We visited you today, and Pookie caressed the star of David on your headstone. It’s hard to describe the heartbreak I feel knowing that you won’t get to know your grandson. The only times you saw him at all were first on Facetime when we were still in New York and then when you were at the hospital. We were taking a risk by bringing him in the hospital at all since he was so little then, but we did it knowing it could be the only time you saw him at all.
It was so cute how you described him (over and over) as “stout.” The hospital stay and the drugs had made you a bit out of it at that point so you would ask “what was that word again?” and we would have to remind you of the word “stout.” You loved that he was “stout” and said that no one would ever mess with him.
Dad, I hope so much that somehow you can still see him. He’s 14 months old now and is truly Mr. Personality. He’s so cute, so sweet and so expressive. I know I’m biased, but I swear he’s something special. People call him a comedian, and it’s so true, and I like to think he gets his sense of humor from you.
Throughout my life, you always cracked me up, but now I’m learning about so many hilarious stories from your younger years. I’ll be sharing some of those stories as well as my own in these letters to you. I know it sounds cliché, but I feel like if I preserve these stories and memories that it will keep you alive somehow. I just want to remember as much as I can, and, most importantly, I want Pookie to eventually get to know you through these stories.