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other than squealing on me, he was a true and trusted friend.
    Arthur lives down the street—at least I think he still does—and faithfully drops in to see me. Sometimes I think he has nothing else to do. I can’t tell if he has missed any days visiting, or, if so, how many, but that doesn’t matter now. What I do know is he cares, and I hope he keeps coming, even if I don’t recognize him one day.
    I already know that there will come a time when I won’t know him, or people like Bernie. Frankly, I don’t give a damn if I don’t recognize Bernie—in fact, that could be the Lord’s gift to me, something to make up for what lies ahead. What does bother me—in fact, scares the hell out of me—is not recognizing the kids. As inconceivable as that seems, they say it will happen as sure as night follows day. Who, you may ask, are they ? I remember when I was a kid, my grandmother would always quote the almighty they . I would ask her, “Who are they , Granny?” She would always answer, “You know, they .” I think maybe she had Alzheimer’s!

Saul

    Love Letters
    I ’ve never been the sappy type and, believe me, I’m not now. But I know I am getting to the point where I soon will not be able to communicate meaningfully with anyone. That wouldn’t be so terrible, except that I don’t want to miss the chance to let the kids know how I feel about them.
    In the best of circumstances, I can’t talk about anything involving emotion. That’s a given, and one that wouldn’t have changed even if I hadn’t gotten the big A. But I have never been faced with extinction before. It would be pretty shitty leaving this place without letting Florence and Joey know I love them. Yes, Monique, too, but she sort of knows. I mean, we’ve had good and bad. I don’t think it’s one of those soul mate kind of unions, but it isn’t terrible, either. My guess is she probably feels the same way. We have few things in common, and except for when we would travel, we would always be arguing. I don’t know what it was about the travel that worked out that way— but there you have it.
    As for the kids, they know I’m not demonstrative. Maybe even a cranky pain in the ass. I hope they know how much I care, but in reality, how can they when I don’t reach out to them, and when they reach out to me, I slink back into my cocoon? Well, maybe slink is the wrong word, but you get the drift—I just don’t like to talk mush.
    Even if I were to go today, and they were here, I probably wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye and tell them I love them and how privileged I am to be their father.
    Sometimes I think my relationship with them has been a rerun of my relationship with my father—especially when it comes to Joey. Believe me, I did everything I could to dump that movie! But it’s not so easy. You can’t just say, Okay now I’ll behave in such and such a way. It doesn’t work like that—at least not for me. The only thing I can hope is that I restrained myself often enough so my actions were at least a watered-down version of my father and me.
    Anyway, maybe they have done some things that didn’t make me happy, but I was no prize for much of my life. It was always about me and what I wanted. Not that I would intentionally hurt someone. That doesn’t make me a bad person, does it? I wonder what my mother and father would have to say about that.
    There were so many special moments that I shared with the kids and so many things they did that made me proud. Too many to mention here. Well, to be honest, I can’t remember them all now. But believe me, there were many.
    I have to put all this down in writing and give the letters to Monique so she can pass them on to the kids after I’m gone.

Monique

    Saul’s Will
    T oday was a disaster. Several weeks back, Saul had suggested that we go downtown to see Nat Friedman, our family lawyer for the last thirty years. Actually, Saul’s lawyer and boyhood friend. I told Saul last