Impermanence

I am so sorry to let you all know that my beloved Bob passed away suddenly on April 19^th.  

He was my best friend and most ardent supporter.  He encouraged me to learn meditation and help others become meditators, as well.   Bob was gently laid to rest, surrounded by family and friends, on April 22^nd.  

Bob and Marilyn

Below is the eulogy our daughter shared at Bob's funeral:

Over the past few days, I’ve had many conversations, with my mom, with my sisters, and with my children, in which we’ve shared memories of my dad.  I’ve read emails from cousins and friends who have shared memories about my dad, and told of the impact he had on their lives.  

The recurring theme that is shared in these recollections is the strength of my father’s broad shoulders.  Dad’s greatest pleasures involved using his physical and emotional strength to support those he loved.

Some of my earliest memories of Dad are of climbing onto his shoulders as a small girl.  At Lake Jecoce, he would put his hands back over his shoulders, then squat low enough that I could reach those hands while I climbed up his back and put my feet onto his shoulders.  He would grip my ankles tightly while he slowly stood up to full height, rising out of water deep enough for me to dive into from that great altitude. 

That experience was repeated many times over the years, in swimming pools, and in the Atlantic Ocean on our annual summer vacation to Cape Cod.  His grandchildren, Matthew, Julie, Sidney and Sam also experienced diving securely from the tower of Grandpa Bob, when we traveled to Puerto Vallarta with my parents, and also in their pool in San Jose.  In looking through pictures the last couple of days, we found one of our cousin Rahel standing on Dad’s shoulders in her parents’ swimming pool.

But Dad didn’t need the water to help bear the weight of his family and friends.  We stood on his shoulders on dry land, throughout our lives.  His support was always there.

Dad supported Mom through high school, helping her prepare for the New York State Regents exams required for graduation.  And he showed her where to hide on the Staten Island Ferry to avoid the ticket collector on their teenage dates, when they didn’t have the nickel for their return fare.

Mom and Dad got married while they were still in college, and Dad entered grad school before they started having kids.  Shortly after earning his master’s degree, he had a wife and three young children.  Although Dad’s true passion would always be teaching, the responsibility he felt to support his young family led him to choose a career in engineering, with its promise of a secure income, rather than indulge his desire to pursue a Ph.D.

In the early years of their marriage Mom suffered from a series of illnesses that made raising small children a challenge.  Dad helped bear that weight even while starting his career, at a time when that was not a typical father’s role.   He traveled back and forth between his new home in Poughkeepsie and Brooklyn, where Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Mac helped with us kids, making sure that Debbie didn’t miss any school.

Dad truly was a great teacher, and loved to help all types of students.  In addition to helping three generations, including his wife, children and grandchildren, through high school and college, he loved to help people outside of his family pursue their education.  

When we lived in Poughkeepsie, Dad joined an effort organized through our synagogue to read books onto tape for blind people.  He especially liked it when he was asked to read a textbook for a college student, when their books were not available in braille. His services were especially in demand for higher-level math texts, as an understanding of the subject matter was essential. 

As a rule, this work was done without contact between student and reader; in fact, the students’ identities, and even where they went to school, was not known to the readers.  That all changed, when Dad was assigned the task of reading an advanced Economics textbook.  In order to provide a useful interpretation of the complex graphs included in the text, in a way that would be meaningful, Dad felt that it was essential to communicate directly with the student, to understand her level of knowledge, and to ask what would be best for her.

He was put in touch with a brilliant Vassar College student, who became a close family friend.  Her family did not support her educational goals, and thought she should pursue a more traditional menial career often undertaken by blind women.  Dad recognized her intellectual gifts and encouraged her, and she spent quite a few evenings with our family throughout her years at Vassar.  My parents attended her graduation, and Dad was in contact with her just weeks before his death.

As a father of three daughters, Dad lived in a world of women, and he treasured that world.  He supported his wife and his daughters, the four of us so different from each other.  Mom says that Dad always said he was waiting to get his period.  I told her that at, at this point, he was waiting for menopause.

When I went to college, I started out in my father’s footsteps, entering into an engineering program.  I soon decided that was not my path and switched to humanities, enrolling in history and Shakespeare classes.  

At first Dad was strenuously opposed to this decision, and voiced his objections in that loud, booming voice that filled the room, the voice with which so many in this room are quite familiar.  His strong opposition was, of course, born of concern for my ability to support myself.  Over time, though, Dad came to realize that I had to follow my own path; his support never wavered.

Dad’s support was vital to each of us.  When Debbie returned to school, taking classes at USF, his tutoring in statistics helped her complete her degree.  He was so proud of her accomplishments, and the great successes she has achieved, both in her family life and in her career.

When Mom decided at age fifty that she wanted to return to school, Dad lifted her onto his shoulders.  She enrolled in a masters program and came home with a course list that overwhelmed her with prerequisites and completion requirements.  Dad applied his masterly skill of breaking the task down into manageable pieces.

When Sue decided to move away to Kansas, although it was hard to see her move so far away, he accepted this decision with great love.  When Sue decided she needed to move back to be closer to our family, Dad opened his home not only to her, but also to her husband, Steve, and their two dogs.

One person who had an especially close and deep connection to Dad was Grandma Sarah.  When Mom and Dad were first married, they moved into Mom’s childhood bedroom.  Dad was barely beyond his teenage years, and Mom just told me that he would sit on their bed and throw his socks into the ceiling light fixture.

Dad forged a deep bond with Grandma Sarah, and she idolized him.  In her eyes, Bob was the most absolutely perfect person in the world.  Bob knew everything and could do anything.  His word was absolute, and their deep love was mutual.  When Grandma could no longer live on her own, Dad welcomed her in, bringing yet another woman into his home. 

Grandma Sarah was a tiny woman, and she shrank even smaller over the years, but standing on Bob’s shoulders, she felt strong and cared for.

Dad continued to support his family, including grandchildren and great grandchildren, up until the moment he died.  We all loved him deeply, and felt his deep love.  Standing on his shoulders, we have all been able to dive deep and swim far.     
                                                                          April 22, 2014