Celebrating Dad with Words and Music.

I, too, spent the day with Dad, but I remembered him with words and music. One of the books I just brought back from Cleveland was Brendan Behan's "Borstal Boy," one of my all-time favorites, a book I have enjoyed many times over for the sheer extravagance and Irish-ness of the language. I used to have a copy, even carried it around the world with me, but it had gone missing. I was so happy to find it on Dad's bookshelf (actually, it has Sue Foley's name in it, so he must have liberated it at some point) and opened it up today and, as usual, was caught up in the poetry of Behan's words. As the hour approached, I went on to the Irish Tenors and finished off with the Three Tenors, weeping when Pavarotti sang "Nessun dorma," just as I did that last afternoon I spent with Dad. There I was conducting and singing and yelling "Bravo!" with tears running down my face. But Dad managed a "Bravo!" too. You know, I can still close my eyes and bring up the image of his face that day, bright with joy. It's a comfort.

I've been thinking of all of you today, of the extraordinary outpouring of love that flowered on December 23. Of Tom, breathing in Dad's last breath. Of Ellen, having to tell Mom and then fighting her way through the ice to Arden Court so that Tom wouldn't be alone when they came for Dad. Of Terry, having to deal with an accident when she was frantic to be elsewhere and having to make the call to Scott. Of those of us who were not there, feeling lonely and bereft and clinging to the phones to be in touch. And mostly of Mom, trapped in a hospital bed, feeling lousy, and facing the finality of it all. Of Lee and Edward and Hana and Alex and Marge and Kristen and Robert and Cheryl and Rachel and Daniel and Sarah and Mark and Maria and Evan, who wept with us. It's that love that carried us through a year ago and 6 months ago and will continue to bind us. I love you all.