Andy Hoffman
My mother, Elaine Hoffman of Providence RI, lived a long a beautiful life of glory and tragedy, the sort of person people of good-will flocked to. He had both life-long and recent friends who invariably felt blessed to share time with her. She spent the last two decades of her life living in a sumptuous community for retired doctors, lawyers, professors, and other accomplished folks. Laurelmead runs as a co-operative, with residents directing policy through committees, policies enacted by hired staff. The residents get to choose everything from the wall color to the elaborate meal service; the monthly fee for living at Laurelmead includes one meal a day at the elegantly appointed dining room. Most days, my mom had her group for dinner; Sundays she had brunch with her favorites. Sometimes, her favorites included me. I introduced Deb to my mom at one of those breakfasts, and thereafter my status improved. Deb and my mom had enormous mutual admiration. My mother’s love for Deb solidified our bond. Not many women love their mothers-in-law with the fervency of blood family, but Deb felt that for my mom. My mom, who died in November 2024 at age 97, inspired that level of dedication from almost everyone who met her.
The breakfast service at Laurelmead always emphasized show over flavor. Most of the dishes read better than they tasted. The “crispy homemade corned-beef hash” wasn’t. The English muffin in the benedict never seemed toasted enough, never mind grilled, and the Hollandaise lacked the lemon snap of fresh-made. I don’t think any of the cooks ever had a lovingly cooked lox, onions and eggs; made properly, you sauté the onions thoroughly, cool down the pan for the eggs to control their consistency, and then add the lox at the end so it stays soft. Their dish came with hard eggs and salmon overwhelmed by nearly raw onions. But the beautiful table setting, attentive service, and the company always outshone the food.
The first time Deb met my mom we had breakfast at Laurelmead. My siblings and I threw my mom a big 90th birthday bash a few months before with dozens of friends and family and a hard-bound photo-biography for people to take with them. Mom still felt well most of the time, despite relying on a walker. My mother had met my wives and girlfriends and, while unfailingly polite, rarely bonded with any. But at this table overlooking the Seekonk River on the east side of Providence, RI, these two women found a common heart. Both determined to face life with joy and gratitude, committed to their children, susceptible to compelling stories and well-turned phrases, and raised in a gendered Judaism that left them out despite their spiritual souls, Deb and my mom connected for life, no matter how sub-par the food. Deb always says that my dedication to my mom drew her to me. My mom’s embrace of Deb confirmed our love.
My mother began to truly fail in the summer of 2024. After her first hospital stay and rehab, Deb and I decided to move close by, so we could provide her with support more easily than we could from an hour away. We put down a deposit on an apartment a lovely mile walk away and prepared to move on December 1. But late October found my mother in the hospital again and then rehab. My siblings gathered around her bedside, and she decided she really didn’t want to go on. She refused to undertake the physical therapy that might allow her to return to Laurelmead. She slipped into a deep sleep and within a day of moving her to hospice she left us. So many people have expressed their sadness at her death, but I think Deb felt it as profoundly as anyone.