Sorry to hear that. I know that not getting to see where Superman was when he returned the roof and flag to the top of the building will come as a bitter blow to you.

I’ve never seen that.

I'm feeling melancholy tonight, so please bear with me...

We don't die as long as people remember us, I heard. If that's the case, I'd like to reiterate my affection for Dr. Yvonne Dold-Samplonius and Dr. Albrecht Dold, the lovely couple who welcomed my wife and I (when we were WAY younger than today!) as tenants in their lovely house in the early 90s. They were mathematicians who warrant their own their Wikipedia page, and a lovelier pair you will never meet. Albrecht was soft-spoken, frail-looking and insanely kind and intelligent. Yvonne was equally smart, but seemingly made of iron; just picture Judy Dench as M. 

Although Germans (well, Yvonne was Dutch) tend to be more Vulcan than Tamaranean when it comes to interpersonal relationships, we always knew that they cared for us. At one point they invited us two dumb Canuck kids to see Der Fliegende Holländer at the Mannheim opera (and thank God for my father initiating me to Wagner's works), where we told them my wife was expecting our first child. They were thrilled, in their reserved way, and we felt as proud as can be.

Years later, we were deeply chagrined when we learned that Albrecht had suffered from Alzheimer's disease before passing away, and that Yvonne had followed him soon after. I expected her to bury old Father Time, honestly; her passing was pretty hard to accept.

My elder son, when backpacking across Europe, went to look at the house and met a neighbour. She didn't know who he was talking about.

But my wife and I remember, Yvonne and Albrecht, and your memory is a blessing. You still live in our hearts, and you are still loved.

Glad you have such beautiful memories.

I read their Wikipedia pages, RR. They must have been formidable in their fields. But obviously what made them special -- and unique -- was not their intellects, but their hearts. Splendid minds are not always complemented by similarly splendid hearts.

I understand those feelings of melancholy, fel them often the older I get, but they are somewhat alleviated by the same notion that comforts you, that memory indeed confers a kind of immortality on those we've lost. It's why stories are so important, why every family (I hope) has a rich oral tradition full of characters, events and sayings that inevitably surfaces on holidays, birthdays and other gatherings, and why those episodes and quotes from as far as a century ago remain alive from generation to generation. 

Decades ago, I noticed that whenever we began a meal with a "Salud!" or a "L'chaim" or a more specific toast, my beloved father-in-law (in name only, as he was truly a father to me) always raised his glass with his left hand. One of us mentioned it and he explained that it had been passed down to him as a way to remember those we loved who were no longer with us.

I have been a left-handed toaster ever since, and now it is he whom I think of first when I raise my glass every night. 

Back in the day, I was known as a ba-a-aad mutha-

Your turn.