CAROL R., on April 27, 2014, of the Indian Harbour Beach, FL, formerly of Ambler. Daughter of Helene (nee Silberman) Ryesky and the late Aaron Ryesky; mother of Adam Snyder; sister of Kenneth H. Ryesky, Esq., and the late Matthew Ryesky. Relatives and friends are invited to Graveside Services, Tuesday 12 Noon, Har Nebo Cem., Oxford Ave., Philadelphia. Donations in her memory may be made to the Chai Lifeline or to another appropriate charity. -- From the Internet
The first thing you see on the home page of the Cemetery are ADS - see above - wanting your business.
Disgraceful!
Visited Helene this afternoon. She was exhausted and listless, feeling not much, after burying her second child.
"I have no daughter," she told me.
The funeral was very well attended, she said. She was shocked. Her cousin Jerry picked her up at Rydal Park old age home - "Ruth, you can't believe how awful the food is here" - and they drove to the cemetery.
The weather was sunny, unlike today when we have a downpour, including flood warnings.
Said Helene: You see this huge hole in the ground and next to that is a huge mound of dirt.
Her son Ken brought his orthodox rabbi with him from New York or New Jersey.
He did a wonderful job, said Helene.
A funeral service, whether Graveside like Carol's, or in a chapel should provide comfort for the bereaved family and friends.
It did.
The online Legacy.com had 10 messages of comfort for her. The last message was from a Maple Glen neighbor:
May sweet memories of your dear Carol be of comfort to you at this difficult time - Ross Shriftman. Ross spoke at our support group about insurance and about a memoir he wrote about his late mother.
Her son Ken wrote the notice. "There's no mention of Nate in here," I said.
"Yes, that's Ken's doing."
Like all the Ryeskys, Ken is a really smart guy. 
Up in her three-room apartment - living room, bedroom, kitchen and baffroom, I asked her The Two Questions:
Do you like licorice, I asked.
You know I do, she said.
Plunk! I put the Panda licorice on her ottoman empire.
Do you like chocolate, I asked her.
You know I do, she said.
Plunk goes the chocolate making the ottoman empire even stronger than before.
Don't mess with Mehmad the Conqueror.Gee, says the small voice, I've always wanted to live in a harem. Like Vashti.
Just talked to him, she said. B/c of conflicts he wasn't able to attend the funeral.
Whenever I visit her, I get a cup of Egbert Decaf from the dining room. I wanted to bring the coffee mug up to her room, but you're not allowed, so I transferred it into a Sippee cup, I mean a plastic cup.
Just read my poem to Helene over the phone, while my Sweet Potato Soup is cooking.
BTW, Helene's clever husband, Aaron, used to call them Dagwoods.
Here's the late Aaron Ryesky. We had a party at Mom's house - for her 70th b'day - and took movies. Mom is now 91.5. In a few years, she'll be room temperature, following her sister/law Aunt Selma in Cleveland.
THE DOGWOODS WEEP
FOR YOU
In memorian Carol Ruth Ryesky (1956 to 2014)
Temperamental
as a winter storm
beautiful
as the fallen snow crowning
the
fence tops
You
have fallen
your
work left undone
Never
again will you see
your
sons:
Adam,
tormented as the one
in
Genesis, who,
like
his namesake, cannot
resist
temptation
There’s
still time,
there’s
still time.
And
Nathan, your first-born,
residing
happily in cornfield
country,
slanted Japanese eyes
the color of his mom's.
Carol, you
will never see
the
beauty of the copper-clad
pastures
as they turn green
in
spring
Or
the pounding raindrops that
cleanse
the world and make it
pure,
for the little time we have
here
Never
again will you hear your
mother’s
voice, standing in
her
old-age home, her voice
davening across the lonely
miles, to comfort her only
daughter, her beloved
Carol Ruth Ryesky,
while the rain-soaked dogwoods weep.
davening across the lonely
miles, to comfort her only
daughter, her beloved
Carol Ruth Ryesky,
while the rain-soaked dogwoods weep.
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