I was 25 when he came into my life. Rather…I came into his. This sweet, gentle man who loved me as his own. Bernie has always been my “dad”…much more so than my own father. He loved me unconditionally. He accepted me without reservation when I came to marry his son. Me, with a young child of my own who became his grandchild. He accepted her as his own, too. That made me love him all the more.

Bernie has always given us monumentally wonderful stories. He had absolutely zero social skills which I came to understand was a charming mix of curiosity, self-effacement, and naïveté. He says things like “zoo-CHEE-nee” for that prolific green squash. He gave me rhubarb and choke cherries from his yard.

Bernie and Florence would show up at our house every Sunday evening when we lived in Denver…rain or shine. And it didn’t matter if it was 6:00 or 8:30…they invariably arrived just as we sat down to dinner. They were inseparable. Just as Bernie retired, Florence was diagnosed with dementia and he was a good and faithful husband. He cared for her till it just wasn’t safe anymore. He lived alone for quite some time, even after Florence had passed. Then he fell while on a walk and fractured his leg requiring a pretty intensive surgery. After that, between his macular degeneration and his profound hearing loss, he was persuaded to move into the Jewish assisted living center where he made fast friends, but hated the food. No bacon.

I will always hear Bernie start out a conversation with “Answer me this…”. He would proceed to ask a question about something that had long puzzled him and he’d make you feel so smart and he’d listen as you patiently explained something. I can’t remember a single one of the questions, but I will always remember how I felt in his presence. A simple, humble, funny man who didn’t get all the breaks in life. He worked hard. He took care of people.

Bernie fell a few weeks ago. Hit his head on the nightstand. It didn’t seem too bad, but he collapsed the next night with bleeding in his brain. He has slowly gone downhill this month and soon will be ending his journey here. He’ll go on to meet Florence. I will miss this kind soul. This dad. This grandpa. I am sad…but I rejoice that he lived a good life these 92 years. I am especially sad that I cannot go to him. You’re supposed to wait six to eight weeks after a subdural hematoma to fly. The risk of a re-bleed is small, but since I only have one brain, I can’t take that risk.

When I said goodbye to Bernie in December, I think we had a gut feeling we might not see each other again. Bernie took my face in his hands, looked me in the eyes, and…with a quiver in his voice, said…”You come back to me!” I always made it a point to visit with him often when I was in Denver. Now I’ll look for him in the wind and in the birdsong. I’ll look for him in the sunsets. And I will do something special to honor this good and humble man.

I love you, Pop! ❤️

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families…”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭68:5-6‬ ‭NIV‬‬