Retrieving the letter that falls out of the envelope, I gasp as I recognize my father’s unmistakable, beautiful script

A FedEx delivery?

It must be a delivery for the office.

It isn’t.

It’s from my cousin, Peggy, in Florida.

I haven’t heard from her in ages... Why FedEx?

Retrieving the letter that falls out of the envelope, I gasp as I recognize my father’s unmistakable, beautiful script.

My father died decades ago.

My cousin’s note explains that while going through some papers her mother had left, she came across this letter from my father to his siblings in Memphis, updating them on his condition.

The letter is dated December 1963.

I sit down to read the letter, allowing memories to wash over me...

1963

I’m entering my senior year in college, so most of my classes are in my major. I have two great roommates. I enjoy being in school in Manhattan, and I’m looking forward to spending Succos in Cleveland with an aunt and uncle and cousins close to my age.

Then everything changes.

My father “just doesn’t feel right,” and a thorough examination leads to numerous tests. After seeing the test results, the doctor schedules exploratory surgery for the first available date — Chol Hamoed Succos. During surgery, the doctor sees that it’s already too late. He sews my father back up, telling him there’s nothing that can be done, suggests he get his affairs in order and take a “dream vacation” with my mother.

Daddy is 59 years old, had always enjoyed good health, and is physically active. (He refereed basketball games at the JCC on Sundays.) How could he be that sick?

My father was always proactive. His response to his diagnosis is to seek a world-class cancer hospital and get another opinion. Sloan-Kettering is that address. Arrangements are made, and my parents come to New York, expecting to stay as long as necessary.