He became “Dad” when I married his son. And he’s been “Dad” ever since. Dad had an open heart, a love of life on his own terms, and a generous spirit. He loved me as if I’d been born into the family rather than married into it.

When I think about his impact on my life, I see moments, glimpses of happy times: dancing with him at my wedding; hearts filled with chocolates every Valentines Day; the January night I called him in a panic because dh was out of town and a pipe outside my house burst (he came over and fixed it in the frigid cold); my birthday seven months after the pipe episode when he presented me with my very own set of tools and a cool bag to keep them in; his pride at his granddaughter’s karate tournaments and grandson’s baseball, basketball, and football games.

He loved dogs, the Brooklyn Dodgers (and to some extent, the Mets), and his family. His last words to me earlier this week were, “I love you. Have a good time.”
Rest in peace, Dad. And know that we’ll take good care of Mom while you’re apart. I know you wouldn’t have it any other way.