Letter from Sam Tepper

It was a frigid day when we surrounded the grave, a rectangular depth into which would disappear the body of a great man – a friend, a patron, a healer, a writer, a husband, a father, a grandfather… a man who wore many hats, played many roles, and lived life with a twinkling gusto that few could miss if they were lucky enough to have chatted or debated over dinner, at a show, or even in a short car ride.

The service was beautiful, one of which he wholeheartedly would have approved… a few tears, some laughter, an uplifting Rabbi who captured the essence of a man many loved and admired, and a soulful rendering of Jewish faith and tradition by an operatic Hazzan. And while it was hard for all attending to maintain their composure, none could argue that his sendoff was anything other than poignant, perfect, and fitting, his coffin gazed sadly upon by friends, admirers, and loved ones.

Yes, it was a frigid day when we surrounded the grave after the service. Yet the sunlight broke through the grey-black clouds, rays pointing at the opening in the earth as if to say to all who didn’t know it already, “here lies a great man,” and the snow-covered trees rustled in agreement, their branches swaying in the cold wind in homage, a rare light gentling us all, one that would make his wife’s keen photographer's eye happy during the sadness, a sure sign that even in this, he was with us, a rare winter present on Hannukah.

The Rabbi reminded us that memory exists so that we may have roses in December. Lincoln extolled us not to complain that roses have thorns, but rejoice that thorn bushes have roses. I will always miss my dinner debates with David, his turn of phrase, his keen ability to allow you enough rope to tangle yourself in your own arguments and make you aware of it with a gentle half-smile and a corny quip. I will never forget how rent his loving family was at the service, how strong and fragile they all were, clinging to each other with brave faces and barren souls. I shall always remember how the flowers had been dropped lovingly onto the coffin in ones and bunches, how we took turns shoveling dirt onto that great man’s remains, said goodbye, and how as we all, stunned and ragged, filed over the powdered and crunching snow to find warmth in our cars and each other, his wife, friend, lover, Barbara stopped, and stood, alone, staring one last time into the hole that contained her best friend, as if to take a last mental picture, and how her face showed such strength, beauty, and serenity. Yes, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, and all of us shall most assuredly rejoice that though there are thorns in the brambles of life, those bushes do indeed grow roses. Thank you David. You will be sorely missed and you will be forever loved.

~Sam Tepper