By: Rochelle Rickoff Wilensky
Every year on my birthday, from ages 18-33, my grandfather would call and scream into the phone, “Are you going to get married before I DIE?” I could never decide whether to feel offended, furious or secretly amused, but once we set our wedding date, he called weekly to share his excitement and anticipation of dancing at my upcoming wedding.
Our wedding date was August 31, 2014. On July 27, 2014, he went swimming and never made it to the other side of the pool. I still mourn that the cruel and eventual answer to his annual question was “No.”