Martha and I were best friends in high school, the kind of friends who were constantly on the phone with each other and talking in school to each other, and eating meals with each other, although I ate at her house more often because her mother was a wonderful cook and always had delicious and special foods at their house. Martha’s parents had a business in Cuba, and were often away, and Martha and her beautiful little sister, Betsy, had a good amount of freedom. I remember that we played The Student Prince album over and over–we loved the to hear Mario Lanza sing those romantic songs and we dreamed of our own romances.

Martha had a car, a blue and white Chevrolet, and sometimes she drove me to school and saved me from taking the school bus.

We “double dated”–I with Joe Spiro, whom I adored and Martha with one or another of the nice young men from Miami Beach high school. A date in those days for us consisted of our having hot fudge sundaes at some diner, and then choosing a fancy hotel on the beach. We’d go through the lobby and out the back to the pool area, where there were cabanas, and beach chairs. The four of us would sit quietly, staring at the moon dancing over the ocean, and we dreamed whatever dreams we had then, of our futures which would be wonderful and full of love. Now and then some kissing might ensue, but it was virtuous and sweet.

After graduation, Martha went away to college in Wisconsin and I to the University of Florida. We always wrote to each other, long letters full of confidences. Somehow life parted us and brought us together again. Somehow she moved to California, and so did I. The first time we visited in Los Angeles, each of us had a baby girl. When we arrived at Martha’s house, she saw me coming up the steps with my daughter Becky in my arms, and she cried out, “Look what you have!” And I looked at the beautiful baby Michele in her arms, and replied, “And look what you have!” It was a moment of such bliss!
It meant we had fallen in love, we had married, it meant we had had babies, it meant the things had come to pass that we worried in high school might never come to pass. I married the boy we double dated with, Joe Spiro, and last week was our 49th wedding anniversary. Martha and I could be apart even for a year or two, and then, when we met, simply we resumed our old intimacy without a missed beat. We simply loved each other, always and forever.

We never dreamed life could deal us such a bitter blow as was dealt to her in the last month.
“My life is upside down,” she wrote to me in an e mail.

I called her at once, and she was so very tired she could hardly speak to me on the phone.
I asked her if I could come to visit, and she said no. She had to lie down as we talked. “I’m just so tired,” she said.

So Martha has now gone on a journey before me, she’s made a passage to some kind of peace we are all destined for. As Mario Lanza used to sing, “Beloved, with all my heart I love you…”
That’s how I feel about Martha.

Albeit late, please know that your MOM is in a much better place than here, as the scriptures say, that she is with the Lord.

With kind regards always,

Ron

I’m very sorry to hear of your loss. Your letter to her touched me and made me even more thankful for my mom. We are the lucky ones, to have such close ties and mutual respect with loving parents.

The loss is just not easy and no words can assuage it.

Grief is the compliment we pay to those who pass. Gratitude is the gift we give in their memory. You’ve done magnificently with both.

You were missed too. Though I’m on plenty of mailing lists, I noticed your absence and was about to check with you via email.

I look forward to another lunch/dinner with you. Please let me know when you are in Las Vegas again.

All the best,

Tom

Life has its more memorable moments – even in death.

Like any moment, it’s what we make and take from it …to give on to others that matters.

For that is a crucial part of what makes us and our friends and families cherish-able.

Passing it on, or around, is part of this giving.

To say “I’m sorry” is an habitual way for saying: “I care” without more words to convey other more deeper feelings such as you have done.

Some of us are unable to say more only because we have let our selves become a slave to saying only: “I’m sorry.”

So… I will say “I’m glad!” Glad? Yes, glad …that you had a mom you loved so deeply. And, more glad you had the life with her you did.

Not all of us are so fortunate.

So, thank you for passing along what you saw in her.

In so doing, you’ve made it like poetry – rendering the moment in time to transcend our own moms – or lack or moms.

And in so doing, it helps to give better insight to our own selves as mothers and fathers to our own children that we come into contact daily – be them ours or our neighbor’s.

Yes, thank you for sharing your gift of writing along with the memorable moments of your mom.

Not everyone has those experiences. And for those of us that don’t, we can only imagine and look at yours …to help us with our own children.

Thank you Mark, for sharing Mark.

May the blessings of your Mom bring comfort to you and your family and lift your sadness with the gift of her love that will always be part of your life.

Blessings Always,

Steve