Linda Altman: 15 March 1940 - 26 January 2025
mom died at 84. she saw radio turn to television turn to cable, turn to internet. she saw four kids grow up and nine grandkids get to various stages of growing up and took joy in each one. it wouldn’t take her long at all to get into the ‘good place.’
mom loved her dogs. so so much.
mom loved shopping. she would buy five of the same pair of shoes or pants, in different colors. when it became more difficult for her to get to a mall, she turned into an online fiend. amazon, vons, and walmart were her favorites at the end. earlier she loved macy’s and nordstrom but she cooled on them. not sure what happened.
mom was fiercely loyal to people, unless you crossed her. then she would either write an angry letter (businesses) or she would shut you off (personal). occasionally her kids, but then eventually, after she was sufficiently angry, she’d have the “talk” with us, about what we did wrong. she would freeze out people who didn’t stand up to her expectations, and she couldn’t hide her disappointment with you.
she loved chocolate until the last few years, when she decided vanilla took the cake. brownies, though, always.
the last three months or so of her life, she finally started eating things she loved without worrying about her weight. she had pasta every night, something that would have been unthinkable even six months ago. she had her popsicles, biscotti, red jello, baked potato with bacon. before that, popcorn, salads always always. food was a primary interest — planning tomorrow’s dinner or a holiday meal (months before — and then cooking and freezing things in the following weeks). how many calories it had, the portion size, if there was enough to feed everyone, the weight watchers points, how much she had eaten.
she never really believed that she was beautiful. or beautiful enough. or thin enough. weight was a competition for mom, always always. she engrained that in us, her kids, and i’ve only grown out of it with lots of therapy, work, and direction from my own children. mom always commented on someone’s looks, someone’s weight. that was normal for me, until i left home and discovered that looking differently from everyone else could be a good thing. a really good thing.
mom was adorable and loved by so many that knew her. at dad’s meetings around the world, she charmed doctors and their wives (almost all the doctors were men) with her true interest in them and optimistic disposition. people often told her the most intimate things in their lives, even upon first meeting her.
she loved daddy fiercely, but came to finally admit (with us) that he could be really difficult, and sometimes even wrong. but she believed in a united parental front. she lived the dream life of a fifties housewife, during the cultural changes of the late sixties/early seventies. i remember one time when some women came to the front door to talk to mom about ERA. she accepted a flyer from them and then hurried the ladies away. i asked what it was about and she said they were emasculating women who wanted to make men feel badly. of course, as i grew into feminism, she did too. but it took a long time for her to understand that increasing women’s rights and supporting women’s issues does not take away from men. except a share of the power of course.
mom grew up in coral gables, her dad an orchestra leader (violin his primary instrument) and her mom emotionally absent. she and my dad scrimped to make ends meet while dad was in the navy and residency. right before aaron was born, they built the house on 99th street down in kendall, where we were surrounded by middle class suburbia. mom was in her element.
she cooked and spent time reading with us and drove us to gymnastics, school events, piano lessons. did everything in her power to help us reach our potential. that included dad, of course, who she supported and loved until her dying breath. she was alone so much because he had his research and patients. and that was the way of the fifties tv household she emulated.
mom laughed easily. she smiled a lot. her hair has been every color you can imagine (except gray. she never let it get gray).
mom liked football. growing up, it was the hurricanes, and of course the dolphins. after leaving south florida, she developed a thing for non-Miami-based quarterbacks. for a long time it was peyton manning. and then patrick mahomes. she died before the KC-Buffalo playoff game started on Sunday but they didn’t come for her body until that game’s second period.
i look a whole lot like mom, something i’ve always bristled at. there are a great many things about her and her beliefs that i never wanted to imitate or follow: frozen vegetables, importance of make-up, certainty that everything happens for a reason, barry manilow, flowery clothes, judge-i-ness, taking medication as a first response. she washed my mouth out once with actual soap cause i said a curse word (don’t remember which). but i do remember the taste of that Ivory soap.
mom was a figure skater as a kid. the one ice rink in 1940s miami was close to her house in coral gables. there’s a picture of her skating on one leg, arms raised high, lips in a broad smile.
mom often took us to the beach — well, matheson hammock (iykyk) — when we were kids. she would slap on the sun oil (not sunscreen) so she could deepen her tan. lots of basal cell skin surgeries cause of that.
she always wanted to know the deepest parts of me, but her comments on them made me cringe. so i began to hide them. once in a while, while daddy was still alive, we could actually discuss our differences. when he died, it became a whole other world for her, a terribly painful adjustment. and then she began to forget things and events and make stuff up in her head.
i often wanted her to have news first. grades, tattoos, emotional turmoil, job offers, break ups. even though she handled emergencies well, she would get the details wrong, so whenever i broke a bone or had a car accident i would call my dad first.
when i was very young, waking up 3-4 nights a week for months/years on end with asthma attacks, she would make me hot lipton tea with honey and vodka. not scrimping on either. dad would get the epinephrine injection ready while she sat next to me, holding my hand. neither of them ever complained.
mom was one of those moms who was at every single event. we grew up knowing she would be proud of us, no matter what (except bad grades. not allowed). even this month, with the work i’ve done on my new dining room table. “it’s bee-you-tiful. your dad would love it,” she’d say.
she loved people in her house. all the time as long as they didn’t get into her kitchen (until last year, when she couldn’t work there herself anymore). that was her domain. but she did thrive when people were around to talk and sing with.
she made koolaid and put a whole boiled egg into the meatloaf and got better at chocolate chip cookies as i got older.
she bought me two “comfortable” pair of shoes the day after i told her about my first pregnancy. she loved loved giving to people. gifts, thank you notes, flowers, cash, and in the later years, when she had no compunction about spending money, she would buy her favorite kitchen appliance or blanket or moisturizer for everyone, family or friend. i still have the rolling backpack she gave me and each of my siblings, back when mom and dad were living on 99th street. it’s torn and i haven’t used it in a while. but i can’t throw it out.
same with the lladro sculpture of a wedding couple she gave me when i got married. anyone else had given that to me, it would be far gone. but it was such a joy for her to give it.
she loved any music with rhythm and a good melody. billy joel, barry manilow. ay yi yi. also, though, big band, frank sinatra, peggy lee, earth, wind & fire. she made sure we all learned to play instruments, yet she never played. she had the need to urge us toward jewish partners — eventually gave that up.
mom had a martyr’s complex and felt better when she was denying herself, which i have mostly grown out of. always doing for others and not paying attention to herself and then bemoaning that to everyone.
mom tried so hard. to be a good mom, a good wife. giving, generous, loving. she drove me crazy but she also had my back. always. i have been missing her for a while now, since before dad died. she isolated herself at her beautiful home in agua dulce, friends and family making the trip out there these last few years. she always said she had everything she needed there with her three dogs and a beautiful view (and insta-cart for groceries).
the past couple of weeks have been hard. and sad. i love mom for who she was, who she wasn’t. her always trying to find happiness, in people, in craft, in a hair color. in another diet. i love her and i will continue to talk to her under my breath. just like i do daddy.
i wish i remember more of what she used to be. i mean, i feel so detached from those times and in her last phase she was such an extreme of all her characteristics. her goods were always extreme though, so the bad seemed much more prominent at the end. and good and bad is such a stupid way to describe them. better would be how sympathetically i tolerated her reaction to physically declining. some things got/get me so … everything: mad, sad, frustrated, hurt, empathetic. monday — the day after she died — sarah, aaron, and i parsed through old photos. we were laughing and happy and i kinda remember those times, but right now (maybe for a while, i guess) it’s hard to keep that mom in mind.
i loved mom and i despise many of the choices she made.
mom is responsible for me. i am her in so many ways. i’ll always be scared that i am her in some of those ways i hated. but i am forever grateful for her encompassing love and support, her laughter, her appreciation of what she had. her love of color. she was a very special person.
if you’re interested in honoring mom’s memory, please consider donating to Cito’s Rescue, ruth’s horse rescue in colorado, which mom supported with her entire heart.