My Eldest Brother Has Left the Building

My brother John. Photo from @internationalbarnyc.

Please check this charming story from The International Bar in the East Village, via the owner, my brother John’s younger friend Tyler. ("I love that guy," Tyler said when he heard John was in the ICU earlier this month.)

STORY FROM EV GRIEVE: https://evgrieve.com/2025/06/rip-john-garbarini.html?m=1. That post links to the obituary I was honored to write about my brother. He would have turned 73 today.

Another of his close friends, stylish artist Bobby Dean of Sophie’s Bar in the EV, held the first memorial service mentioned in the obituary. Dan, Figgy, Punch, Sis, Celia, Nancy, Nicole and I all attended that one, along with many admirers. We brought subs (prosciutto, mozzarella, eggplant etc.) and Torrone nougat candy from old-school Russo’s and mini pastries from venerable Veniero’s, 2 doors away. (Our Italian grandma, Rosie, often brought us Torrone when she visited Dumont.) A table in the corner held a framed photo of John; a martini with olives (his favorite drink, Bobby Dean said); a copy of The New York Times crossword puzzle; and a pitcher of blue and pink hydrangea blooms I clipped from our shrub in Montclair. We toasted our brother and friend.

I’m out of town on a planned trip now so will miss tomorrow's farewell at The International Bar. Sis and friends Edie, Walter and Margaret, I think, will represent.

I regret to say that our family's relationship with my brother was strained and estranged for many years after our mother's death in 1981. He was smart, talented, well-read, funny--and an enigma, a man of mystery. I blogged about it here. But Sis and I were back in touch as of 2023 at least, so that is good. 

With Dan, we met John for lunch at a Mexican restaurant one spring day. On Good Friday 2024, I had lunch with my friend Celia in the city at a restaurant that serves food like Ukrainian Veselka. I told her my brother's apartment address and she said it was right around the corner. We found the hidden apartment, behind a building with a locked gate and a special code, and said hi face-to-face. And on New Year's Day 2025, Dan and I drove in, met Celia, entered the code and dropped off some homemade Marcella Hazan Tomato Sauce; a black & white photo of blonde toddler John with our young mother, near the waves on Cape Cod; a small bowl from my parents' wedding china for remembrance. John came to the door, sat on the seat of his walker, talked with us.

Dad told me once: "Mommy and I used to swing John Joseph in the waves and he laughed so much."

May there be laughter, peace and healing after we leave this land for the heavens. And a feeling of unconditional love, acceptance and respect.

The John Garbarini coasters Tyler made, so cool.

Sadness + Joy

I’ve been meaning to write about these two topics for weeks.

My parents were laid to rest here. Anne in 1981, John in 2011. Sis and I put hydrangeas on the grave at George Washington Memorial Park cemetery in Paramus on Tuesday, July 23. Photos taken 3:22 p.m.

I cried for them, I missed them. I found some courage there. 

Oh yes, they were smart and strong, as were their parents, immigrants from Italy and Ireland (except my grandmother Alice, a New Yorker who lived in an orphanage after her mother died). 

I come from a line of Irish people with charm, with twinkle, with friends, my ancestors' Galway blue, chestnut brown or NY jet-black eyes sparkling, merry, soulful or mischievous. People with the gift of gab. Italian people who loved their families deeply with a love that traveled person to person even without words or gestures. From a line of Catholics. From my parents, who laughed and read, who sought the ocean, Manhattan, art, music and culture, who were highly educated (Fordham, City College) and intelligent about everything, even quickly surmising what type of person someone was inside. 

There were issues, too. I recognize that now, and it's sad and painful, the tragedy and alcoholic trauma the family held inside. It took my life's journey to arrive there, doors opened and closed. And the journey continues, the doors still appearing. Truth and beauty.

Standing there in the grass in my tank top, flip-flops and skirt, I could see my mother in her 1970s long-sleeve print dress with matching fabric belt, "suntan" colored pantyhose. The shoes, I can't remember the shoes. And my Dad, well, as I always saw him, in pants and a collared, buttoned, short-sleeve shirt, white or pale blue oxford, open at the neck to reveal a white, short-sleeved undershirt. (His collar size was 17 1/2, which we all knew.) Leather shoes with laces.

I had gone alone to the cemetery a couple of weeks earlier (Spice/Spike attends school in Paramus, so I was nearby) but couldn't find the grave. The grass was overgrown, and the gravestones are flush/flat with the ground. Sis said something about no above-ground stones or statuary allowed there.

My good sister took on the task. From her home in Connecticut, she called the office on the grounds, spoke to an efficient woman who pinpointed the location. That's my sister. She goes the distance to help family and friends. 

"Walk past Jones and McCracken, then make a left, pass five graves, and it's in that row," the lady said. (I'm making up the details now.) She gave us a map to the stars' homes, which I still have somewhere. We pulled up the heavy, muddy inverted metal vase attached underground with a chain to the gravestone and stood the vase right side up. 

"I'm glad Daddy got that vase," I said. "I'm glad he paid extra for it. He knew Mommy liked flowers." Sis had gone with him to choose the casket and other dark details at Frech Funeral Home in Dumont. 

That vase is a bonus. Dad must have known he would bring flowers for the woman who passed over the rose-trellised bridge at age 56, his bride, the mother of his four children, the woman he met in a carpool from NYC to their first jobs as chemists (at Lederle, in Pearl River, NY) in the late 1940s. He was a good Italian boy married to an Irish girl. Like most people in long marriages, they had weathered some storms. Tough times with their own teens, problems and worries with their young adults, stresses about my father's work, bosses and salary. (By the time I was a teen, the youngest of four, I did everything I could to get their approval and behave well. Pretty well, I guess. That may have been a gift for them, IDK, but it turned out to be a hard task for me in the long run.)

When I was working at Woman's Day and Good Housekeeping magazines, Dad would call me with updates. Not just "Hey Al? I got the free turkey at ShopRite for Thanksgiving and it's thawing in the garage," but also "I made a little Christmas tree and brought it to the cemetery today." He fashioned it from clippings from our holiday tree or evergreens in our backyard. (And what was I doing? Not going to the cemetery with Dad. Enjoying life as a young woman with her dream job in a dream city. I was there for my Dad, but see I could have been there more.)

After a few minutes by the grave, Sis said to our parents, "I brought your baby girl. Help her." I'm crying even now as I write this. Things were/are rough with Spice/Spike. Family crisis mode. I/we also have concerns about our Figgy. Our parents wanted the best for us, for all four of their children. And Dad of course for Figgy. He adored her. He met Spike as a baby.

"And you're not even going to have a grave," I blurted through tears as Sis and I walked back to her car. "Right," she said. She wants her ashes scattered somewhere.

Alas, in my life, I am working the "three C's" of recovery. I attend 12-step support groups. "I didn't cause it. I can't cure it. I can't control it." That wisdom applies to any troubling/unhealthy behaviors we see in people around us, things we wish we could fix. My former therapist once said that parenting is the most codependent relationship of all--or at least it can be.

Now a happier topic....

Look at our sweet nieces, three Maine flower girls at our big New Jersey wedding. From left, Pat and Donna's daughters, Anna and Mariah, and John and Jerri's daughter, Leah. You can see a hint of my parents' 1970s living room sofa in tones of gold and green.

Handsome Greg and lovely Leah at the Mere Point Yacht Club wedding celebration in July, a summer after they eloped on a sandbar with a minister and Greg's two children.

Well, I'm going to rest now. Good night.

Close Call with Grubhub

I went online to order from Tinga, the Mexican restaurant in town, via Grubhub. But my cart included an automatic tip of $13 and then came a question: Did I want to add a tip for the driver, and of course I would. So Grubhub is taking that giant cut first, and it's not even for the driver? That was getting to be way too much. It was $78 for dinner for four without the driver tip.

Instead, I called directly, and the food came to $65 and I added a $12 tip for contact-free delivery. I got chicken quesadillas for me and Punch; beans and rice platter for Figgy; cheese enchilada platter for Dan, with fixings, lettuce etc.; guacamole with small bag chips; and pico de gallo with small bag chips.

TCOY

1. I cried a lot in my kitchen today. I got the call from my cousin Loretta that my Uncle Jackie [formally John] Mahon died Wednesday nite at age 90. Crying can be TCOY, letting feelings out. There goes another one of the Old Guard. I cherished him, the middle of my mother's three younger brothers--the second of my grandmother Alice's three sons. I love/loved them all, but Jackie was gregarious, like my mother. He and Aunt Mary had five children. Jackie went to law school at night after age 40 and became a government attorney, working at 26 Federal Plaza in New York City and commuting from Long Island. He handled trademark cases. [I think my friend Liz does that, too!] He also lost two children--my peer, Stevie, who died in a bike accident when I was in sixth grade, and more recently, my older cousin, John, who was physically disabled for years.] How do parents ride through that? Today, in the kitchen, as unrealistic as it might be to visualizer reunions in the heavens, up in the clouds, I pictured my father, mother, her parents and Uncle Jim greeting Jackie on his arrival--maybe because he was so lovable. I hope Stevie and John met him with wide grins and loud voices, too. Sis and I FaceTimed with Jackie last week in Connecticut. Loretta showed him the Facebook pictures of us fishing, with a big striper.
2. Writing an essay to pitch.
3. Walked Sug around the block.
4. Went over to my friend Jean's, chatted and caught up.
5. Talked on phone to my friend Jane, plus Moey and Sis.
6. Michael joined Dan and me for dinner in the backyard.

$ MONEY SPENT OUT OF POCKET

• Rented "The Gospel According to André" documentary about fashion editor André Leon Talley, about $13.
• The Mexican food, $77 counting tip for contact-free delivery, weekend family treat, dinner for four [and Michael joined us, too].

total daily spend: $90.

ongoing monthly spend as of June 12:  $1,463.59.

avg daily spend: $121.97. As of now, this is almost twice as much as my avg. daily spend in March, when coronavirus took hold. I hope I can rein it in. I have been doing a lot of grocery and other shopping.

Keep an eye on/compare to previous months:

April 2020: Total monthly spend: $2,143.19.
Avg daily spend: $71.44.

March 2020--the effect of coronavirus quarantine and not working in NYC for now

Total monthly spend as of March 31: $1,916.15.

Avg daily spend: $61.81.

February 2020

Total monthly spend as of Feb. 29: $2,480.34.
Avg daily spend: $85.53.

TOTAL SPEND FOR MAY 2019: $2,348.24.

MAY AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $75.75. 

TOTAL SPEND FOR APRIL 2019: $3,634.28.

APRIL AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $121.14.

Let me try to get back to the essay now, before the food arrives. Good night.

Cape Cod Grave Digging: Before I Forget to Remember

I love this photo of Rite; image from dignitymemorial.com.

Photo of Bob & Rite, also via dignitymemorial.com.

Last Friday evening, when Punch was at a Brewster pond with her friend, Dan was on Washington Island off the Wisconsin coast, and Fig and Florida Orange were trying to get an earlier flight from Palm Beach to Boston for their Cape weekend, I went to the cemetery to find Rite and Bob Bremner.

I've written about Rite [Marguerite] and Bob before. They were formative in me getting to the Cape and loving it for over 50 years. Co-workers of Dad’s, they owned the cottage my parents rented--on Windmill Lane over by Great Pond--starting when I was about 4.

Eventually, they retired to the sandy shore full-time, inspiring my parents to have their simple ranch house built in the same town, North Eastham.

I cherished them. They didn't have kids--I think they wanted to--but over the years, had a dog and later, a fat cat they adored. They loved to read thick books (she, romance; he, history) and walk by Wellfleet Bay, gathering wild lavender and pretty shells. I learned so much from them. Rite gave me her zucchini bread recipe in high school. Since our house has no phone 📞 line, Mom sat by the bay window in their kitchen to call Dad when she and I stayed a full 3 weeks. I can see her now, white peasant blouse and flowy skirt, cradling the receiver.

Rite and Bob came with us on a ferry day trip to Martha’s Vineyard and a car ride to Provincetown in the 1970s. We went to the chowder supper at their church on Route 6. My friend Nancy Blake stayed at their house with me in a room with twin beds, nubby bedspreads and carefully tended African violets on a plant stand, basking in the sun. Rite made me my first Fluffernutter--lovingly packed for a day by the bay--and pan of fudge from the recipe on the Fluff label. To this day, I buy a jar of the old-timey white marshmallow magic on Cape trips to fix sandwiches for the young girls in my midst. It's just one timeless gift Rite left me.

After Mom died, R & B taught the art of clamming to Dan and me when we were newlyweds, raking in the damp bay sand at low tide before dawn, unearthing hard-shelled quahogs. Rite pushed baby Figgy with me in a bright blue stroller on Wonderstrand Way. Whenever we went to their house on Quail Cover Lane for dinner, it was always served on their wedding china. When Dad and I took them to dinner with young Figgy, they chose the Hearth 'n Kettle.

They left their house to their nephew, who promptly moved in with his family. By the end of their lives, Rite and Bob were living at a facility in Chatham. After Rite went, Bob stopped eating. Told me he didn't want to live anymore the last time I saw him. They had been married for 68 years. Rite died October 21, 2014 and Bob followed just over 8 months later, on June 26, 2015.

When I drove by the house, their nephew told me they were buried in the cemetery across from Arnold's Lobster & Clam Bar.

I had looked for their grave a few years ago with Sis, but couldn't find it. Now I looked again, covering a lot of ground in my crystal flip flops and Maggie's Organics lilac-top dress. It was sunny and hot, near 7 p.m. A shirtless, sunburned man [with a stark white T-shirt outline] was walking his big dog and talking on his cell.

Give me a sign, I said to R & B. Some kind of a sign. Help me find you.

I thought of Bob's gangly frame, Rite's petite figure, the pretty black pumps and tailored red jackets she wore when they came to visit my parents the day after Christmas every year and went into NYC. I remembered Bob liking the fried oyster platter from Arnold's, and the way Rite called me Ali. And the time Moey and I drove up to the Cape in our twenties, had car trouble, and I asked Bob to look at it. He slid underneath.

They liked gardening--and gave me two painted stone chickens to put in our garden at home. I gave one to my friend Anne. The other, worn but sturdy, is out front here in Montclair.

I couldn't find their grave. I wanted to pay my respects. But Carolyn, who lives up there and walks her older, blind dog, Finn, at the cemetery, noticed me wandering and offered help.

Bremner, she said. I know I've seen that name. She took my cell number and said she will text me when she comes across it again.

I saw BREWER. HIGGINS. MAYNARD. ELDREDGE. Touching mementos left on the gravesites--toy cars, little sailboats. Extensive gardens around some graves, complete with iron benches. Angels, cherubs.

And a plot and stone for NICKERSON. That's a big name on the Cape--Nickerson State Park, etc. I saw the grave for NATE, the original Nate. Nate III is the owner of immensely popular Arnold's, with its looooong lines and awards in Cape Cod Life Magazine.

I came up empty but still, I felt closer to Rite and Bob, and Mom and Dad. I was always young to them. And I still felt young searching for those final resting places in the sandy Cape Cod soil.

Good night.

$ MONEY SPENT OUT OF POCKET

TOTAL DAILY SPEND: zero
TOTAL MONTHLY SPEND AS OF AUGUST 14: $1,854.59.

AVERAGE DAILY SPEND FOR MONTH SO FAR: $132.47.

[I added in all Cape and travel days now.]

Hot, big-money spends in August, or how I spent our bread:

🥖 Fill gas tank twice on Cape Cod, $46 x 2= $92.
🥖Idle Times bike shop rental for Punch from noon Saturday until 5 p.m. Sunday, $31.
🥖T.J. Maxx, four designer dresses, Adidas sneakers, knock-off lightweight Burberry scarf, Olga bra, Lauren pillow, shorts, etc. etc.,  $338.

🥖Pizza+/fancyish restaurant dinner with Punch after swimming in pond in Brewster until after 7 p.m., $77.

🥖Mac's Market & Kitchen, lobster, clams, kale salad, mango salsa and other Sunday dinner ingredients, $53.

🥖Brewster bakery, including cookbook I somehow lost, maybe a message from God because it was packed with recipes for sweets, $25.
🥖2 Massachusetts mugs, one for Cape and one for home, $28.
🥖Commando.com, black half-slip, $65.
🥖Arnold's Lobster & Clam Bar, fried clam belly basket plus tip, $30.
🥖Pure Vita, the new CBD [not for me] and natural home care store with essential-oil bar and pretty pineapple throw pillow case for Cape house, votive candles, seaweed/lavender bath sachets, $52.
🥖Stop & Shop, Cape groceries, $29 + $40 + $52=$121.
🥖Lobster roll supper with P. at Adams Lodge in Wellfleet, $32.
🥖Eastham info booth, pink sweatshirt, $30.
🥖Mass Audubon annual family membership, $65.
🥖Sunbird breakfast sandwich w citrus mayonnaise on grilled ciabatta plus expensive coffee beans from, of all places, Portland, Maine, plus tip, $27.

🥖Audubon gift shop, small turtle rug for home; bird gift for Figgy; goat milk body wash; Bee Boss Body Balm, which I love for lips, too; small owl wall calendar for family, with member discount, $88. 
🥖Vineyard Vines, candy-pink gingham skort, orig $98, now on sale for $68.99, plus shipping, $79.
🥖Mac’s Market & Kitchen, lobster, scallops, salmon, lemon, cornbread square, crackers, $49.

COMPARISON SHOPPING. That long Cape Cod vacay in August really drove the numbers up so far.

TOTAL SPEND FOR MONTH OF JULY [STARTING JULY 5; I LOST A FEW DAYS THERE]: $1,610.81. 👛 🎯 ⬇️
JULY AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $59.66!  👛 🎯 ⬇️

TOTAL SPEND FOR MONTH OF MAY: $2,348.24.

MAY AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $75.75. 

TOTAL SPEND FOR MONTH OF APRIL: $3,634.28.

APRIL AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $121.14.

Mommy in My Midst

Today--May 20, 2018–is the 37th anniversary of my mother’s death. I was 20; she was 56. It was 1981. For some reason, it hit me hard today. I felt her presence. And I registered my loss.
Stay in today--not yesterday, not tomorrow.
I attended a morning support group, a "Big Book" meeting for the first time, and needed my reading glasses and a copy of the Big Book. I reached into my blue denim tote bag--and the bigger the bag, the more I tote--and my hand landed right on the good glasses that had been missing since Friday. [I’d been using some blue back-up frames since then, and forgotten those at home.] I had no hope of that but took a chance and reached in, so I could read the text.
And I had purchased a copy of the Big Book just yesterday at the Saturday morning meeting, and had a hot pink Sharpie to mark passages, so I was all set.
It all came together, and I felt my mother was watching out for me.
Afterwards, in the car, I texted w my girlhood/still friends Fritch and Moey. Fritch’s bday is also today. They texted back sweet memories of my Mom.
The Mom whose presence I felt was: Wanting the best for me. Wanting me to have what I needed. Wanting me to be well. Wanting me to know I was not alone. Proud of me. Loving me. Happy for me, Supportive. She channeled clarity, confidence and compassion for me. Those were gifts I had gotten from her gradually--and yet somehow all at once.
I’m not sure I really saw her. But I had a vague, fleeting image of her in her brown winter coat with the double row of buttons in the front. And a glimpse of her brown hair [she did her own Clairol from a bottle] and rosy Irish cheeks.
And a smile. I remember a smile.
Good night.

Uncle Jim

My Uncle Jim died; he was 91. My Mom had three younger brothers, and Jim was the eldest. He was married for 62 years to Aunt Gloria, my godmother. The wake was today; the funeral is tomorrow. I don’t like that Uncle Jim reached the winter of his life. He was smart, kind and a U.S. Army veteran. He had 5 children—Maria, Jimmy, Annie, Cathy and Joey. They lived 9 houses away from us on Bedford Road in Dumont and I spent lots of fun play time there.

Let me see, I think it was 9 houses between us: 1. The Russels 2. The Donovans/Will's friend Bobby Donovan, and a boy named Robin lived upstairs in the two-family? 3. House owned by family I didn’t know 4. Gilmartins 5. Older lady/house w fancy white wrought-iron garden bench? 6. Harris family 7. Brenda Wing 8. Not sure who next  9. Three sisters: Debbie, Denise and Doreen.

Anyway, it’s sad. My uncle was hardworking and friendly. He was a civil engineer. Good night.

Too Much to Write and Eyelids Too Heavy

Sadness. Punchy’s paternal grandpa died from cardiac arrest, age 55. Her daddy, the  grandpa’s son, died when Punch was a baby. A lot for that little lady to soldier through. And Sis and I cried at Waveny on Farm Road in New Canaan, CT today at a beautiful group memorial service. Don attended adult day care there for one or two days a week for the last year and a half of his life. We all released white dove-shaped balloons in the pretty garden. BTW, Ina Garten writes fondly about Waveny—I believe her father was there—in Cooking for Jeffrey. More tomorrow.

Signing off with Sadness

So much weariness in the world, just on the heels of a mass shooting two days ago at an outdoor country music concert in Las Vegas. The gunman, in his 60s, fired a rapid series of shots from a hotel window, killing 58 people [and himself] and injuring more than 400 others.

Puerto Rico limping along after a whipping hurricane that left the island with no power or water.

I made it to meditation class with Mari tonight, and we dedicated it to the Las Vegas victims and their loved ones.

Until tomorrow.

Preparing a Farewell

It was a busy day here in Stamford, Connecticut for Sis and me--especially for Sis, since she was fielding texts and calls and emails from Don's five children near and far. California, Utah, Wisconsin, Chicago, Connecticut. And all of this, of course, between many fallen tears.

We spent three hours at the funeral home. The owner, Tom, was helpful. He grew up in Stamford, and as we sat with him at the polished wood conference table, he called to line up the restaurant [Pellicci's, a favorite of Don's, where he loved the Chicken Parmigiana and Chicken Marsala, and sweet spumoni] and the minister who will lead the memorial service.

Don is being cremated. Sis chose the box to hold his ashes, the sailboat design to decorate it, the glass-enclosed "ark" to display it in the funeral home when we pay our last respects. We looked through a catalog that showed all kinds of containers, and even pretty pendants to hold ashes. Stamford Florist has a branch right at the funeral home, which is brilliant, and Sis chose the flowers there--blues and whites, because Don loved fishing, boating, the water. Donna was so helpful with the picking of hydrangeas, irises and lilies.

We talked about the obituary, which I will write tomorrow. I'm staying over tonight, and H. is handling Punchy back at the ranch; this is her spring break from school. This time, I have the car and they have no wheels. They have been walking in and out of town a lot. We had planned to leave today for a few days on the Cape but now hope to go on Thursday and return Sunday. The service is on Monday.

One of my favorite details is the remembrance card Sis chose: It has a lighthouse on the front and on the other side, with Don's name and the dates, these words from the Robert Louis Stevenson poem "Requiem":

Home is the sailor, home from sea.

We didn't like the other parts about wanting to be laid to rest, because Don loved life. But Robert Louis Stevenson wrote the poem as his own epitaph and incidentally, he is buried in Samoa. Sis served two years in the Peace Corps in Western Samoa.

I am tired and better rest. But I am so grateful I can be here.

Tom needs the obit by 1 tomorrow, and I know I will have some blanks for Sis to fill in and names for her to double-check. But I am proud to say I know my brother-in-law's life story pretty well.

Good night. Prayers for two special people here on earth. Prayers, strength, prayers, trust, prayers, perspective. Godspeed, good will, love.

TCOY

1. Big spinach salad w delicious shrimp at the Crab Shell restaurant in Stamford. Excellent mug of coffee, too. I'm every now and then able to be satisfied w coffee in place of dessert, which is a big step for me.
2. Laughs over dinner with Sis's friend Nicole, who took the train out from NYC to support Sis.
3. Walked Sis and Don's sweet butterscotch dog, Buttercup. She and I felt the wind in our faces and saw a regal snowy white egret taking flight.
4. Ice water.

Red Sky at Night, Sailor's Delight

My Sis's husband, Don, died early Monday morning in Greenwich Hospital, where he had been admitted 3 days earlier w pneumonia. He was a jazz lover, drummer, bat boy for the Chicago Cubs and member of the New York Yacht Club. He sailed on Lake Michigan as a boy and later, in a race against Ted Turner in the Caribbean. He won so many trophies! Don was a menswear importer for years and helped introduce Madras plaid to the U.S. market in the 1960s. In the nineties, he had a nice office in the Empire State Building and worked in sports licensing. He loved Popsicles and chicken parm and above all, his wife. He was my friend and my fan and I will miss him. Sis and I cried a lot today and I drove over to spend the night and help with plans. Don would have been 90 this July. May the seas be smooth in Heaven and the winds be just right. Sail on, my brother-in-law. Sail on.

Melancholy Monday

Today was our college friend's memorial service. He took his own life, as they say. He was the best and the brightest, and it tugged at our hearts to see his wife, mother, brother, gorgeous & poised high school senior daughter, first wife and zestful 8-year-old son. 

What really got us was that the pastor at the beautiful church on the corner of Broadway and 114th Street said our friend had just this season been among helpers putting up the fresh, towering tree and other festive decorations under the sacred ceiling.

How and why did the light go out for our friend and the darkness close in?

We will always ponder that, the question left unanswered, the sorrow and desperation, the fast or slow decision to exit life's road. The conclusion to our friend's life story will remain beyond our grasp. We are not in his inner circle, we are college friends who respected and adored him as he led our newspaper team.

Kinda puts all this holiday stress in perspective, I'll tell you that.

Sail safely through the stars, my friend.

Good night.

Zero Weddings and 2 Funerals

Today was the funeral Mass for the husband of my golden-hearted sitter and friend, Elaine. Eric had cancer and was in his early 70s.

Second funeral Mass I've been to lately, the first being for Nathan's untimely death at age 26.

Grief is hard to witness and harder to carry.

Good night.

Sad & Glad

Sad news, our former neighbors lost their son, Nate, age 26. He grew up on our block and was such a polite and personable boy and young man. Just a really good kid, and a charming presence to have around. He had a faint scattering of freckles on his face and a big hello when you saw him.

I was sorry when the family moved.

I'm not sure of the cause of death, only that his parents are both very lovable and kind and that they also tragically lost an infant boy in year 2000. [They have other children, too.] I plan to attend the services. How can this be, how can they be expected to rebound from the loss of two sons? Such heartbreak. Fate can be so very ruthless.

Glad news, saw Moey for dinner tonight at a pasta restaurant in Saddle Brook.

Must sleep now. Can never get my fill of sleep, it seems.

Good night. Prayers for Nate's family. They do not walk alone.

Good Night, Sleep Tight

...and may Erika's dear husband rest in peace. He was only 44 and they have two young children. Erika is baby sister to my close girlhood friend Irene. We were so charmed when she was born. 

I drove back to Dumont--to my mother church, Saint Mary's--for the funeral Mass today. The church loomed larger than I'd remembered but the rest of the town and the houses seemed smaller.

For memory's sake, I drove past the Cape Cod-style house where I grew up [the house Dad kept for about 50 years] and the newer ranch where Irene lived on White Beeches Drive--and 11 houses down Bedford Road from my house to the one my beloved Aunt Gloria and Uncle Jim and my cousins Maria, Jimmy, Annie, Cathy and Joseph called home.

Life marches on. Erika is in my heart and prayers. I don't pretend to understand these heart-wrenching losses. 

Good night.