My parents went to Havana for their honeymoon in 1943, a popular destination at the time. But there are no photos. That seems odd, because my dad was an accomplished amateur photographer with his own darkroom. 
They came home early. Something happened. They never talked about it to me or to anyone else.
There was vague talk in the family about my mom having some kind of emotional meltdown. She may have stayed with her parents on Long Island for a few weeks afterwards, while my dad waited patiently for her to return to their apartment in Newark. He had to get back to his job in the machine shop.
Rose and Jules went on to a happy marriage with love letters and much affection exchanged and displayed over thirty-seven years.
The only other clue I have to ongoing personal problems is my mother’s mysterious month-long hospitalization. At seven or eight, my imagination ran wild. What were they doing to my mother? Did she do something wrong? When can I see her? Is she ever coming home?
As a child, I followed my mother around like a little puppy, fascinated by everything she did—cooking, washing dishes, doing laundry then hanging it up on the rotary clothesline, ironing, talking on the new telephone on the hallway desk. I watched her put on her Revlon lipstick or Evening in Paris cologne and brush her thick and wavy auburn hair, looking like a movie star—maybe RIta Hayworth. But my mom was prettier.
Children were not allowed to visit hospitals in the 1950s. If symptoms were vague for a female, the go-to diagnosis of “breakdown” or “nerves” was often applied. I can only imagine the isolation imposed and the treatment administered in those ignorant times. My mother had lost weight and in some photos, seems bony; I’ve speculated that she suffered from an eating disorder.
Mental health conditions, whether improperly, or even properly ascribed, were considered a shame for the family and in society in general. You sometimes heard about a reclusive second cousin, or a family down the block keeping a “strange” relative secluded in a room for years.
My dad hired a housekeeper to cook meals and keep the house in order, an older woman whom my brother and I were instructed to address as “Mrs. K.” To both of us, she was the essence of evil—old, strict and humorless—but her greatest offense was that she stood over us in the place of our missing mother.
Everyday I walked home from school, I thought, “This is the day!” I cried into my pillow at night so no one would hear—until the day finally came. I came home to see my mom sitting in a corner of the living room couch, looking like a queen. Still seated, she held out her arms to me . . . .
Mrs. K packed up and departed immediately, most likely fed up with the ungrateful, sullen children at the dinner table, and the father who allowed them to leave even if they didn’t finish their spinach or canned peas. 
I needed my mom back. I didn’t care why she was gone, or even that we had a stranger feeding us. Nothing else mattered, now that she was home.
I never did ask my mother what happened on her honeymoon . . . or at the hospital . . . maybe once or twice I did, but her answers were vague. No one else survives who would have any memory of those circumstances, even if information had somehow leaked out.
My mom wrote extensively in her “Rosie-grams” about family events and history, but there is no reference to any negative adult experiences or medical issues. She told detailed stories of her family of origin, then further expanded into wider relationship circles as the family multiplied. Rosie told everyone, “If you send an invitation, I’m coming. Don’t wait for an rsvp.” And she was true to her word.
My mom was a multimedia talent. Way back when a tape recorder with a cassette and a mic was the advanced technology, she roamed every table at every family event, holding up her microphone and interviewing the guests. She never prepared a list of questions. With her deep knowledge of family history and her drive to memorialize all of the generations for posterity, she travelled tirelessly around the room to engage every willing family member. She considered all of them celebrities. Why?—simply because they were family.
This was her gift to the family, appreciated especially now that the revered elders are gone, and the little nieces and nephews then, my cousins, are grandparents themselves.
But her own personal memories remain largely unrecorded. By taking the initiative, she controlled the narrative.
Who asked my mother for her own story? 
For me, the daughter left to put the puzzle together, I strained to fit in some of the darker pieces that didn’t quite fit.
I knew that my parents began to travel together each summer after my mom became a teacher at age fifty. In Kodacolor prints over fifteen years, until my father died in 1980, I see them enjoying cultural and scenic tours of Scandinavia, Denmark, Spain, and other beautiful places.
The way they loved each other, I suppose you could call them “second honeymooners” on those trips. And this makes me happy too, easing the final pieces of their life together for my own sake.
I am satisfied that my parents lived life to the fullest after dealing with some tough times in their early marriage, as newlyweds and then as young parents. And they simply did not want to talk about it, ever again.
I will write my own story. My mom closed the case on hers, exactly as she wished.
An interesting tidbit of your parents’ history. Your Mom always wanted to focus on the simchas, the celebrations, the happy times. That generation never wanted to discuss or reveal their problems, mostly pretending that they never existed. My mother was similar and you’ve inherited some of that yourself, I think.
Barrie! I’m floored by this. My earlier memories of your mom are from the happy time when she began to work as a teacher and loved it so much. I have some intuitions, though, about what could have shocked her as a newlywed, and also later on, when you were seven or eight. We will talk about it privately. I agree of course with Donna that the Weiner family’s “survival mechanism” was a belief that if you referred to anything bad that happened before, you were inviting the trouble to come back. This creates deep shame, toxicity, and ripples of problems.
Wonderful reading! All families have that little “secret” they don’t wish to share.
Love reading your blogs. This reflects that strange period of time so well.
Another good read Barrie. I know there were a lot of secrets back then & things that were never talked about. My mother didn’t share most things from her youth & now all those things remain a mystery. Thanks for your always interesting stories. Keep them coming.
A beautiful picture of your parents, Barrie. And thank you for sharing the story.
Thanks for this glimpse of your mom and young you. And I think Donna has a good point about what you have inherited from her!
Do any of your mom’s taped interviews still exist?
Yes David I am sure some tapes exist and I have heard some – mostly of family members asking to turn off the machine! Not that Rosie could ever be discouraged…LOL
That is so funny! I had to spend half of my summers when she was at our house running away from her! But now, I would do the same thing if I had grand kids 😉
I guess it’s another thing that runs in the family 😉
It was indeed an era of secrecy; my parents were like yours in that regard. Whatever was wrong or troublesome was never dealt with openly – it was just ignored. Thank you for your lovely writing, always enjoy reading your stories.
As always you write so well. I’m intrigued. You took me back in time. I think all families had their secrets. I have suspicions of my own but I will never know.
Very interesting reading. I guess all families have secrets. I went through something similar with my own mom when I was sixteen. Because I was older and it was the sixties, I was unfortunately well aware of what was going on. She was gone for six weeks, and we also had a housekeeper at the time. To make things more complicated, I broke my ankle during this time and had to have a full length cast. There were still stigmas about mental health at that time, so I was embarrassed to tell any of my friends. Sorry you had to experience this too.
Barrie:
Lovely story of Aunt Rose and her Rosie-grams.
I enjoyed the “send an invitation but no need for an RSVP card, I’m coming”
Janice & I were married three weeks after uncle Jules passed away. Your mom told us “there is no way I am going to miss your wedding.” She arrived with her cassette recorder and interviewed everyone.
Barrie,
Thank you for this beautiful story! Your mom was always so upbeat and interested in all the goings-on of the family. As I work on the genealogy of my father’s family, I am discovering secrets that I have no way of solving. Wish I had interviewed my parents more when they were alive! I am meeting second, third and fourth cousins whom I never knew! Life is certainly fascinating!!
Hi Barrie. One of the few advantages to these suddenly-changed and dangerous times is that I have more opportunity to look closer at your deeply interesting stories. I knew the women on your side of my family better than those on my father’s side. His mother died when I was about 7. Near the end of my Dad’s life, I told him I had only known her as a sick, grouchy old lady. I said, “There must have been more to her than that, I hope you’ll tell me,” and he looked at her in the sky and nodded. But he didn’t live long enough for us to get to that. All the women, from oldest to youngest, on your side of our family seemed beautiful and wise to me. I believe my experience gave me a loving and respectful attitude about women, at a time when many boys and men didn’t relate that way. Secrets? I can’t imagine. I will say that your mother always seemed beautiful, smart, and sweet. I’m grateful.
Fascinating Barrie and beautifully, exceptionally written. You are a master of the multilayering of perspectives of all involved and your keen observance of them all. The perspective from you and your brother as children has its own vivid and unique intrigue. Ultimately it’s your Mum and Dads tale that is the most gripping. Their rock solid staying together power through thick and thin. Certain aspects of their world that would remain unknown to everyone but themselves. All by carefully hewn design no doubt. It leaves lasting mystery. What’s that saying about discretion ?….I respect that enormously. Their Love, their integrity, unwavering no matter what. A great tale of heroism, I love and miss that generation. Excellent excellent piece !
A lovely piece! Thanks for offering it to us with your usual grace and wisdom!