“She Was a Ray of Light”

Her smile was like sunshine.

Just hearing about Selma Rabin makes you wish you’d been lucky enough to know her.  Maybe you wish you’d been a kid, visiting her house in the Hamptons and coming home with a toy; or a friend or neighbor, enjoying a slice of delicious, homemade pie whenever you came to visit; or a member of her close-knit family, brought together once again by Selma and celebrating a holiday meal.

Those who knew Selma adored her.  She didn’t just light up a room; she lit up the whole house.  Loving, giving, happy – and dearly beloved in return.

Selma’s family loved her – loves her still – so much that, after she was taken from them way too soon by cancer, they decided to give something back, to honor her by doing what she loved most:  making life better for other people. 

They have chosen to do this through the Prostate Cancer Foundation with the hope of helping some of the people who need extra care the most – our U.S. veterans – and of honoring those who give of themselves – oncology nurses – to bring desperately needed comfort to patients suffering from cancer. 

As Selma’s family well knows, a good nurse can make a world of difference, and can make life better in countless ways, little and big.  A not-so-good nurse has just the opposite effect.  The Rabin family wants to help provide our veterans battling cancer with the skilled, compassionate, personalized nursing care they deserve. 

You can read more about this inspiring philanthropic program, called Selma’s Slice of Life), here.  Right now, we just want to tell you about Selma and her wonderful family.

Selma was no stranger to cancer; she had battled lung cancer eight years ago, and won.  Then she developed lymphoma, and then pancreatic cancer, which generally proves lethal in just a few months – but Selma fought it for nearly two years.  

“Selma and I were married for 50 and a half years, and we had a great marriage,” says her husband, Artie Rabin.  “We did everything together.  She was a wonderful person, a giving person, just a girl from Brooklyn.  It didn’t matter how much money we had; she was always a girl from Brooklyn.”  With Selma by his side, Artie co-founded Wear Me Apparel in 1972, and still serves as its Chairman and Chief Executive Officer.  For the business, they traveled the world; and when Selma stayed home with their three children, Artie went alone and called home at least twice a day.  In her free time, for decades, Selma loved going to sample sales, flea markets and garage sales, “picking up toys for kids,” he recalls.  “She saved them for when kids came to our house in the Hamptons,” and no kid left without a toy from Grandma Selma.  “She believed in giving, believed in helping kids out.  All kids fell in love with her,” especially the couple’s five grandchildren, ranging in age from 20 down to 13.   

One of her grandsons, Ethan, age 16, is an athlete.  A year ago, when he rode his bike and then did a two-mile run, “she followed me in her car.  She actually stopped in the middle of the road for me when I got tired, and gave me water.  She stopped traffic,” to keep him safe.   One of her granddaughters, Morgan, age 17, believes Selma’s special gift was “making people feel happy,” whether it was through preparing food, or spending time, or listening, or giving advice but not judging.  Selma “would drop anything any time I needed her.  She had her own relationship with each grandchild; something special with each of us.”  With Morgan, Selma enjoyed cooking and going out to garage sales to find toys Selma could give away.  “It was always an adventure.”

Everything Selma did, says her son, Jason, “was from her heart.  She always saw the good in someone, would never focus on the bad – and if there was bad, she believed there was still good.”  She had an infectious personality, “never played favorites, and treated everyone equally.  She would open her house, open her heart, and she always had a smile on her face.  That was her DNA.” 

Selma welcomed Nicole, Jason’s wife, “right into the family,” Nicole says.  “She gave us all the best advice – about not holding grudges, finding the good in everything.  Seeing how accepting she was of everybody – she taught me and all the kids so much.  She was very easy to talk to; nothing was too difficult for her – anything the kids asked, she loved to do.  She loved to do things for people, and never made it seem like a task, but a pleasure.”  

In her quiet way, Selma shaped her children’s lives, their character, and values, Jason says.  “She taught us to be appreciative and respectful, don’t waste anything, and don’t spend money just because you have it.  When I was a kid in high school, I had to earn an A to get a new pair of jeans; she made me earn it!  That’s who she was: she built this foundation of strength and was the rock of the family.  We believed what she was saying was right.”

Robyn, Jason’s sister, remembers how much their mother used to laugh.  “Anything silly, she would crack up, and it was contagious.  My daughter and Ethan and my mom, the three of them together were like three peas in a pod, always happy, laughing at something silly.”  Selma loved pies, and also desserts in general, says Robyn.  “Her favorite part of the meal was dessert – pie, cookies, cake.  She was just as sweet.”  Selma’s pies made everything better, because they were made with love.

Whipped cream was Selma’s favorite:  she loved making her own, and then putting it, lavishly, on top of her pies.  “Whenever any one of my friends or our family came over, we always finished a meal with pie; that was part of our life,” says Jason, who recalls how much the NBA basketball player and coach, Jason Kidd, loved those pies – so much so, that Selma would send them to him.  Then one day, Jason adds, Selma realized she wasn’t tasting these pies – “so she started sending him pies with a missing slice.  She had to have a slice!  It was the cutest thing.”  This is a bittersweet memory for Jason, because that’s how he feels now: “the pie’s not complete without her.  Life is not complete without her.”

When Selma became sick, she didn’t complain, says Robyn.  “She didn’t want to burden others with her pain.  She didn’t want to ruin the good time.  She would just leave, or say she wanted to rest.  She would say, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’  Then we realized she really wasn’t fine.  It was what she could do for her family – not trouble us with her illness.  She was always giving, thinking what she could do for us.” As Ethan says, “she did everything for everyone but herself.”

It is a particular cruelty of cancer that it ravages the body, saps the strength, and dims the spirit.  Selma fought cancer on all of these fronts, and for the last nine months of her life, Artie had round-the-clock nursing care for her.  “The nurses don’t often get credit,” he says.  “Everyone cares about doctors, about cancer – but you never hear anything about helping nurses.  We were fortunate to have private nurses.  My ultimate goal is to help people who are sick who cannot make it just on nurses at the hospital.  People should not be penalized who do not have the money to pay for home nursing care.  We had great nurses.  Selma loved them.  They made her life, the last two months, as easy as possible.”

Selma’s biggest concern when she was very sick was “not worrying anyone else,” says Nicole.  During this time, “it was the nurses who got everybody through.  They were a comfort to everyone.”   

When someone who is loved so much passes away, that creates a giant emptiness.  Artie is hurting.  So are the children and grandchildren. 

“I’m still in shock,” says Robyn.  “It’s like the puzzle is missing the one piece; that’s how it feels.”  Life after such loss is just different.  “It’s like when you go on a diet and you change your ways, and you have a different way of eating.  It’s never going to be the same; it’s a different way, how you go on.”  They feel a little adrift because Selma was the magnet, the glue at the heart of the family, holding everyone together.  “She was so good,” Robyn continues.  “She was a ray of light.  Anyone who met her knew she was beautiful inside and out.”

Every single day when he’s in New York, Artie visits Selma at the cemetery.  “I go seven days a week,” he says.  “I talk to her about the day, ask her what she would do on certain things.  It’s been very tough for me.   Our house in the Hamptons – I have not been there, because I can’t go back.  I haven’t touched anything in the apartment we lived in, in Manhattan.  I try to run away; I don’t want to be in New York.”

On June 30, “the day of our 51st anniversary, I was in Las Vegas,” says Artie.  He renewed his vows, with a picture of Selma by his side.  “The rabbi who did it said to me, in 44 years since he’s been in Vegas, never did he marry anyone that way.   No one ever did this before.  But I don’t care what other people do.  It was what I wanted to do.”

And so, out of their great depth of love, and pain, and strength, Selma’s family is determined to honor her by doing what Selma always did: giving, and helping, hoping to make life better for patients with cancer, and to honor the nurses who give so much of themselves to bring light in the darkness, one act of kindness and caring at a time.

The Rabins are convinced that excellent nursing care not only prolonged Selma’s life, but maintained her good quality of life.   “In my heart, I know these nurses kept her going,” says Jason.  “I was told in September that she had a few weeks to live.  My son’s bar mitzvah was in November; I was crying my eyes out in the hospital,” thinking that Selma would not be there for this celebration.  But she was.  “She was able to go, and I danced with her.”  He and the family hope to give that experience to someone else, to provide “something that could help someone else at the toughest time,” because “that’s my mother.  That’s her.”  That’s what Selma did, all her life.