Betty Florence Rawitch

Betty Rawitch, nee Pozen, a first-generation American, celebrated her 96th birthday this year. Betty is survived by Marvin Rawitch, her dedicated and loving husband of 78 amazing years. Also a first-generation American, he will turn 96 in June of this year (yes, he married an older woman). The loving mother of Barnet, his wife Simone, Deborah, her partner Douglas von Roeder, Jeffrey, his partner Pilar Llorente, and Elliot; adored grandmother of Jacob Justin Hirschfield, Maya Rose Rawitch, Ella Beth Rawitch, Pilar Negulescu, Carmen Negulescu; devoted daughter of the late Harry and the late Bertha Pozen. Betty was the loving sister of the late Paul Pozen, and the late Naomi Litt, nee Pozen; aunt of Pamela Pozen, the late Lane Litt, Robbie Litt, and Sherri Litt Boyd, as well as favorite cousin to many, many more. Loving friendships as surrogate mother to Phil Coleman, Randy Hirschfield, loving and valued confident Cheryl Kroeze. Betty was the knower of all things; the keeper of the family tree; peace maker and peace keeper, always holding it together for everyone. She was never short on sage advice when asked. Betty found great joy in many things. She loved singing, the computer, playing cards, solving problems, Chicago hot dogs, pizza, Japanese, and Chinese and Mexican food. She loved to laugh and brought great joy to and made friends of everyone she met, everywhere she went. Though never formally educated, she was often the smartest and definitely the most innovative person in the room, missing no detail and never seeking much in the way of recognition. With her gentle and generous spirit, there was always “room for one more”, whether they needed a place to live while getting on their feet, or even just a nice Thanksgiving meal.

This poem was recently shared by a cousin at the funeral of her mother our dear cousin Eleanor who lived 102 years. It really stuck with me, so I’d like to share just a part of it:

The Dash by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak

At the funeral of a friend

He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke the following date with tears, but he said that what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time that they spent alive on earth.

And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own---the cars---the house---the cash.

What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

***

As my mind wanders through the Dash of mom’s life, it is filled with too many pictures to isolate just a few. How do I share her with you in only 700 words?

Let me try:

My mother never liked “goodbyes”. Whether ending a phone conversation, leaving a party, or just leaving for school (we walked in those days). When you’d say goodbye, she would immediately tell you, “I don’t like goodbyes”. So rather than say goodbye today, I’ll just say “See you Mom”, and instead celebrate her life. Celebrate her dash.

She was the force behind us all, whether we liked it or not. She was the innovator, the organizer, the friend maker and so much more. She dedicated herself to building dad’s career. Beginning early-on, when they were only in their 20’s, Dad was drafted into the Army on completing medical school. The Army offered him the Airborne where they were in need of a medical officer. And if he accepted, he would be allowed to bring his family with hm. So, we went to live in Japan. They had, at this time, 3 young children.

Together they embraced their wild adventure there, now living with four very small children (Elliot was now born) in very rural, post war Japan - half a world away from their family and everything they knew. Mom and Dad delighted in exploring everything and everywhere they could. Markets, temples, villages (yes, all of us in tow).

I was almost always dressed in the appropriate kimono with my bright yellow hair (shocking to the locals over there in the 50’s). Once back in the states, I remember being so glad to finally outgrow my kimonos. That meant at Halloween, I could just be a ballerina or my favorite – a hobo. Those years in Japan make a book of memories which always remained dear to her.

Over the years, mom never lost track of anyone. Even before email and cell phones. I don’t know how she did it. We would often have house guests whether family or friends so the kitchen was always filled with much laughter, jokes, and joy.

Once in maybe the early 70’s, mom and dad went on a Princess cruise. Some days ahead of their return, we received a “ship-to-shore” phone call (which in itself was very cool). The call was warning us they were bringing home some VERY important guests and that the house should be spotless for their return. Four kids – home alone for a week? Fat chance, but we did our best.

Our very important guests from the ship, the all-Italian crew, included Gino, the ship’s Purser and three wonderful gentlemen who were waiters from the dining room(s). With luggage in tow, they descended on us (at the Ranch they called it). Without missing a beat, and sipping on different wines, all the cooking began. I think for a solid week or more, no one left the kitchen. It was then we learned to inject cloves of garlic AND parsley deep into the beef. That was Mom, cracking us all up. Some years later, our entire family traveled to Amelia, Umbria a historic village in Italy and stayed with Gino and his family (none of whom spoke any English). More cooking ensued.

Mom was not really the “let’s do lunch” kind of gal. She was more comfortable pouring over the blueprints for the house remodel or the building of Dad’s flagship office in Newport Beach. Designing the office billing system that would run the practice, attending professional meetings and advising other medical office managers on the same.

She functioned in our world as a General Contractor in all things, including my dad – luckily for him. She had a wonderful singing voice and she and I would sing along to great musicals (at very high volumes) while doing household chores. On our many camping trips, with or without the horses, mom never failed to pack all gear necessary for her wonderful pancakes, along with what everyone else needed. What a task. What a sport. All of my friends thought she was “so cool”, we always wanted mom to be the “pick-up” mom as she was usually late in doing so. That gave us just a little more time at the dance.

Oh mother, what a life you’ve had. How will we ever fill the hole you leave for us, as we too live out our dash. I love you mom, in my heart forever.