Jed Block, writer

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Eulogy for a Mother With Alzheimer's
Martha M. Block
November 13, 1915 - February 11, 2002

Good morning. Don’t fret if you don’t recognize me. I’m still Martha’s baby. I just go about 225 pounds now.

Lately, there’s been a lot of talk about who our real heroes are. And, rightfully so. Today, we honor and celebrate the life of Martha Block, one of our family heroes.

If birth order has anything to do with who we are, Martha was the second of 10 children born to Frank and Mayme Van Lieshout. The oldest child was Marie, an athletic, outgoing, black-haired beauty. She shouldn’t have, but next to Marie, I think Martha felt plain and ungraceful. She always tried to measure up to the older sister who she loved so much, and that’s probably one source of Martha’s spirit.

Twenty-three months after Martha, her sister Georgia was born. Perhaps because Georgia was sickly, Martha took her baby sister under wing, and they became best childhood friends. Georgia died a sad, young death at age 16. If adversity shapes character, that had to be an initial, key moment in Martha’s life.

Less than a month after Georgia’s passing, Martha’s dad died of cancer, leaving Mayme with seven kids under age 14. Such a second test so quickly had to be hard and cruel. And to compound problems, although Frank was Kimberly’s popular village cop, in 1934 there was little or no pension.

Martha didn’t have the option of attending high school. She went to work at the Kimberly Mill and gave all but $5 of her paycheck to Mayme to help with the younger children. Rather than taking a lunch break, Martha worked in the mill’s Soup Kitchen, where some of the workers ate. Her compensation was free soup and a sandwich.

Many people are amazed that Martha did not have a high school education. She was such an intelligent, ingenious and ambitious person. Her alma mater was the School of Hard Knocks, her attendance dictated by the times and need to sacrifice for her family. Due at least in part to her credit, all of her surviving younger brothers and sisters graduated from high school, and four earned college degrees. Martha loved them all Kate, Joe, Jack, Therese, Pat and was very proud of their accomplishments, particularly Frank becoming a doctor and Tom a high school principal.

Martha waited five years after her dad’s death to start her own family. Some joke that her travails continued when she not only married into the family Block of Menasha, but picked Fritz the oldest and biggest one to be her lifetime mate. But we know better. The partnership exponentially enlarged the family network that she always put first. Their marriage also resulted in a hearty stock of their own and a 62-year love affair that withstood any challenge placed on the table.

It had to be a joyous day in 1940 when Mart and Fritz’s first baby, Rebecca, arrived. But Becky was born with heart problems, and the young couple could enjoy their only daughter for a mere four days. As heroes would, though, they carried on, and their oldest son John was born just 15 months later. But two weeks before John’s birth, Martha had been tested again when her mom died suddenly at age 45 with four kids, ranging from 9 to 16, still at home. The attack on Pearl Harbor also came that month. And, if ever I whine again about how hard and hectic my life is, I should just think how it pales compared to Martha’s.

Martha suffered life-threatening complications when my brother Jeff was born in 1943 in Milwaukee, where Fritz worked in a factory supporting the war effort. In 1945, the Marines finally relented and accepted Fritz with his bum knee. While he did his duty, Martha stayed home with a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old.

It’s remarkable for someone to survive that much by the time she was 29 years old. But Martha not only survived she thrived for 57 more years, becoming a second mom to many nieces and nephews and the best of grandmothers. John, Jeff and I are so grateful to have had Martha take care of our children, and for them to be able to grow up with her.

Survivor. The word definitely describes Martha. She could make a meal from nothing. Get along with just about anybody. Furnish a house from auctions. Stretch a budget beyond belief. And, one way or another, dress us kids like money was not an object.

Hard work was among her strengths. Whether she toiled for St. Pat’s, Menasha High, the Jersild Knitting Mill, Cassen’s Café, Polo Golf Course, Evergreen Apartments or the Madonna House, it always seemed to me that she was running the place. She didn’t have any formal training. She was just smart, with a great deal of common sense. She jumped in, rolled up her sleeves, and taught herself.

The first conversation I remember having with my mom, I was sitting on her lap, in her arms. I remember her as a great cuddler. By the time I came along in 1953, John and Jeff were already notorious 11- and 10-year-olds. I was a new little one who would sit still for at least two minutes. Anyway, I was probably 6 or 7, and they still played the annual football game between the College All Stars and the NFL champions. I told her that one day I was going to be the Most Valuable Player for the All Stars and that we’d beat the Packers. Then, I’d be named Rookie of the Year and buy her a mink stole so that she could be a Woman of the World. She got a kick out of that story. She listened to every word and allowed me to dream.

Of course, I never pulled that dream off. But it, nor any of my other failings, ever daunted Martha. John, Jeff and my dad would all say the same. Win or lose, whatever happened, she was always there. The stalwart. True wife and mother.

I bring that first conversation up because in the last couple of years, she took a renewed interest in cuddling. And we repeated that talk several times, although I no longer fit in her lap. You see, when we’d run out of things to say, that story would be the ace-in-the-hole that I’d resort to. And despite the Alzheimer’s, she always seemed to remember it as our inside joke.

When Martha had to go to the Darboy Living Center nearly three years ago, it was one of the hardest things that my mom, dad, John, Jeff and I ever had to do. But I never heard Martha complain about it. Sure, there were times when she was confused, anxious, frightened, or not feeling well. Yet, not once did she ever bemoan her circumstances. And she kept her sense of humor.

During her battle, another hero of mine came through unbelievably. Pa, I want you to know that I never respected you more, I was never more proud of you, and I’ve never loved you more than when you tenderly cared for and loved my mom during the years after Alzheimer’s struck. You made her the center of your life and willed yourself to live for her sake.

Martha is gone now. We love her still. We’ll always miss her. And it’s hard. But given a choice, I know she would not have wanted to live how she’s lived for the last several years. You see, Martha was a caregiver. She never wanted to be cared for. True to her nature, she departed quietly and quickly at the break of dawn, with a clever comment on her lips. She has joined Becky, Georgia, Marie, Kate, Jack, Frank and Mayme, Smax and Pat, Emma, Jeff, and all the others. And if you have a few extra bucks, I advise you to bet on the odds that Martha is busy already, taking care of them.

***

On behalf of Martha and our family, I would like thank you all who have cared for my mom and my dad and us. If they haven’t already, you know that Mart and Fritz would have done the same for you.

Finally, when you cross paths with people who have Alzheimer's, do not be afraid. Try not to feel uncomfortable. They are the ones who are frightened and insecure. Hold their hands. Don't discount them. Reach out and say, "Hello, in there." They probably are somebody's mother or father and led just as meaningful a life as Martha.

© 2002 Jed Block

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Copyright © 2002 by Jed Block. All Rights Reserved.
4300 Knollwood Lane • Appleton, WI 54913-6307
Voice 920-735-6061 • Fax 920-735-6067 • jed@jedblock.com



	ARCHIVES
	Eulogy for a Mother With Alzheimer's Martha M. Block November 13, 1915 - February 11, 2002
	Good morning. Don’t fret if you don’t recognize me. I’m still Martha’s baby. I just go about 225 pounds now. Lately, there’s been a lot of talk about who our real heroes are. And, rightfully so. Today, we honor and celebrate the life of Martha Block, one of our family heroes. If birth order has anything to do with who we are, Martha was the second of 10 children born to Frank and Mayme Van Lieshout. The oldest child was Marie, an athletic, outgoing, black-haired beauty. She shouldn’t have, but next to Marie, I think Martha felt plain and ungraceful. She always tried to measure up to the older sister who she loved so much, and that’s probably one source of Martha’s spirit. Twenty-three months after Martha, her sister Georgia was born. Perhaps because Georgia was sickly, Martha took her baby sister under wing, and they became best childhood friends. Georgia died a sad, young death at age 16. If adversity shapes character, that had to be an initial, key moment in Martha’s life. Less than a month after Georgia’s passing, Martha’s dad died of cancer, leaving Mayme with seven kids under age 14. Such a second test so quickly had to be hard and cruel. And to compound problems, although Frank was Kimberly’s popular village cop, in 1934 there was little or no pension. Martha didn’t have the option of attending high school. She went to work at the Kimberly Mill and gave all but $5 of her paycheck to Mayme to help with the younger children. Rather than taking a lunch break, Martha worked in the mill’s Soup Kitchen, where some of the workers ate. Her compensation was free soup and a sandwich. Many people are amazed that Martha did not have a high school education. She was such an intelligent, ingenious and ambitious person. Her alma mater was the School of Hard Knocks, her attendance dictated by the times and need to sacrifice for her family. Due at least in part to her credit, all of her surviving younger brothers and sisters graduated from high school, and four earned college degrees. Martha loved them all Kate, Joe, Jack, Therese, Pat and was very proud of their accomplishments, particularly Frank becoming a doctor and Tom a high school principal. Martha waited five years after her dad’s death to start her own family. Some joke that her travails continued when she not only married into the family Block of Menasha, but picked Fritz the oldest and biggest one to be her lifetime mate. But we know better. The partnership exponentially enlarged the family network that she always put first. Their marriage also resulted in a hearty stock of their own and a 62-year love affair that withstood any challenge placed on the table. It had to be a joyous day in 1940 when Mart and Fritz’s first baby, Rebecca, arrived. But Becky was born with heart problems, and the young couple could enjoy their only daughter for a mere four days. As heroes would, though, they carried on, and their oldest son John was born just 15 months later. But two weeks before John’s birth, Martha had been tested again when her mom died suddenly at age 45 with four kids, ranging from 9 to 16, still at home. The attack on Pearl Harbor also came that month. And, if ever I whine again about how hard and hectic my life is, I should just think how it pales compared to Martha’s. Martha suffered life-threatening complications when my brother Jeff was born in 1943 in Milwaukee, where Fritz worked in a factory supporting the war effort. In 1945, the Marines finally relented and accepted Fritz with his bum knee. While he did his duty, Martha stayed home with a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old. It’s remarkable for someone to survive that much by the time she was 29 years old. But Martha not only survived she thrived for 57 more years, becoming a second mom to many nieces and nephews and the best of grandmothers. John, Jeff and I are so grateful to have had Martha take care of our children, and for them to be able to grow up with her. Survivor. The word definitely describes Martha. She could make a meal from nothing. Get along with just about anybody. Furnish a house from auctions. Stretch a budget beyond belief. And, one way or another, dress us kids like money was not an object. Hard work was among her strengths. Whether she toiled for St. Pat’s, Menasha High, the Jersild Knitting Mill, Cassen’s Café, Polo Golf Course, Evergreen Apartments or the Madonna House, it always seemed to me that she was running the place. She didn’t have any formal training. She was just smart, with a great deal of common sense. She jumped in, rolled up her sleeves, and taught herself. The first conversation I remember having with my mom, I was sitting on her lap, in her arms. I remember her as a great cuddler. By the time I came along in 1953, John and Jeff were already notorious 11- and 10-year-olds. I was a new little one who would sit still for at least two minutes. Anyway, I was probably 6 or 7, and they still played the annual football game between the College All Stars and the NFL champions. I told her that one day I was going to be the Most Valuable Player for the All Stars and that we’d beat the Packers. Then, I’d be named Rookie of the Year and buy her a mink stole so that she could be a Woman of the World. She got a kick out of that story. She listened to every word and allowed me to dream. Of course, I never pulled that dream off. But it, nor any of my other failings, ever daunted Martha. John, Jeff and my dad would all say the same. Win or lose, whatever happened, she was always there. The stalwart. True wife and mother. I bring that first conversation up because in the last couple of years, she took a renewed interest in cuddling. And we repeated that talk several times, although I no longer fit in her lap. You see, when we’d run out of things to say, that story would be the ace-in-the-hole that I’d resort to. And despite the Alzheimer’s, she always seemed to remember it as our inside joke. When Martha had to go to the Darboy Living Center nearly three years ago, it was one of the hardest things that my mom, dad, John, Jeff and I ever had to do. But I never heard Martha complain about it. Sure, there were times when she was confused, anxious, frightened, or not feeling well. Yet, not once did she ever bemoan her circumstances. And she kept her sense of humor. During her battle, another hero of mine came through unbelievably. Pa, I want you to know that I never respected you more, I was never more proud of you, and I’ve never loved you more than when you tenderly cared for and loved my mom during the years after Alzheimer’s struck. You made her the center of your life and willed yourself to live for her sake. Martha is gone now. We love her still. We’ll always miss her. And it’s hard. But given a choice, I know she would not have wanted to live how she’s lived for the last several years. You see, Martha was a caregiver. She never wanted to be cared for. True to her nature, she departed quietly and quickly at the break of dawn, with a clever comment on her lips. She has joined Becky, Georgia, Marie, Kate, Jack, Frank and Mayme, Smax and Pat, Emma, Jeff, and all the others. And if you have a few extra bucks, I advise you to bet on the odds that Martha is busy already, taking care of them.
	***
	On behalf of Martha and our family, I would like thank you all who have cared for my mom and my dad and us. If they haven’t already, you know that Mart and Fritz would have done the same for you. Finally, when you cross paths with people who have Alzheimer's, do not be afraid. Try not to feel uncomfortable. They are the ones who are frightened and insecure. Hold their hands. Don't discount them. Reach out and say, "Hello, in there." They probably are somebody's mother or father and led just as meaningful a life as Martha.
		© 2002 Jed Block
	Return to Archives

\| Home \| Current Piece of Work \| Resume \| Business Samples \| Test \| \| Diabetes Book 1 \| Diabetes Book 2 \| Clear Window \| Mr. Big Shot \| Can't Say It Better \| \| It's My Job \| Poems \| Feedback \| Archives \|

Copyright © 2002 by Jed Block. All Rights Reserved. 4300 Knollwood Lane • Appleton, WI 54913-6307 Voice 920-735-6061 • Fax 920-735-6067 • jed@jedblock.com