ABSTRACT
My mother died one month ago at the age of 89; it was her time to go. One would expect that this would be a religious or holy time for my Jewish family. Maybe a rabbi would be called on. Not so. The funeral home that arranged for her cremation (cremation, itself, not a Jewish practice) was run by the Gallaghers (not a Jewish name, I am quite sure). My father, brother, and I did not want any kind of religious service. Instead, we are going to have a party three days from now that we're envisioning as a “camp activity.” My dad is calling it a “Jewish wake.” My mother was a gym teacher, camp counselor, head counselor, and camp director. The family will gather in shorts and T-shirts, surrounded by photographs of this beautiful, energetic woman, and laugh and cry and share memories of her life.
