Dear David
February 13, 2020
Dear David,
Today would have been your 77th birthday. I’m sorry you won’t be here to celebrate with us, but Daveen and I keep a box of the Bubble Bears we bought for your funeral, and we’re going to take them out and blow a few bubbles today in your honor.
I’m not sure that will do you any good, but it will help us to know that as long as we are alive those who love you will remember, each in their own way, your enthusiasm, warmth, and love of life.
Our lives today are different than they were in 2003, although in many ways they are the same.
All of us are seventeen years older, and there is a difference between being 15 and 32, or 63 and 80 as I will be in a few weeks. David, that’s enough time for your oldest niece to grow up – from age ten to becoming an MD in residency at an Ivy League hospital.
My days seem long when I think of all I fill them with, but short when I calculate how many have come and gone between your birthday today and your unexpected death — 6,067 days ago.
My days are the same in that we live in the same neighborhood, appreciate the same restaurants, and still enjoy a family Christmas celebration together each year. So in some ways you’re only missing more of the same, perhaps with a little more daily exercise now, to keep our bodies moving.
We enjoyed dinner recently at a sushi restaurant with Dr. Fan, who recalled that you had an appointment with him two days after you died. His office called your number but, of course, there was no answer. At dinner Dr. Fan said, philosophically, “Some patients don’t like to see the doctor.” He’s retired now, and has referred us to a young doctor who is excellent.
I know that your life-long quest was to avoid growing old, and you succeeded. Frankly, being a “senior citizen” is not all bad. I have a deep sense of acceptance, especially of myself, so my physical state is, well, it is what it is, which isn’t acceptable. My mind is working fine, and my mood is generally excellent.
Dad died last May at the age of 104.
As you know, you and I learned to live very much in the moment. I still do, so I seldom say I miss anyone.
I will say that I miss you. I always will.
Love,
Alan
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