GIVE ME ATTITUDE

The Lesson of My Mom’s Two Broken Wrists

It helps as I push my way through my sixties

Jill Ebstein
The Narrative Arc
Published in
5 min readDec 5, 2023

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An older woman in a pink coat sitting on a brown couch.
My Mom, as she approached 90

When my mom hit 90, she told me,

“The eighties are a cakewalk. I didn’t know it then, but I do now.”

She died seven years ago at 92. Of her many gifts, she left her children with lessons big and small. There is one in particular that I keep coming back to.

Let’s start with the understanding that my mother was very stubborn. She was kind but firm, and she needed all that and more to raise their brood and help my dad run a small grocery store.

Now comes the story. On a wintry Saturday evening in Denver, Colorado, my mother ignored the counsel of each of her six children not to venture out on Denver’s snowy sidewalks to the local synagogue to say kaddish (a prayer to remember the dead) for my father. After all, she had already honored his memory by saying the “yahrzeit” prayer twice in 24 hours.

Only steps away from the synagogue door, she fell and broke both wrists. The Rabbi was walking in just as she had fallen, and alarmed, he asked, “Rosyne, are you OK?”

Her response, which he later relayed, as she lay on the pavement?

“I don’t know, but I didn’t get a chance to tell you…

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Jill Ebstein
The Narrative Arc

I’m about dogs, our lovable and peculiar families, business, and writing in a wide lane, including fiction. I’m a positivity washer too. www.jillebstein.com