Three Deaths

My mother used to believe the old adage that bad things came in threes. When she'd hear about a death, she'd be a bit on edge until she heard of two more -- even if they were remote from our family, they'd count towards easing the curse. Two weeks ago, D2's good friend Ben lost his grandfather. He was in his 80s. I met him a few times, and he was a very nice man -- devoted to his family. His widow is a very youthful lady, who was born and raised on Miami Beach, and still says "Miamuh." Southerners and old school 305 folks use that pronunciation -- they're a dying breed. Wifey stopped by the shiva call with some cookies that D2 and her friends wanted to send. Death number two was another 80 something parent -- my friend Lew's mother. Lew is a hand surgeon, who used to live in the apartment complex where Wifey and I met. He went to Brooklyn for his residency, and we lost touch, to reunite years later when he returned to Miami to open a practice, and I had just become a plaintiff's lawyer. Our kids got schlepped to the Zoo and parks together, and now we're all empty nesters. Lew's father died last year, and he told me his Mom was declining. She died, and Lew flew her body to her native PA for burial. So that made number 2. Then last week we got the call from Wifey's close friend Linda. Her Dad Lou died, at 88. Lou was a Miami native, whose family came here from Key West -- a small but prominent group of Jewish Conchs whose numbers included a man who became a beloved federal Judge -- Sidney Aronovitz, and after whom the Key West Federal Court is named. Lou met Diane, a Philly native, and the two had a classic, post WW II suburban Miami life. They raised 2 girls, now 60 and 58, in a heavily Jewish West Miami neighborhood. Lou was a CPA -- and he worked until the end. Diane died about 3 years ago, but Lou stayed in the house. The neighborhood had become completely Cuban American, and the neighbors loved Lou and he loved them. But his daughter Karen prevailed upon him to move closer to her and Linda, and he bought a place in Aventura, with a gorgeous view of the Intracoastal and Atlantic. He bought a wheelchair, but never used it. Instead, he simply collapsed into his beloved caregivers arms and died. He had, second to Nelson Rockefeller, the best death I know of. Wifey and I went to his funeral at an old Jewish cemetery west of MIA. The president of his still surviving synagogue was there. It's off SW 8th Street, and somehow is still in existence. The president was a courtly lady who also said "Miamuh." She reminded me of the grandma in "Driving Miss Daisy." There's something uniquely charming about Southern Jews... Afterwards, we drove to Mystic Pointe for Lou's shiva. There were happy tales -- no real tears -- the sign of a man who died later after a life well lived. So that was the scary three...may their number NOT increase, for a long while...