Marilyn and her favorite Aunt Nesbeth “Nesh” Hurwitch.

By MARILYN SHAPIRO

My cousin Ellen called to share the sad news of the passing of her mother and my aunt, Nesbeth “Nesh” Hurwitch on Feb. 27, 2007. The funeral was to be held in Queens. My sister Laura would fly into Albany, and then my husband Larry would drive her, my mother, and me the three hours to New York City. My father, who was 93, would not make the trip.

Nesh was my father’s younger sister, the third child of Annie and Joseph Cohen. She had always been my favorite aunt, and I think I may have been her favorite niece. She was funny and caring and generous. I had spent time with her, her husband Lou, and my cousins Ellen and Stuart in their cooperative apartment in Queens over Christmas holidays and summer vacations. I have fond memories of Freedomland, an amusement park in the Bronx; visits to Big Apple tourist attractions; and numerous times waiting in line for Radio City Music Hall events. When I had a summer job in the city between my junior and senior years in college, I stopped by for dinners and visits.

After my Uncle Lou died, Nesh not only survived; she flourished. She went back for her GED, her high school equivalency diploma and even took some college classes. She traveled the country and the world.

Her last few years were a slow, sad, decline. She was confined in bed with round-the-clock aid provided by Poppy, a warm, caring Jamaican woman. To add insult to injury, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the same illness that had taken her husband several years before, and she died soon after that medical diagnostic blow.

Favor for Cousin

When my mother, sister and I got to the funeral home, Ellen approached us and made a request. Would we please share a few words about my aunt?

I usually am good at putting together words on paper, but I was not great at extemporaneous speaking. What could I say? I reached into my brain for a fond or funny memory.

I Remember…

By the time Ellen asked me to speak, I was ready.

“In December 1964,” I said, my mother, my younger sister Bobbie, and I met up with Aunt Nesh and our cousins in front of Radio City Music Hall for their Christmas show. Along with the showing of “Father Goose,” the movie starring Cary Grant and Leslie Caron, we would see the dancing Rockettes in a line, dazzling sets and wonderful music.

We arrived by 10 a.m. for the noon show and began our two-hour wait. I was, unfortunately, not a happy camper. The temperature was in the 30s, and I remember hopping from foot to foot to keep warm. I grumbled and moaned and complained as only a 14-year-old teenager could do. I remember everyone else holding up well, but I probably made my party miserable for the whole time.

The irony, I shared, was that when we returned home to Keeseville, our tiny town in upstate New York, “Father Goose” was playing at the Rex Theater which was less than half a block from our house. There were no lines, no wait, and, as it was the custom around the holidays, we got a plastic net Christmas stocking filled with candy with our 20 cent admission.

Thirteen years later, I stood in front of a room filled with mourning family and friends and recounted that special time with Aunt Nesh and how I froze my toes off in New York City.

My sister Laura also spoke, sharing moments with Aunt Nesh, her humor and her kindness.

My Mother Remembers

Once the funeral was over, Larry began the two-hour drive to the cemetery in New Jersey where Aunt Nesh would be buried.

“You know, Marilyn,” said my mom. “That was a great story, but it wasn’t true.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Aunt Nesh wasn’t with us when we went to see “Father Goose” in 1964,” my mother said. “I had taken you and Bobbie down to the City for the Christmas break. We were staying with Grandma Ethel and Uncle Joe. Aunt Nesh, Ellen, and Stuart weren’t with us.”

Mea Culpa

Oh dear! I had wanted to honor my aunt, and instead I had created an alternative universe! I was embarrassed, so embarrassed that I didn’t share my “mistake” with Ellen until years later.

During the pandemic, Ellen arranged a weekly Cousins’ Zoom, where my four siblings, Ellen, her brother Stuart, and our other paternal first cousin Joyce came together each Tuesday to talk about our family. It was on one of those calls, when I got on early before everyone else signed in, that I told her the truth about my “eulogy.”

She didn’t remember joining us on that cold winter day many years ago.

Yes, it wasn’t as much a story about Aunt Ness as it was about me. But that seemed okay.

We were creating new memories on our Zoom calls. And that seemed to make it all right.