Last week, a daughter of Queens was laid to rest.

At a service held at Sinai Chapels just a half a mile down the Expressway Service Road from the Trib offices, we said good-bye to my mother, Pearl Schenkler.

The dignified but warm service befitting mom was the next-to-the-last stop on a trip which lasted for 93 years.

It started in the Bronx, but in 1956 she and dad moved to Queens and became one of the New York City suburban, pioneer families settling in a co-op overlooking the then-Queens College track. Carole and I each had our own rooms, there were open spaces and fresh air and Queens was on the move — upwards.

Dad was then an assistant principal at P.S. 175 in Rego Park – he later became principal of 143 in Corona. Mom transferred from her Harlem school to PS 154 in Kew Gardens Hills where she spent nearly two decades. Mom was a teacher’s teacher who always helped solve the problems of her colleagues. But it was the thousands of kids who went through her second grade classroom that gave her work-life meaning; and she gave meaning to theirs.

After mom and dad retired, they, like many other Queens pioneers, moved to Florida – Boca Raton – in the early 1970s. Mom was the editor of the B’nai B’rith Boca Raton Clarion – year after year – a nationally award winning newspaper competing with entries from more than 400 chapters. She served as President of the Boca Chapter and it filled her life with challenge and opportunity to help others, including abused women in Boca and children in the local hospitals. But mom was in all her glory when she ran their luncheons – and then you knew the dessert had to be good if she was in charge.

I remember my late teens – returning home late at night. Mom would listen carefully for me to turn the key in the door. Not that she was worried about me, but she knew it was a chance for another cup of coffee and a piece of cake. Those were the moments mom and I got to talk.

Carole and I flew down to Boca last Sunday night and moved mom into Hospice. Pearl, mom’s nurse companion for the last eight years (yes, the names were confusing), sat with Carole and me on a patio outside her hospice room and said, “she’s very loving and caring.” Mom always asked if Pearl had eaten – she was concerned about Pearl. While Pearl cared for mom, mom cared for Pearl. That was mom. She cared for people – family in particular.

Mom was the second of four daughters, only her younger sister Janice survives her. Mom was very close with her sisters – family mattered to her.

Mom was bright, informed, aware and involved. Growing up in our house was being raised with newspapers, news shows and debate. And my passion for the news comes from my folks.

Mom was verbal; she verbalized her feelings but rarely showed them. She whispered about diseases and clearly came from another generation — a generation that was proud and hard-working and believed the world was for the children.

She outlived almost all of her friends.

But most important about her life was her beloved husband Max. Dad was a rare and special person. Dad, who was 10 years her senior, passed away 11 years earlier. He befriended everyone he met and cared about the plights of all. And through their more than 55 years together, he worried about the concerns of the world and she concerned herself with the family. He was the softie; she was the family backbone and compass. Like him, she was loving and caring.

And if she was here today, she would whisper to me, Mike, don’t make such a fuss about me and then eat up every word.

Since she moved to Florida more than 35 years ago we all only got little bits of time with her.

And for all of us the most difficult part of our trips was saying goodbye. In the past several years, you were never sure if it might not be the last.

How lucky Carole and I are; we had two parents live to be 93 years old with rich, rewarding lives.

Mom, we’re going to miss you. You represented your generation with class and style and you represented your family with love and grace.

We will remember you always.