Last Tuesday night we said goodbye to our dear mummy ע”ה. Mummy was always there for us, and for one final time, we could be there for her. For 28 years Mummy tucked us into bed and kissed us goodnight, always with the same patience and the same smile. For one final time we tucked her in and sent her off to her ultimate sleep. Mummy is now at peace. She is feeling no pain. Good night mummy, שְׁלאָפִי גוּט!.

Mummy was born, Miriam Bleier, 50 years ago in London, the fourth of 13 children.

In her late teens and early twenties, she was a beloved teacher, writing her own course material and curriculum, creatively teaching through songs that she wrote herself – songs that she would continue singing to us throughout her life.

By marrying my dear Tatty יבלחט”א ולרפואה שלמה, and having me, her firstborn son, at the age of 21, she started her ‘career’ and lifelong occupation of being a mummy to me and her nine children that followed. And that she did with absolute faultless perfection. She was devoted to our dear Tatty and to us children with oceans of love and compassion and understanding and wisdom.

As kids, we always knew that we are incredibly lucky to have the best mummy in the world. We still believe that now as adults. From my earliest formative memories, Mummy is always there with me, guiding me, shaping me – giving me the best childhood imaginable.

Despite everything that was happening in the wider community and beyond, the home was always a happy place and a safe place, because that’s where the mummy was and that’s where her ever-reassuring smile and warmth and embrace were. There was nothing too small to get her compassion, and nothing too big that her big warm cuddle couldn’t heal.

Mummy always taught us גוּטע מִידוֹת – good interpersonal character traits. She taught us always to be kind and forgiving and caring. But we didn’t need too much explicit teaching in that, because when you were with Mummy, you were living and breathing kindness and compassion incarnate. She was the paragon of complete selflessness and altruism.

One of my earliest memories of Mummy, deeply etched onto my formative, childhood psyche, is the following recurring incident. Someone is mean to Mummy and hurtful towards her in front of us confused and frightened young kids. Mummy sheds a tear, turns to us, and says reassuringly, “מ’דאַרף האָבן גוטע מידות”.That’s it. No complaints, no bad-mouthing, no thinking about her own pain. Just a teaching moment: Look, one needs to be kind; one needs to have good middos.

Memories such as these have stuck with me over the years. As I’ve grown older and had to contend with the difficulties in my own life, I increasingly realise how she has shaped me and groomed me in her philosophy of kindness and good middos, preparing me for future relationships and adulthood hardships.

Her far-sighted wisdom keeps me going every day. I wasn’t lucky to have spent lots of time in mummy’s company in recent years. Eight years ago, I made lifestyle changes that were very difficult for mummy and the whole family. Mummy never stopped loving me and caring for me, but based on community advice, I was estranged from my family.

It will forever be an enormous source of anguish for me that I did not get to have more time with my dear mummy when she was still here. Mummy always worked with the purest of intentions, trying to do the best for her family in a difficult situation that no one has prepared her for.

Mummy me and Chaski

Chaski Posen, his mother Miriam and Izzy

The advice available to her at the time was harsh. I will never forgive those who kept mummy and I apart for a second longer than necessary. Over the years, Mummy and I worked very hard to bring the family together. Mummy had to fight against other voices to do what a mother knows is right – to keep the family united. In recent years and especially months, real progress was made.

With endless wisdom and patience, Mummy softened what was hard and thawed what was frozen, slowly pushing back against resistance, gradually preparing the ground, for my return home to my family, to my siblings. With enormous subtlety and sensitivity she fought like only a mother can, that her eldest son should be allowed back home. One month ago, Mummy, Tatty יבלחט”א, and I spent a night away together for the first time in eight years.

It was a huge step in what was in Mummy’s eyes to be an irreversible journey towards family reunification. Mummy set things in motion and promised me that I’ll be home, reunited with my dear siblings, “definitely before Lazer’s bar mitzvah.” Lazer’s (לרפואה שלימה) bar mitzvah is the next scheduled simchah (celebration) in the family; Mummy wanted me there. On that unforgettable night away with Mummy, we talked a lot.

Mummy listened to the pain I have been going through. She understood; she ached with me. Mummy also understood that the pain that came to her as a result of my actions was never intentional and that I’ve tried really hard, especially in recent years, to minimise that pain and be as sensitive towards her and her pain as possible. I cuddled into Mummy. I asked her, “Am I too old to cuddle into you?” Mummy said, “You’re never too old for a mother’s cuddles.”

Last week on Wednesday, I was due to be in Stamford Hill for a job. Mummy asked to meet me before. She always wanted to see me when I was in the area, or when she was in mine. She asked if she can get me something to eat. I didn’t even have to say yes. We met and mummy had a freshly made salad that she had just cut up for me and a delicious fruit-smoothie that she had just prepared.

She watched me eat with so much love and care in her eyes. You never met up with Mummy without getting fed, or receiving some new clothes, or some pocket money that she had saved up from her side job.

Mummy had asked me to bring her photos of how I currently look. She wanted to show it to the younger kids, to prepare them to meet me, which – mummy planned – would be happening very soon. She was very happy to receive the envelope. We said goodbye. She went home and I went off to work.

Mummy never lived to show those pictures to my siblings. Instead, I met some of them for the first time in eight years in front of her coffin on Tuesday. Mummy’s final act was to bring the family together – something that she worked so hard to bring about. But Mummy is not here to see it. I haven’t had a single family celebration, or shabbos/yom-tov meal with mummy in the last eight years. I never will.

Over the years, as I was fighting to be able to come back home, there were voices that kept on saying that it wasn’t the right time, or that it will happen eventually, just don’t push it.

I always had the gnawing feeling, what if it will be too late? Human life is fragile, we never know for how long we’re here. It was too late. And that pain will always stay with me. But my conscience is clear, as I know – and anyone who knows me knows – that I always fought to be with family and to be with Mummy. And Mummy did so too. I take solace in those special moments I had with Mummy in recent months and in the milestones that we have reached on our journey together.

Mummy may not be with us to see it, but it is her efforts that have paved the way for what is bound to be family unity in this moment of grief.

Recently, Mummy started a part-time job as a nurse and carer in a local post-natal mother/baby home. She was paid well below what she was worth – all the little money that she earned went directly for gifts and pocket money for us children. Mummy told me on numerous occasions, “I’m not doing it for the money, but because I love babies and their young mothers.”

Her mother, my bubby יבלח”ט ולרפואה שלימה also worked at that same home for many years, until she fell ill with advanced dementia. Mummy loved her mummy very much and would go visit her every day, showering her with love and warmth, even if Bubby sadly no longer recognised her.

On one of my final phone calls with mummy just two weeks ago, she was singing and talking softly to Bubby, in between talking to me. Mummy leaves behind a deeply grieving family.

She will be dearly missed and needed. May her spirit and memory guide us and strengthen us – and especially my dear Tatty יבלחט”א and the younger kids at home – to be able to carry on and continue her legacy of good deeds and happy living.

Mummy, we were immensely lucky to have you for as long as you were here. You weren’t with us for long, but you gave us enough love and guidance to sustain us for a lifetime. We will keep strong and support each other, always keeping in mind your reassuring calmness, because that’s what you would have wanted us to do. Mummy, forever in our hearts and minds.