From JuJu with Love

Tonight is my grandmother’s yahrzeit.

After yesterday’s frightening events at my synagogue, I’m not even sure if the building will be open tonight. I’m hoping at least to watch the service online so I can hear her name read during Kaddish.

Her name was Shirley.

Grandma Shirley was born in 1925 in Alpena, Michigan — a small town in northern Michigan along the shores of Lake Huron. I never really knew the story of how her family ended up there or how she eventually made her way to Detroit, but I always remember her talking about being born in Alpena. Somehow it always made her story feel a little more rooted in Michigan.

She wasn’t technically my biological grandmother. She married my grandfather in 1962, and I was born in 1965, so she was simply the only grandmother I ever knew.

And she made sure we always felt that way.

Grandma Shirley was ahead of her time. She was born in 1925 and went to law school in the 1940s, at a time when very few women were doing that. I believe she was one of only two women in her entire law school class.

She was brilliant, funny, and deeply kind. She was also someone who quietly took care of everyone around her.

Her sister died young from cancer and left behind a young daughter. Grandma Shirley helped raise her niece and became an important part of Rebecca’s life.

When she married my grandfather, she stepped into another ready-made family. But she never made anyone feel like they were anything less than hers.

She used to say something that always stuck with me:

“The kids may not be mine, but the grandchildren are.”

And we never doubted it for a second.

After my mom died, she quietly became one of my biggest sources of strength. We spent many afternoons together over lunch, talking about life, family, and everything in between. She listened without judgment and always made me feel a little steadier. I will always treasure those conversations.

When we had to sell my mom’s house, we discovered it had been titled incorrectly, which meant we had to go through probate court in Florida. It was overwhelming.

Grandma Shirley immediately stepped in to help. Using her legal connections and experience, she helped us find a lawyer in Florida who could guide us through the process.

That was who she was. Smart, capable, and always ready to help the people she loved.

When she died, she had to decide what she wanted written on her tombstone. That’s not an easy thing—to summarize an entire life in a few words.

She thought about it and finally chose:

Beloved Wife and Matriarch.

It was the perfect description.

She was the center of our family in so many ways.

One of the things she left behind was her grandfather clock. After she died, my cousins Lee and Jayne inherited it, and it now stands in the foyer of their home.

The clock chimes every hour on the hour.

And whenever the family is together and it goes off, someone inevitably smiles and says,

“Hi Grandma Shirley.”

In a way, it feels like she’s still reminding us she’s there.

And tonight, whether I’m sitting in the synagogue or watching from home, when her name is read during Kaddish, I’ll be thinking of a remarkable woman who proved that family isn’t just something you’re born into.

Sometimes it’s something you choose.

And Grandma Shirley chose us.

From a small town in northern Michigan to the heart of our family, her love continues to echo — just like that clock — reminding us that the people who shape us never really leave us.

From Juju with love 💙