The goal of every human being’s life is to make others happy, especially those whom we love and who love us. That is what my mother, Lydia Shapiro (1905-1983), did for her five sons every day of her life. My father, Constantine Shapiro (1896-1992), wrote a poem in 1943 addressed to her (“К Лидии» [“To Lydia”]), whose iambic lines read as follows:
Ланиты розами покрылись,
Вы пополнели, расцвели,
Вы поумнели, оперились,
Совсем как дама стали Вы.
А все ж в глазах огонь играет
И детской шалости мечты,
Годов следы с лица стирает
Волна сердечной теплоты.
Поэт Вам счастия желает,
Он жизнь спокойную сулит
Тому, в душе чьей обитает
Любовь и правды верный щит.
A loose prose translation goes like this:
Your cheeks have become covered with roses,
You’ve filled out, blossomed,
You’ve gotten smarter, full-fledged,
You’ve become just like a lady.
And all the same a fire plays in your eyes
And thoughts of childhood pranks,
[And] traces of the years have been removed
By a wave of cordial warmth.
The poet wishes you happiness,
He prophesies a peaceful life
To one in whose heart abide
Love and the faithful shield of truth.
The last two lines are the key to my mother’s being and essence. She and I played the entire piano/clarinet duo repertoire together when I was a child (just as Marianne and I did our whole married life together). I think of Mama every day of my life.