My sister’s eulogy at my father’s funeral was heartfelt and poignant. I will try to summon up as much of it I can remember:

Although the last few months were very difficult, there were moments of grace and joy that I was able to recognize.

When my father left the hospital after a week-long hospitalization in January, I came to pick him up and I assumed he’d want to go home. He asked, "What are you doing now?" I said, "We’re taking you home." But my father had other plans. "Lets go see the Pissarro show at the Jewish Museum."

I will always remember that.

Last fourth of July when we all gathered to watch the fireworks from his window, I remember when his grandson Henry came in with a group of his friends. My father’s face lit up. Later I saw them sitting next to each other on the couch and I was very moved by the site of the two generations talking.

I will always remember that.

My father was, in his own words, "crazy about Sonya" my 4-year old daughter. He loved to be around her and in recent months kept a picture of her near his bed so that he could see her face first thing in the morning. That eally cheered him up.

In the last weeks my father was in and out of consciousness. We brought him home on Friday and on Saturday he whispered "I love you" to me. That is something I am so grateful for and will never, ever forget.

What I’m going to read is what we think my father wanted us to read at his funeral service.

My sister then read the last three pages of The House at Pooh Corner, the end of a chapter called, Christopher Robin and Pooh Come to an Enchanted Place, and We Leave Them There.

She read it slowly and beautifully, which allowed the humor and poignancy to shine through. It’s a difficult section to read because it’s a halting dialogue between two of the most famous characters in children’s literature. My sister’s voice was appropriately childlike and sweet for Christopher Robin and cute and slightly confused for Pooh. This excerpt works on so many levels of interpretation. It really was an amazing reading of something, we think, my father would have enjoyed. Here it is:

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was sill looking at the world, with his chin in hands called out "Pooh!"
    "Yes?" said Pooh.
"When I’m—when—Pooh!"
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"
I’m not going to do Nothing any more."
"Never again?"
"Well, not so much. They don’t let you."
Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.
"Yes, Christopher Robin?" said Pooh helpfully."
"Pooh, when I’m—you know—when I’m not doing Nothing, will you come up her sometimes?"
"Just me?"
"Yes, Pooh."
"Will you be here too?"
"Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh."
"That’s good," said Pooh.
"Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Niney-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh’s paw.
"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, if I—if I’m not quite—" he stopped and tried again—
"Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?"
"Understand what?"
"Oh nothing." He laughed and jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
Where" said Pooh.
"Anywhere," said Christopher Robin.