The Final Tally Is 8

 It's really a bit of a shock when we learn that the death of someone considered so important turns out to be not much of a big deal to many others. And today, I checked on something: the number of people who left messages on the online obituary of my former boss, Ed. It was 8, including me.

My larger life's mentor, also named Ed, died in 1994. He's my dear friend Mike's father, and died of lung cancer that had spread, at 63. Ed had hundreds of friends in the local legal community -- including fellow mentees like me, who owed him so much for advancing our careers. And when he died, and still at a time when LOTS of people read the Herald obituaries, I recall being taken aback at how small an article reported his passing -- just a paragraph or so.

Ed was far better known locally in the legal community than I would ever hope to become -- and it was just a small paragraph. Years later, my friend Norman responded to my comment that he's probably the top med mal defense lawyer practicing now, with his self deprecating "I've had a pretty long, mostly mediocre career."

The truth is, other than to our friends and family, most of us are pretty mediocre.

Years ago, a comedian, maybe Denis Leary, had a bit about funerals, where he noted that if you die without kids and grandkids, really no one truly cares about your death. Oh sure -- close friends will cry and grieve -- but other than your kids and grandkids, everyone gets over a death pretty quickly.

So I guess the trick is not worrying about legacy, but rather savoring the days of life. And boy, as another mentor Judge Murray used to say, I give that my level best.

Yesterday D1 texted -- Joey was taking the toddler golfing -- were her elder parents free? We were -- even though my young friend Michael offered me tickets to see the Marlins play the Yankees -- a game that ended up with a walk off win for the local Fish. She brought the world's best baby, as we call the 13 month old, and I ordered in lunch, and we played with him. 

Later, I took him in a covered wagon D1 bought -- the heat allowed one time around the block -- the little man just sat happily, looking at the trees  and occasional peafowl or lizard that happened past.

We came home, and Joey had texted. He planned to take the toddler to MIA to watch the planes takeoff and land, but the toddler had fallen asleep on the way -- maybe he should just come to our house? Of course he should -- and he arrived with the ebullient older brother, who raced inside to wake his baby brother from HIS nap.

We sat in the living room, and the toddler banged notes on the piano, trying to sing "Crocodile Rock," one of his favorites. He famously, in our family, asked Wifey, in then accented English, "Do you like Elton John?" Wifey told him she did.

So it was a simple Sunday afternoon, and I felt like the luckiest Dad and grandpa around. Maybe there won't even be an obit when I leave this mortal coil -- but I know I get at least 2 generations after me that I know I mattered to. After that, it'll be just family lore, about the quirky things I may have done or said -- ancient history to any great grandkids the Big Man may be kind enough to provide.

Today I'm heading up to D1's 'hood, to fetch the toddler from a local art camp. He resumes preschool on Thursday, and I told D1 I would keep him out of her hair for a few hours this afternoon. 

Wifey is busy scurrying around, or will be after she wakes before noon, getting ready for her 10 day trip to Colorado and Atlanta. She lost her driver's license recently, and I think is going to try to get it replaced today, lest she have to use her passport as ID for her 4 legs of domestic flights.

I exchanged emails with the bride to be, who I have always felt very fondly about. I've known her since she was born, and watched her grow into a very cool adolescent before becoming a beautiful, accomplished young woman. I told he I was sorry "untoward" circumstances prevented me from attending -- a word I best heard used years ago.

Wifey had an old friend Rosie, whose brother Mark was a Key West lawyer. Rosie's Mom was VERY Southern, and when I met her, was rehabbing a B and B up in Jacksonville. I knew that her son Mark was disbarred, and had fled to Central America after stealing money from the estate of some of his gay clients who had died young of AIDS. This was a big thing in Key West in the 80s. Rosie's Mom, Virginia, when learning I was a lawyer, said, in an almost Tennessee Williams way: "Oh -- our son Mark was formerly a member of the Florida Bar, until untoward circumstances in Key West had him change careers to journalism -- he currently resides in Costa Rica."

I LOVED that. As a New Yorker, I would have expected to hear "Yeah -- my boy stole from the dead faygellahs, got busted, and had to lam it." But "untoward" sounds so much nicer.

So yes, Erica realizes the untowardness of my missing her wedding -- she used the term "Sticky situation" which is also good. She told me her fiance Adam enjoyed meeting me at D2 and Jonathan's wedding, and was looking forward to getting to know me better. But we both agreed that would still happen -- here in Miami -- sometime in the future. And she promised to look after her frail, elderly aunt, who is Wifey. She didn't put it that way, but I inferred the message.

I just know I wish her and Adam the best -- years of good health and laughter.

Because it's all about living life. Even those with an outsized influence may get only 8 or so mourners after that becomes that.