“There are no goodbyes for us. Wherever you are, you will always be always be in my heart.” Gandhi

                                                                        September 6, 2026

Dear Danny,

You began your journey with the angels a year ago today. I am writing this now, because I know you will read it. In our religion, you visit the grave site of a deceased loved one to mark this first year, leaving a small rock on top of the headstone to signify your visit. You are not there. When your body died, you left this earthly existence for a place invisible to my eyes. At my age, I have certainly thought about what will happen to me. I believe we are here before our birth and continue on following our bodily departure. In the places of before and after, we fly and see all.

Other people are going to read this letter. I want them to. Why would I want to keep this a secret? Everyone experiences loss throughout their lives, some more powerful than others. The loss of a child is in a class by itself. I know you can see me crying while I write this, because I am. Slapping these pages together and rocketing them into the ether is my insurance policy it will find you, wherever you are.

I have been seeing a therapist for a number of months now. Last week, she asked me how I was mourning your loss and it stunned me. The reason is I have had no place to put it. I know it will stay with me forever. There is no finality. As long as I am alive, it is alive and likely well beyond that. Since that conversation, I have been writing down disparate notes to myself for you.

I might as well start at the beginning for us. I honest to God had no choice, but to leave our home when you were too young to understand. I suddenly became a weekend Dad and a couple of weeks each summer. Danny, I swear I had no choice, no consolation for you or your brother. I loved my time with you guys right through to the time when I left for Santa Fe. I will never, ever forget leaving you guys, all of us crying and my looking in the rear view mirror at your waving, getting smaller and smaller in the distance. My life in the city was killing me and I couldn’t wait any longer. I thought it would be OK at the time, both of you in your early teens and in a stable home. I didn’t really understand how large I loomed in your lives. My having no choice did nothing to mitigate your pain. I am eternally sorry for the suffering it must have caused.

This is being written from the perfect place of hindsight, not predicting what will happen, rather sorting out what happened and why. You experienced some things as a very young boy, long before my departure, that had to leave a mark on you. I believe the seeds of darkness were planted deep within, sadly blossoming during your years in Israel. Having a major heart attack in your late 30’s likely slammed the door shut on any lightness from within. I remember you sharing with me that doctors told you making into you early 50’s would likely be it. Where I am right now, I can feel fortunate, while you were robbed of innocent optimism long before that.

I had been mourning your loss for a number of years before you actually left. I took refuge in my anger, masking your metaphorical loss to me. It first occurred when you angrily objected to my mother, your Grandma Ida, being in hospice and my having no choice, but to let her go. Most importantly, it is what she wanted and I knew that. You believed she should be kept alive, because it was against your Jewish religion to do otherwise. 

Getting in between a boy and his mother is a losing proposition and I was furious. I believe my last words to you at the time were, “Go fuck yourself!”. We did not speak for a few years after that. It stayed with me, because this was about her and not you. Believe me, you are not even close to the first person to hide behind their God, numbing their own pain and the truth. 

I would be a liar if I said I am at peace with your passing, because it is simply not possible. While thinking about this letter, I went back into whatever history I could find. I dug up old emails and went through my book, because I wanted some validation regarding both my communication with you and your presence in my world. We talked fairly often when you were in Israel. I tried to be supportive of your various adventures, the majority ending with your being let go. I knew there was trust, especially when you asked if I could keep a secret, involving you and the authorities. I did and I still hold it close. You and I are the only ones who know about our connection.

While I can recall what caused our final split, you were becoming someone I no longer knew. You got really angry with me over an exchange we had. I had never experienced that depth of feeling before. There was a tone of darkness in your voice. Subsequently, there was an email exchange that sealed the deal for me. I won’t repeat what transpired, because it wasn’t really you. I don’t know when the only voice you heard was your own. The emotional hole becoming so deep, there was no climbing out. I now believe it was those very early feelings of loss that stayed with you, exacerbated by the soul poisoning experience of your time in Israel.

Everything that happened after that is all second hand, mostly from your brother. I know you had to leave Israel and I don’t know why and at this point, I couldn’t care less. When you returned, you were gone inside. In a way, I am glad I didn’t see you, because it would have broken my heart. You died inside long before you left.

As a parent surviving your loss, I have gone through the full range of emotions, including feelings of guilt, looking for traces of responsibility for what befell you. I know I am an imperfect human. I carry this undefinable pain in my heart. I don’t know what the fuck I could have even done to derail that emotional freight train heading straight for you.

I also don’t know when you really drifted away from being the way I will always remember you now. We definitely had some wonderful times together. Every morning since you left, I sit on my cushion and talk to you and hold on to the joyful memories. 

We will get to meet again, although I am in no hurry.

I love you, Danny.

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