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With great sadness, the sixth issue of the Chronicles reports that on July 14 this year, a beloved member of the Yaffe/Ruden "family",
Maria Figueroa, passed away. Maria first started working for the office nine years ago. Many of you who have been with the practice a long time will
remember her if you ever had occasion to go to 1065 Park Avenue- the other "branch" of our old 84th
Street office- for a chest X-ray, to see Dr. Karen Silver, the podiatrist formerly associated with our office, or to take care of a billing/insurance issue. Maria worked in all three departments at various times, and sometimes switched from one to the other all on the same day. Eventually, after we moved to our present address at 201 East 65
th street, Maria of course came too, and we at 84th
Street rejoiced that we were now all in the same "home" and could see and catch up with each other more regularly than we were able to do in the past when we were split up.When Maria first got sick, we did not know
it was anything that serious, and expected she would recover normally and soon be back at her usual station. But she didn't and she wasn't. In spite of the efforts of many good and caring doctors, a loving and
supportive family, and every form of medical intervention tried out in the course of her treatment, the illness proved too much for her, and nine months after its first onset, she was gone. It does not seem possible
that we will no longer have her gentle spirit and smiling face among us. Maria did many things well. But what distinguished her as an employee, a friend, and above all, a human being, was the grace with which she did
them. No matter how rushed or frenetic things got at the office, no matter that on certain days the staff's nerves could be so frayed that they found themselves barking into the phone at their own mothers, Maria would
never get ruffled. Her voice always sounded sweet, calm and collected at the other end, and by the end of the exchange, she had managed to make you feel calmer too and forget what had sent you into such a tailspin in
the first place. She was incapable of being abrupt or discourteous, and would have been shocked at the idea of addressing anyone about anything, without a preliminary greeting, a friendly inquiry about how
you were doing, how was your son/daughter/brother/sister etc. And the funny thing was that she meant
it. It was no veneer or superficial show of politeness that she put on and took off. I believe it was Miss Manners or that other doyenne of etiquette, Laeticia Baldridge, who once said something about true good manners in a civilized society being nothing more than a form of respect and consideration for other people.
I did not know Maria as well as those closest to her obviously did. I do know however that she was universally liked by patients and by every staff member who ever had anything to do with her. Whenever patients
called to complain about a billing or insurance problem that had not been resolved with whoever they originally spoke to, I unfailingly referred them to Maria because I knew she'd be able to take care of it tactfully,
fairly and with no hard feelings on any side. On a more personal note, I will always treasure the fact that she never failed to ask about each of my children individually and by name, even though she only met one of
them once when we accidentally ran into her on the street. Somehow, in the little bits of time we were able to squeeze in between "shop" talk, walking that well-trodden path on Lexington Avenue between 84th
and 87th
Streets, we were able to cram in an awful lot about all sorts of things—marriage, relationships, pros and cons of husbands versus boyfriends, our dogs, where to buy Indian spices, and, lets get our priorities straight here, most important, whether
Lancôme, Estee Lauder or Chanel
made the best shades of lipstick for our skin (our complexions were similar)! Every time Maria came around to our office to drop off or pick up something, she always looked fabulous- great clothes, great shoes AND THAT LIPSTICK! I could barely wait for the workday to end so I could jump on the subway to Bloomingdale's and prowl around the make-up aisles, hunting for the
brun sepia or the sugar praline
and try it on hoping it would make me look even half as classy. This might sound macabre, but when I went to the funeral home to pay her my last respects and I saw her lying in there looking so beautiful and peaceful, my last thought was "Hey Maria, you went without telling me what color your lipstick is and who puts it out. Send me a tip when you get to Heaven!" Goodbye, sweet friend. This poem by John Donne, one of my favorite poets, is for you:
DEATH BE NOT PROUD
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow:
And soonest our best men with thee do go-
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
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Vera Mehta, Ed.D. in Anthropology and Education, will spend several hours per week mining data from the office environment. She
will be looking at medical attitudes in New York, from both the physician's and patients' perspectives. She may be contacted at veramehta@yafferuden.com |
