1952

In July Sid Schneck sent the leaflet for wife Sally's funeral service last September. She was a freelance writer who wrote freelance on women's issues and other topics. The leaflet is full of work from her journal, which she only recently shared with her family. The poignant beauty of her words mixed with the sadness of the occasion gives the reader an almost exultant feeling.

On marriage: "After 30 years of marriage to one man, 26 years of mothering three children—individually or concurrendy and 20 years of inadequately paid work outside- the-home, I have decided to turn in my resignation. Nobody paid any attention, and for a while I forgot the matter, as I forgot so many things both trivial and important. But I've been thinking about it again, and have decided that it's not such a bad idea.

"Resigning, of course, would be impractical. My worldly goods add up to half a house, a two-year-old Suburban station wagon, my grandmother's silver, and a flatu- lent boxer hound with poor dog skills. Everything else belongs to the two of us. And besides, I have no wish to separate myself from the group or from my home, at least not on a permanent basis. I'd just appreciate a time-out."

On the importance of friends during a hospitalization in her ten-year battle with ovarian cancer: "I have been as surprised by a few people who haven't communicated with any of us as by the men and women who have. If only everyone realized how each phone call and get-well card and plate of cookies breathes new life into the invalid, becomes an extra hand to mentally hold onto in times of need. From my own experience over these past months, I know that it is easier to be brave when such thoughtfulness brings die warmth back into one's life. Every act of reaching out reaffirms that the sick person still has a place in the world, that people still care and that life is worth fighting for." The New York Times, August 27, 1989.

Daughters' first boyfriends: "I recalled the words I'd said to Sid the first time our older daughter brought home a guy. 'He's a nice boy,' I'd said. 'And they're so happy together, like frolicsome puppies."

"He doesn't know much about politics,' Sid gramped.

"Between the two girls there had been an assortment of house guests. The years and relationships went by—and along came a fellow who could argue politics.

"He fits in well,' Sid said later that night. 'Somehow, I can just see him here at Thanksgiving.'

"Along came a second fellow, companion to the younger daughter. The imaginary Thanksgiving table expanded again." Sid, who is one of our many Harvard Law

School graduate classmates, had to work hard on the note which accompanied the leaflet. "I've wound up in the Sky View Nursing Home," he wrote in a cramped hand, "where I receive excellent treatment for Parkinson's disease." At the end of the leaflet there is something for Sid:

"For all tie joy, and occasional angst, "For all the pride, and periodic worry, "For all the laughter and most of the tears—It has never been mundane knowing you. Your sparkle shines within." SRS, May 26, 1995.

69 B S. Main St.,Pittsford, NY 14534; (716) 385-1010; (716) 385-8958; henry_williams@msn.com