but I believe she was. She was fearless about confronting uncomfortable or difficult situations and could discuss almost any issue with a heartfelt and unique perspective that was clearly experiential and not just philosophical. Simultaneously, she could bake brownies, discuss the best way to wash a head of lettuce, and with no apparent dichotomy make serious and difficult decisions, such as whether to take in the Rosenberg children after their parents were executed, as an equal partner in her marriage, or deal with suicidal students at UCLA as a counselor. She never seemed at all unsure of her role; she just acted with graceful intention and discarded the existential part of the equation, at least personally.

Nothing would shock Sylvia. Every family member has at least a few excellent examples of this. Her unflappable nature seemed to come with such ease, even though I can't imagine it really was easy. But her ability to stay out of "dramas for drama's sake" earned her so much respect in and out of the family.

She was instrumental in my own upbringing in many ways, not the least of which was her and Nathan spending months in Long Island with me and my father when I first moved to NY. Beyond any specific thing she did, there was always an overarching sense of warmth and a toughness that I will never forget.

I'll miss Nana and Bumpa greatly.

With much love from their grandson,
Ian

Sylvia, The Gracious One

I've known Sylvia for about 17 years. From our first meeting, and throughout all the years, I can honestly say she was one of the most gracious people I ever had the honor of knowing. I love Bonnie's remembrance, as it is also one of mine: "Thanks a billion!" Sylvia would say - and she meant it.

I never saw Sylvia mired in pettiness. She was completely accepting and loving.

I don't believe I ever saw Sylvia without make-up, and certainly not without lipstick!

The afterworld has been busy preparing for her - it takes a long time to get enough candy for her arrival.

Despite all her accomplishments, her primary focus in life was family - and to the end she was engaged in their lives.

She always swore they had a dog that smiled when the "kids" were growing up; that, and many other memories will bring a smile to my lips whenever I think of the accomplished, gracious Sylvia Golden Cohen,

Leslie Cohen, daughter in law.
February 21, 2010

Thanks a billion for calling

Nana - I will miss you with all of my heart. You were so special to me and you have impacted my life in so many ways. I wish I could hear you say "thanks a billion for calling" or "I love you dearly" one more time! I can only hope to be as strong, gracious and dignified as you. Thanks for being my Grandmother and thanks for being my friend. I love you. Bonnie

Hello all,

I created this blog so we could share stories, photos and memories of Nana with each other.