My mom was an artist, a pianist and a writer, but she was also many other things: a good cook, a diplomat and a friend. I am translating a diary that she wrote during the three-month-period preceding her piano recital at the National Theater in Cuba, in which she writes about not only her intimate feelings, but also her opinions and views on everyone from Mae West to Ovid, with sensitivity and a sense of humor.

She had a marriage that lasted 55 years. My father only survived her by 18 months. He was her main support through her last 12 years with Parkinson’s. He was going down, too, with emphysema, so I left Manhattan to spend time with them in New Jersey during their final years. Every Sunday we came up with a plan, which might be a movie, a museum, a garage sale or even just sitting in the park and talking to strangers.

My partner and my friends in the city were very supportive, and my mom was always there for me as a friend. Once, when she noticed that I was upset, she said: “Remember that if the Lord gave you a heart to feel with, he also gave you a head to think.”

She definitely helped me keep things in balance. I never heard her raise her voice except to sing, though I knew there were times when she felt furious, but even then she kept it under control and always saw the positive side of things.

Days before he passed, my father told the family that, thanks to me, they had been able to enjoy their home until the end.

I miss them and would do it again if I could have them back, but life works differently than that. I now believe that the best way to honor my parents, and especially my mom, is by trying to appreciate and enjoy every moment of it—like she did.

Rafael Rodriguez Montclair, NJ

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written by Mickey, Aurora IL on April 15, 2007

I've gone through a similar situation with my parents so I am able to understand the emotion behind your words. I would love to read the translation of your moms diary, it sounds as though she has done some wonderous things.

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