My grandmother’s death has made me really sad about my dad’s death. I wasn’t expecting this. It’s been a long time. But after I saw my brother wearing a tie with a frog pattern on it (my dad had a big weird toy frog collection) to Grandma’s funeral, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dad. I dreamed about him last night. I wish he knew Maxie — she has his goofy, random, theatrical sense of humor. (Maxie was named after him, but part of me still wishes we’d named her Zaydie, not because Zaydie Smith is a great writer — though she is — but because it’s what Josie called my dad, Yiddish for grandfather.) Josie wisely said that maybe Zayde does know Maxie. And maybe he’s happy right now because he’s seeing his mom again. Who knows.

Anyway, here’s a beautiful (but disturbing) piece my dad wrote about his own father’s death, when my dad was 14. It is funny and upsetting — classic Dad.

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