From Leon about Roz:
After Carla died, I never thought I would have to experience again the uncontrollable flow of tears, the unimaginably painful feeling of love and loss. Roz and I discussed death freely; we prepared for it. For over 67 years, we loved each other and lived inseparably. Yet how could we know how hard it is to accept the parting?
Roz was asleep, unconscious, during most of the last week of her life. But the few waking times were authentic Roz. She was loving to David and me and in her last moments with Danielle and Kevin and Grace, who brought her comfort and obvious joy. (Susan was out of the country, but about a week before Roz was stricken, Susan had one of the best visits ever with her “Rozzie”.) Roz had some difficulty with words, but she said “Carla” often in those minutes of consciousness. She said to David and me, “I got my wish, I’m home in my own bed.” In discomfort she said, “My body does not know how to die.” One night when I propped up in my bed to see how she was, she startled me: “Put your head down and go to sleep.” Always when I kissed her, she kissed me too. Once after she got pain drops by mouth, I kissed her and she said “Now you have some too.” She didn’t cry, but I did, though I tried to hide it. More than once she said “Don’t cry.”
At Roz’s 80th birthday celebration, I got to tell family and friends what I thought of her place in the journey we began when we were 19 and 20:
“What’s most remarkable about Roz is something I learned to expect early on, and in fact have come to take for granted. Whatever challenge has come our way as a family, I have never seen her flinch, indulge in either despair or anger, or lose her sense of purpose. Her calm courage never permitted any tensions or conflict over the many missed pay checks and sacrifices as our children were growing up, the risks and harassments of political persecution, the need to take on new jobs, to change careers, to pick up and go to unfamiliar places. When I had to be away and couldn’t carry my share, she did it all. She helped the children understand and they never felt unloved or resentful.
“As soon as our youngest, David, was able to get into a New York City sponsored day care center, Roz went back to work. All her jobs were devoted to people and community, first with children, then teen-agers, and eventually with developmentally disabled of all ages and their families. Roz made a pioneering contribution in her twenty years as Director of the Developmental Disabilities Council of Contra Costa County. Fighting for the disabled and their families required being tough enough to take on mean politicians and bureaucrats, but everyone else in the community felt her gentleness and caring. Wherever Roz’s work and activities took her, she has been loved and admired by everyone around her. And that always made me feel all the more the qualities I love in Roz.”
Looking back, I might have said more. I’ve just reread Roz’s book on her work and her family memoir. The first is the portrait of everything one might wish for in a community organizer — perseverance and compassion, insights drawn from doing, thinking, and listening. The memoir is a wonderful love story that the people closest to her have lived.
Roz would be surprised at this gathering. When you get old, the highlights of early experiences, accomplishments, and even many friendships have faded. You feel that the new friends made in old age can’t really know you, at least as you were. With that and the disabilities of aging and illness, you’re no longer sure you really know yourself. “Was that really me? Did I do that?”
If she could see you all here, she would wonder at all the love and admiration, but she would know how precious her life was from beginning to end.
I want to thank David for all his love and constant support; the grandchildren as well. Thanks, too, to Magenta Martinez who cared for Roz so well in her last weeks. Also, my love to Roz’s brother Leon, who never let much time lapse between visits. Thanks to all of you for beautiful messages and for being here with us today.
