In Memory of Roz Gleeson

 

Roslyn M. Gleeson, former Spina Bifida Clinic coordinator at A.I. duPont Hospital, passed away October 23, 2009.  She was born on March 2, 1952 in New Haven, CT, and is survived by her husband, Richard Gleeson, her brother, David Garlonsky and many dear friends.  A Memorial Gathering will be planned for some date in the near future. 

In lieu of flowers, her family has asked that donations be made in Roz's name to the Spina Bifida Association of Delaware Valley
P.O. Box 859, Worcester, PA 19490

Roz suffered alot in the past few months and is finally at peace.  I know we all have good memories to comfort us during this difficult time.

 

The following was written by one of her dear friends...

 

Roz:

 

Someone once said they would sum up Roz as “being the greatest person I never wish to have met.”  I would beg to differ.  I’m glad I met her, the circumstances could have been better but I can’t imagine my life without Roz.

 

I would not be standing here before you were it not for Roz.  She was a teacher, a questioner and a listener.  Perhaps she learned these disciplines during the many years of Hebrew School she attended as a child.  Roz often kept her religious convictions to herself but I would joke that her way of questioning and listening was quite in the Jewish tradition.  She never denied that and would simply laugh and say “okay Irish Catholic lady, what would you do now?”

 

I met Roz almost 17 years ago on the same day I first got to hold my newborn son.  It was just outside the NICU at AIDI and I was marveling at how healthy my 4 day old boy seemed.  I was also frightened at the challenges and decisions that awaited me.  I sat, thankful to ease my bloated breasts by finally nursing and to fill my arms with Luke’s squirming body.  Could he really face a life of challenges?  Could I?  Could this 8 lb 10 oz, hungry, kicking infant with a full head of hair really be disabled?  Who would guide us? And, after a polite knock on the door, in walked this tiny lady in a lab coat. She told me her name was Roz.  I’m sure many other Mothers had similar first meetings with this tiny woman who would become a huge presence in our lives.

 

Roz admired my young son and said something I’d not heard in the 4 days since his birth, “Congratulations on your new son!”  She went on to explain the surgery, the tests, the names of the doctors and what the hospital had planned for my apparently very busy young baby; all the while assessing my acceptance and understanding of the situation.  I didn’t know it that day, but Roz walked not only into that room; Roz became part of an integral part of our lives.  She never hesitated to help us, to allow some venting and to then give a plan of action. 

 

Roz asked if Luke had a brother or sister.  When told about my daughter, Ellen, Roz spent some time learning about her.  Roz’s interest in and relationship with Ellen never faltered or wavered; like me, Roz knew no matter what, I had 2 children and both were my priorities.  On that day I could not imagine a teenage Ellen spending a day with Roz, in Philadelphia; attending synagogue and exploring the city!  Nor did I expect that my father, Ellen and Roz would explore the Museum of Fine Arts.  To Roz, every family member is a priority, the siblings, parents and grandparents.  She too, became part of my family.  But I get ahead of myself.

 

My first call to Roz was the day after I met her. One of the doctors ‘cleared’ Luke to come home, but I recalled more tests were needed.  Miraculously, Roz answered the phone, came down to the NICU and cleared up what was to be just the first of many miscommunications/clarifications.  (As she later said, “I told you my number would come in handy!”)  I learned that day, she had the ears of those needed to provide answers and she could get them at a speed that continues to amaze me.  She taught me:  My questions were important and my son’s needs must be addressed, no matter what the situation or the obstacles.

 

Over the years, Roz taught me, as she did other parents; how best to get in touch with doctors; how to keep records; how to ask questions; and most of all, how to advocate for my children.  Roz loved ‘her kids’ and ‘her families’ more than she’d admit, even more than Disney.  And we loved her back and we always thought she’d be there, but now she is not.  Roz would say “So, didn’t I teach you…”?

 

Somewhere along the line, the line between nurse and friend blurred.  Perhaps it was the day that we both were at a meeting and when the school district psychologist suggested, after Roz calmly explained latex allergy issues, that Luke should “wear a mask or be in a bubble.”  Roz and I had been instructed to keep quiet, and we did, though she was visibly keeping herself from jumping over the table to talk some sense into the idiot.  The lawyer did not and his outburst was a source of laughter whenever Roz and I later discussed the Bull that schools put Luke and other kids through.

 

Less than 2 years ago Roz again came to the school to explain the same issue about Latex.  The questions became routine and hardly ever changed.  They might also involve incontinence or other Spina bifida related subjects, but Roz persevered…calmly or so it seemed.  Her frustration with the inabilities of people to accept and accommodate was so well hidden as she became quieter and calmer that I often think she’d mastered the old Irish adage of “telling someone to go to Hell and hoping they’d enjoy the trip.”

 

Roz is a fellow New Englander, she from CT and me, from Boston.  Perhaps that’s why she could understand me when I reverted to my Native accent when I got upset!  She talked of growing up in New Haven.  Her stories made the Life of Young Roz come alive for me.  She told me about her father driving a truck for a toy company and the perks that came with that.  I felt I knew her childhood friend, Angie from stories Roz told.  Roz talked to me about the traditions her family followed when she was a child and how religion was so important in her life.  She talked of going to New Haven Hebrew Day School, keeping Kosher and following Sabbath traditions.

 

Like my Mom, Roz lost her father before becoming a teenager.  We discussed her memories of those times.  Despite the differences in their lives, we found there was more sameness than anything:  both Roz and my Mom missed the Dad’s tremendously and both became nurses.  Roz also talked about her Mom, but less so.  Perhaps, because Roz was older when she passed and she learned to accept and not idolize the woman.  Each Friday and on Holy Days, I knew not to call Roz as she was lighting the candles, something passed on to her from her Mom and others before them.

 

She talked of her big brother, David and how she looked up to him.  David also looked up to his ‘little sister’ and always bragged of her accomplishments.  Toward the end of her time on earth, her brother continued to care for his sister, visiting her bedside as often as he could and making sure, in the end, she was treated in the Tradition she learned as a child. 

 

Roz loved baseball.  My kids enjoyed the time they spent with her at the Blue Rocks far more than those spent waiting for test results, surgeries or the release from the hospital after a long stay.  I was fortunate enough to see go to see the Phillies with Roz.  While it wasn’t my beloved Red Sox, she kept reminding me I needed a local team to cheer on and that they were in a different league. Boy would she be mad, as only Roz could be, at missing the latest Phillies’ accomplishments.

 

Roz’s physical challenges were often dismissed by her.  I knew of her issues in Nurse’s training with hepatitis.   She’d rather talk of sledding with friends down the hills near UConn on cafeteria trays after the first snows.  Roz talked of her dear friend, Kathy and some of the ‘trouble’ they got in over the years.  Roz talked with fondness of the first mother she counseled during her maternity rotation.  Roz clearly loved helping others and had a hard time asking for help from those who loved her.

 

Roz spent most of her career at “The Institute,” later called AIDI, then…well; we’ve all seen the changes that have happened at the hospital.  During those years Roz made good friends and wasn’t afraid to rile a few cages to help “her kids and their families.”

 

Today we must celebrate Roz. 

 

She’d be mad that we all had to be so inconvenienced and sad.  She’d tell us to remember her well and to move on.  Life, for Roz, is for the living.  Memories are to be cherished and shared with just a few.  She was very private about things, but when she let you into her life and shared memories, she could spend hours recounting endless details.  I will treasure her stories and always want for more.

 

I prefer to think of Roz as always being with me for I often think “what would Roz think of this?” She taught me to be an advocate for my son.  She taught me to be calm and to keep perspective despite whatever information I have to digest.  Roz would always say “write things down, think about it and then, ask questions.”  She told me to remember “You are the parent, you know your children best.”

 

Well, the person I always asked the most scary questions to was Roz.  I learned to gain the confidence I needed to go on, as has Luke, as have we all…it doesn’t mean I won’t come home from a busy day or a day filled with unexpected good/bad news or even from a frustrating school meeting without missing her; without wanting to pick up the phone and hear her answer “Hey, this is Roz.”

 

I will miss picking up the phone to tell Roz how proud I am of Ellen and Luke, knowing she shares a bit of the credit at their accomplishments.  Roz is in me and her voice will always guide and calm me.  She’s brought me to where I am and although I’m sorry to say goodbye so soon, too soon… I know her legacy is in the families and children she taught for many years.  It is in the friends she cherished and often pushed to do things they never thought possible.  I will always miss her.

 

-Marie Baca

 

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