Dear Ed

The last week or so has been a blur. Although I went back to work yesterday, I barely know what day it is or what is happening in the world around us. Reentry is a difficult but necessary process as we all begin to figure out what our new normal will be in our world without you.

I don't know if it is because I am hopelessly optimistic sometimes or if I was just in denial, but I believed with every ounce of my being that when the doctors pulled you off the medicines and machines that you were going to wake up and come back to us. Although we've spent the last several days planning for and attending your funeral, I still can't believe that you are really gone. 

I didn't get to say goodbye. Maybe that is a blessing in some respects. My last moments with you didn't involve doctors and hospitals. They were in your living room. You removed your oxygen so that Vivian could give you a kiss with no impediment. You smiled and told her you loved her. Vivian may not remember that moment, but I will.

If I had a chance to say goodbye, here is what I would've told you. You always read my blog on earth, so I suspect I you will be reading it in heaven as well.

Thank you for everything. By my count, we've shared 18 mutual birthdays. I have been happy to share them with you. You were the first person I ever met that had my birthday. I will celebrate for both of us from this year forward.

Father-in-law means different things to different people. To me, it just meant "dad," and that was true way before the "in-law" part became official. Through the ups and downs and craziness of life in general, you were always there for us. Even when you knew the right answer (which I suspect was a lot of the time), you let us figure it out for ourselves. You loved us unconditionally, never asking for anything in return (well except for maybe a granddaughter, and we were happy to finally deliver on that request). 

Thank you for giving us Bernie. I know you are only partially responsible for this, but you were a major contributor to the person my husband is today. Since you have left us, I've noticed the likeness in his mannerisms to yours. He walks like you, sometimes he sits like you, and from the younger pictures of you I've seen recently it seems as though you and Bernie could be identical twins, except that he is taller (but who is measuring?) On the inside, where it really matters, he is a lot like you too. We heard many stories about how when you were managing people, they came first and the job came second. This is a philosophy Bernie has employed as well. It is the way it should be.  In the end, what matters is how you treated people and little else. You liked to laugh and smile and joke around. Thank you for the numerous times you brightened up our days and for fostering Bernie's sense of humor.

I see you in all of my kids in different ways.  Someone who shall remain nameless (protecting the guilty here), said that you were my Switzerland. Isn't that the truth? We've had some interesting family dynamics over the years, most of which have seemed to work themselves out. Regardless of what was going on, you disliked confrontation and generally refused to take sides. This art of international relations was not lost on Nick, who for the longest time said he just liked baseball and refused to pledge his allegiance to the Yankees or the Red Sox. Fortunately he's seen the light and proudly displays the NY symbol. Nick is by nature a peace maker, a gift that you have bestowed upon him.

Then there is Jack. I feel like I could end this paragraph with that one sentence. He certainly takes after his father, which means he takes after you too. While he is still figuring out that screaming and demanding may not be the best way to win friends and influence the people closest to him; he is kind to total strangers. Last night while we were walking the dog, he said "good morning" to at least a half dozen people we didn't know. I told him that he should be saying good afternoon or good evening. I think he stuck with morning because it made people laugh. He is good at breaking the ice and making people feel comfortable. Those attributes are a clear reflection of you.

Vivian, your long awaited "little girl," has your long beautiful eyelashes and your "go with the flow" demeanor. She likes to be on the go, the way that you did. If she knows anyone is leaving the house, she goes to get her shoes, hoping she won't be left behind. I think what I am most sad about is that you had such a short time with her. We will do our best to make sure she knows how much you loved her, and that you are her (and Nick and Jack's) guardian angel - similar to the way you were while you were here.

Letting you go is one of the hardest things we've ever had to do, but there is comfort in knowing you are in a better place and that you aren't suffering anymore. Jack has lots of questions like: "why can't the doctors bring Pepa back to life?;" and "if Pepa is in heaven, who is in the box?" We are doing our best to answer him, when we don't always have answers ourselves. He likes the idea that we will all be together again in heaven someday. Bernie expects that he will be asking to take a road trip there to visit you. 

We were fortunate to be able to share our lives with you, to learn from you, and to be loved by you. Please know that you will always be a part of us and that you live on in our memories and our hearts.