Growing up, my pop pop could do no wrong in my book. He was a superhero of sorts, always involved in many community organizations and events. He was a 33rd Degree Mason and President of his condominium in Margate for more than a decade. He brought me snowglobes from around the world, introduced me to the Phillie Phanatic, jumped the waves with me and Brittany, and made me laugh with his 10,000 jokes and yiddish sayings. He took me with him to visit family in Baltimore and Chicago, shared with me my first sour tomato, and showed me around the Italian Market, where we watched in amazement as the man behind the counter sliced a fish like a bagel and you could still see its working organs fully in tact (quite cool for a 12-year-old boy, or a 34-year-old for that matter.) I always looked forward to my time with him, whether it be sitting on my sofa as he let my dogs chew on his thumb, or praying next to him in temple during the high holidays. He had a grand laugh, a grand presence and a grand love for life. He was my pop pop, and I was so blessed to have him for as long as I did. In his presence, I always felt a warmth, a very special bond.
Today, we lost him, one month shy of his 87th birthday. And as I am writing this, the reality is hitting me very hard. One of my grandfather's wishes was to see that I was married....not just to anyone mind you, but to an incredible woman who would make my life complete. My grandfather had the chance to meet Mitzi on several occasions. They shared conversations and laughs. I could see a special relationship forming. I know how happy he was. And while we won't be able to hear his toast, pose with him for photos, or watch him walk down the aisle May 4, I know he will be there....and I will feel his warmth.
So long Pop Pop. Your tutila loves you and always will.
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