06 May 2015


Absurdly, I thought that he would live forever, or at least as long as I would. But I am not sure why I held this idea: perhaps because he did look younger than his years told. He had been retired for a good while having had a heart attack early and deciding then not to die on the job. It has been my experience that when people retire the wrinkles on their faces efface and their skins become smoother and less leathery.
     And because for the past 16 years he had sat next to me on Shabbat mornings when he summered in Minnesota. Apparently one Shabbat I had taken his seat when he was wintering, in Florida and by the time he returned I assumed the seat was mine. And he never complained, not once, about losing his seat, well, or even about anything. He took great joy in life.
     And perhaps because people around him died—his wife, his brother, the men and women who sat in the in the row beside us and in front of us—and yet he remained always happy and hopeful.
     And maybe I thought him immortal because he so adored my own children who were friends and companions with his grandchildren. He took such great joy in the accomplishments of my daughters and offered them the affection a grandfather would give to his grandchildren. And my daughters l think loved him.
    Or perhaps quite selfishly, as long as Harold sat next to me I felt safe.
    I really did not think that Harold could or would die, and I will miss him.


Anonymous Hotmail helpline said...

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07 May, 2015 06:31  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Calumny is detrimental to one's complexion.
May you be comforted...

07 May, 2015 14:09  

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