My mother is still in my Skype address book. Sometimes I come across her name after talking to someone on the other side of the world, and wonder if she would answer. I have never tried though.
1
Lovely photo
A beautiful honorarium. I'm in tears.
13
We are conditioned to think about "fatherless sons" in terms of minority children whose fathers abandon their pregnant wives or girlfriends out of immaturity, fear, or careless disregard. It makes it easy for the rest of us to get up on our high horses & blame these men & the victims they leave behind. But that is only a part of the picture, one tinged with more than a pinch of racism. Thousands of white men, including christian conservative men, leave families for various reasons - often for another woman. Thousands more die of disease, accidents, suicide, leaving young sons fatherless.
Since World War II, we have committed our troops to dozens of wars, large & small, none of which was an existential war where our participation was truly to protect our country from invasion & destruction. In the end, they were all political (Ironic how few political war-hawks saw their sons fighting these wars). We have lost over 100,000 young men & left countless boys fatherless. Many thousands of boys have grown up without the love & guiding hand of a loving father - or, worse, under the violent hand of an abusive father. Roger Cohen had the extraordinary luck to have had a loving father in his life for many years longer than a man's natural lifespan would normally dictate. Let's celebrate Roger's extraordinary luck in having Sydney in it for so long. But, lets also give some empathetic thought to the boys who, for whatever reason, will grow up fatherless. What can we do for them?
Since World War II, we have committed our troops to dozens of wars, large & small, none of which was an existential war where our participation was truly to protect our country from invasion & destruction. In the end, they were all political (Ironic how few political war-hawks saw their sons fighting these wars). We have lost over 100,000 young men & left countless boys fatherless. Many thousands of boys have grown up without the love & guiding hand of a loving father - or, worse, under the violent hand of an abusive father. Roger Cohen had the extraordinary luck to have had a loving father in his life for many years longer than a man's natural lifespan would normally dictate. Let's celebrate Roger's extraordinary luck in having Sydney in it for so long. But, lets also give some empathetic thought to the boys who, for whatever reason, will grow up fatherless. What can we do for them?
12
Thank you for your gorgeous article in the Times today (Saturday).
6
You have the sympathy of all of us who share your feelings of your Dad with our own late fathers. BTW he sure looked good in this picture--looked more like your brother than father.
5
Achingly and sublimely accurate writing, thanks to you from the depths of my soul.
10
What a lovely, inspiring and gentle tribute to your father! At 66, I have been an orphan for three years and miss my sweet Papa although, for his sake, I thankful to see him now in the plants of my garden, my handiness at repairs, and my dreadful, corny sense of humour. It is a tribute to my dad that my current beau is like him in so many ways.
Thank you for your continued fine writing in the NYT.
Thank you for your continued fine writing in the NYT.
11
It's a beautiful piece. I wonder if he knew my uncle, Peter Heberden, MD FRCP who, like Sidney, was born in Johannesburg in 1921 and studied medicine at Witz. He was married to Cynthia Heberden.
Did Sidney go to St. Johns College, too?
Thank you for sharing this lovely story.
Virginia
Did Sidney go to St. Johns College, too?
Thank you for sharing this lovely story.
Virginia
4
May his memory be for a blessing.
8
You took me right back to the dawn of my father's last morning....a large spring blizzard raged through the night, winds howling, huge snowflakes flinging themselves against the hospital window... dim lights, a frantic 3 am search for a morphine drip machine, a fearful rookie nurse worried about killing the dying man, insisting I hook it up to the plastic tubing already embedded into his chest.... left alone with him for the last time, I talked on through the wild night, him staring into my eyes the same color as his....until the sun came up and out, the white world outside began to melt, and he left us with one word, shouted after days of silence: "LOVE! " ..... 27 years ago.... just yesterday?
23
God be with you and your family. Written with all your heart
7
What a lovely eulogy, from a wonderful man and writer whose father sounded like the father I wish mine had been. I didn't know mine was a stinker until well after his death, but reading your column has me wistful rather than bitter. Thank you for sharing your reflections and your dad.
10
ROGER COHEN'S Panegyric is a paean to his late father, Sydney. In his writing, Roger embraces all that was his father, along with all that Roger himself incorporated, literally, of Sydney. For a son to be the darling of a father, and a father to be the darling of his son is a taste of Paradise; or, as we say in Yiddish, A ta'am gan Eden. I see Roger as a son who will eternally be with and of his father. The rest of us should be so lucky.
21
I was trying to think of who might possibly take Trump, but then again, Louis Gomert keeps getting elected. There's hope.
2
The elder Mr. Cohen provides a good lesson in how to live: When one grows weary of the world and its endless calamities, we must, as Voltaire said, tend our garden.
8
You wrote such a beautiful tribute that left me with tears in my eyes. You and your father were lucky to have each other in your lives.
10
What a magnificent and uplifting tribute! You honor your late father in your beautiful sensibility. He will continue to father you, all your life. Thank you Mr. Cohen!
6
Mr. Cohen, thank you for writing this beautiful epitaph to your father. His life was long, full of meaning, and well-lived by your telling. I lost my own father this year. He died at 75 after a long illness, an avoidable one, and he was too young to die I felt. As he lay dying, my sister and I, along with others, went into his small room one by one to say goodbye. I painfully admit that I wanted him to tell me he was proud of me. I wanted him to tell me why I was special. Instead it was awkward and a bit rushed. He told me to stay out of trouble. I think it was a little joke. It hurts that I lost him. but it hurts more that I kind of never had him. He had long belonged to his newer family who ran him into the ground, literally. He was a kind man who made bad choices. Anyway, I am happy there are stories like yours, about men like your dad. I want to be that story when my time is done. My condolences.
15
Beautiful tribute. I still sense my mother in the wind moving through the trees, the sunshine gracing the leaves. Always with us.
9
Very beautiful! Thank you! and may you reach tranquility in your inner self.
11
"And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did, And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth." Late Fragment-Raymond Carver-
Thank you. I too had a beloved father I had the privilege to sit with as he passed.
Thank you. I too had a beloved father I had the privilege to sit with as he passed.
8
Thank you. It's been 29 years since my parents died 5 months apart. Mom first, unexpectedly, the night before she was to come home from the hospital. I figured then & believe now, she just decided to go to another home. Even though Dad seemed perfectly healthy, I felt it wouldn't be long. He had spent 51 years, minus 6 days taking care of her. I didn't want him to go. But understood it.Until the last couple years I handled it ok.I have 1 brother 8 years older than me. I'm 66, he's 74. I realized last Thanksgiving that sooner rather than later there would be no one left who knew first hand what a brat I was as a little kid. He looked so thin & bad. But, as usual in our family, when I asked, I got no answer. Mom had asked, no told me to take care of him, he never married, always lived alone. I think she told him, to not worry me, I was fragile. I am. But, getting 'that' phone call will be so much worse, than knowing it is now scheduled for someday in the seeable future. It made me want one more perfect Christmas. So, I asked my husband if we could get one more real tree (our artificial one had finally died), We decorated everything like we had in the beginning, & slowly tapered off because I don't have the energy anymore. Then we heard a sound no one wants, right out of the movies. The tree fell over, breaking a few antique ornaments, & one of a pair we bought for our first Christmas. No tree. I learned perfection isn't in decorations. Brother looked better. Didn't care anyway.
9
Beautiful. You're a blessed man to have had this particularly wise father and to have had him for as long as you did. I so wish, when I hear beautiful stories such as yours that I block out my own sadness, feeling of loss, and unresolved grief that my own mother did not live past my 14th birthday so that I might have really known her and had an adult relationship with her. Your writing reminds me of how great was my loss.
11
My love lost her mother in her teen years as well. It is an absence that never goes away, a pain getting stronger with years passing. She is 46 and misses her mom terribly.
I'm so sorry for you.
I'm so sorry for you.
6
beautifull
9
I always read R. Cohen's columns, but this morning after reading his meaningful tribute to his father, it is the only thing I've been able to think about. I felt I got to know someone's father in one column, though I've read about Sydney in previous columns and book. As someone who hasn't had a father since 1983 nor a mother since 1969, and as I approach my 73rd birthday soon, the fragile quality of life and the extraordinary beauty is ever present. RIP Sydney Cohen and thanks Roger Cohen
16
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality."
Indeed. We are never too old to become orphans, to feel orphaned. To our mental-health peril, our society discourages us from living our grief and especially for adult children conveys that maturity means taking such loss in stride as 'the natural order' and to buck up.
I once had a dissertation chair, 8 days after my father's death 30 yrs ago, advise me to just 'buck up' and mush on. It was only after my mother's death 15 years ago that I was more insistent on listening to my own body's messages to me about the time and space it needed to experience this new loss and now 'orphanhood' (having become my mother's caregiver and 'mother' as well as daughter, given the role-distortions as well as ravages of Alzheimer's) - for one thing to deal with something no one prepared me for, even my excellent bereavement group counselor - namely, the physical layer of grief that was like a pressing weight on my shoulders making the earth beneath my feet feel almost like quicksand i could sink into. Some friends, mostly not yet orphans, expressed worry when i let my body tell me it needed aloneness and to bow out of a social plan during that first year, but i kept listening to my body. It's a permission I always encourage others to give themselves. This rite of passage is an earthquake.
Indeed. We are never too old to become orphans, to feel orphaned. To our mental-health peril, our society discourages us from living our grief and especially for adult children conveys that maturity means taking such loss in stride as 'the natural order' and to buck up.
I once had a dissertation chair, 8 days after my father's death 30 yrs ago, advise me to just 'buck up' and mush on. It was only after my mother's death 15 years ago that I was more insistent on listening to my own body's messages to me about the time and space it needed to experience this new loss and now 'orphanhood' (having become my mother's caregiver and 'mother' as well as daughter, given the role-distortions as well as ravages of Alzheimer's) - for one thing to deal with something no one prepared me for, even my excellent bereavement group counselor - namely, the physical layer of grief that was like a pressing weight on my shoulders making the earth beneath my feet feel almost like quicksand i could sink into. Some friends, mostly not yet orphans, expressed worry when i let my body tell me it needed aloneness and to bow out of a social plan during that first year, but i kept listening to my body. It's a permission I always encourage others to give themselves. This rite of passage is an earthquake.
18
We should all honor that inner glow, if our fathers imparted that into us, as a measure of love that endures. Touching and wonderful acknowledgement of human joy Roger, thank you for sharing.
6
Dear Mr. Cohen,
My condolences on the loss of your last parent. It is difficult to be adult orphans. Your tribute to your father expressed the depth of understanding of a man who appears to have challenged life as it impacted him but on his terms. He sounds like he was a lovely, loving man who gave you so much. His sense of wry humor reminded me of my father who was born in 1922 and left Frankfurt in 1936 when life was becoming complicated and difficult. What he could not lose among losing so much was his sense of humor. I am glad that you had your father for so long. The gift he left was you. Be well.
My condolences on the loss of your last parent. It is difficult to be adult orphans. Your tribute to your father expressed the depth of understanding of a man who appears to have challenged life as it impacted him but on his terms. He sounds like he was a lovely, loving man who gave you so much. His sense of wry humor reminded me of my father who was born in 1922 and left Frankfurt in 1936 when life was becoming complicated and difficult. What he could not lose among losing so much was his sense of humor. I am glad that you had your father for so long. The gift he left was you. Be well.
5
Lovely tribute. I too won the lottery when they handed out dads. How lucky we are!
10
Yesterday was 11 years since my Dad passed away. Next month my mother will be gone 17
yesrs. have learned two things. I will always worry about my children and I will always miss my parents.
yesrs. have learned two things. I will always worry about my children and I will always miss my parents.
23
My father died a bad death 4 months ago. Two hours after he died my mother had a massive stroke. They had been married 67 years. Grieving takes unusual modes and vectors. Being "merged with nature" is the key to understanding the process. We are never less than this - even in life.
As for the opening paragraph? “The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.”
Homer, The Iliad
Sorry for your loss Mr Cohen.
As for the opening paragraph? “The gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.”
Homer, The Iliad
Sorry for your loss Mr Cohen.
14
Remarkable, sensitive story of a wonderful man.
I went through something similar after my father died 3 years ago. It drove home the notion how everyone has a legacy to leave. Our choice is what we leave. Roger Cohen's father left multiple legacies. They live on through all of the people that he touched and then those touched by the next generation. Ripples.
I went through something similar after my father died 3 years ago. It drove home the notion how everyone has a legacy to leave. Our choice is what we leave. Roger Cohen's father left multiple legacies. They live on through all of the people that he touched and then those touched by the next generation. Ripples.
7
Back in the country I was born we look at life as a standing pieces on a conveyor belt that ends on a cliff. When you are born you are placed at the end of the conveyor belt far away from the cliff. Ahead of you are your parents, uncles and aunts, grandparents and, if you are in the lucky longevity gene pool, great grandparents.
Unfortunately for me, my wife and my sons, my family isn't the luckiest in the gene lottery. Me and my wife both lost both our parents when we were in or 30s and early 40s. That means my sons were facing the cliff from the back seat of our car in their early teens. It's frightful and downright scary to be facing our own mortality at a young age.
Yet, as I reflected upon it, I came to realize how beautiful life is and enjoy every minute I take a breath. The best part is that i see nature's beauty everywhere, everyday, and have been doing so for more than 10 years. I am not retired but I started living as if I were on my golden age when I was at my prime, before most people hit mid-life crisis. I may die tomorrow, but I can say for certain that I lived my life as fully as I possibly could.
Unfortunately for me, my wife and my sons, my family isn't the luckiest in the gene lottery. Me and my wife both lost both our parents when we were in or 30s and early 40s. That means my sons were facing the cliff from the back seat of our car in their early teens. It's frightful and downright scary to be facing our own mortality at a young age.
Yet, as I reflected upon it, I came to realize how beautiful life is and enjoy every minute I take a breath. The best part is that i see nature's beauty everywhere, everyday, and have been doing so for more than 10 years. I am not retired but I started living as if I were on my golden age when I was at my prime, before most people hit mid-life crisis. I may die tomorrow, but I can say for certain that I lived my life as fully as I possibly could.
12
What a lovely tribute. You were so lucky to have him and he was fortunate to have you.
9
What a powerful postscript eulogy Mr. Cohen. I raise a dram to you. (parents)
There are triggers that appear as we walk, saunter, travel through life, that brings us back to ( simpler ) times. Those times invariably include our beloved parents and their wisdom ( right or wrong ) that influences every aspect of what we are today.
We can offer no better recompense to them ( or anyone for that matter ) than to carry on the family name with honor and conviction of principles that would do anyone proud. ( including them )
If only we could infuse into the psyche of every living human being the idea of innocence and purity of goodness, that we all partake in. ( even momentarily ) when confronted with death and whatever aftermath holds for us. Instead of going back to a time, we could actually live that moment now, where all colors are more richer, the air is more fresh and every other human being is our brother and sister. ( they are already, but people forget that )
We could actually treat one another just a little bit better than we are now.
Take a moment people, and remember what our parents taught us.
If they happen to be still alive. Give them a call and thank them.
Life is precious and every second counts, me friends.
There are triggers that appear as we walk, saunter, travel through life, that brings us back to ( simpler ) times. Those times invariably include our beloved parents and their wisdom ( right or wrong ) that influences every aspect of what we are today.
We can offer no better recompense to them ( or anyone for that matter ) than to carry on the family name with honor and conviction of principles that would do anyone proud. ( including them )
If only we could infuse into the psyche of every living human being the idea of innocence and purity of goodness, that we all partake in. ( even momentarily ) when confronted with death and whatever aftermath holds for us. Instead of going back to a time, we could actually live that moment now, where all colors are more richer, the air is more fresh and every other human being is our brother and sister. ( they are already, but people forget that )
We could actually treat one another just a little bit better than we are now.
Take a moment people, and remember what our parents taught us.
If they happen to be still alive. Give them a call and thank them.
Life is precious and every second counts, me friends.
17
Grateful for lives well lived and well loved. Emptiness remains.
8
A beautiful tribute Mr Cohen. Your dad would no doubt be proud. Thank you for a inspiring my own reflections this Saturday morning about my parents and indeed my role as parent.
8
Mr. Cohen, thank you for your wonderful tribute to your father, who steadfastly supported your mother as she coped with mental illness and at the same time provided the stability and love for the rest of your family to thrive. You write "To what degree the glow endures will be the measure of how far I can honor that deepest vulnerable part of Sydney whose beauty I was lucky enough to know." Keep up your beautiful and introspective writing, Mr. Cohen, and not only will you do more than enough to honor your father and mother, but you will also pass along the same lessons and love to your own children.
10
an Ode to a vital life in which memories are not time-bound even as earthly existence has been transmuted beyond the limitations of expressed words.
5
While I contemplate my 89 year old Fathers failing health and mortality, (Mother has gone), thank you for this elegant tribute to parents.
It reminds me to cherish every day with him and to make sure that he is happy.
It reminds me that life is short so enjoy every second.
And it reminds me to embrace every minute that I can spend with my own adult children.
Thank you again for reminding us all what's really important in this life.
It reminds me to cherish every day with him and to make sure that he is happy.
It reminds me that life is short so enjoy every second.
And it reminds me to embrace every minute that I can spend with my own adult children.
Thank you again for reminding us all what's really important in this life.
8
My dad was my biggest supporter, confidant, roll model and feminist. I will miss him till the day I die. My condolences. We were both very lucky.
13
What a beautiful eulogy, Mr. Cohen, and a beautiful man your father.
8
What a beautiful poem.
13
Only while he was dying of pancreatic cancer did my father open up and share his deepest thoughts with me.
At one point he said, "I didn't understand your way of life but I never disapproved"! And I have always loved you and been proud of you"! I looked at him and said, "Dad, why didn't you ever say this before"? He said, "I thought you knew and I guess maybe because I never heard those words spoken by my father"!
From generation to generation, the words we hear and use have an important role to play in how we perceive ourselves. These words, or the lack of them, have a lasting impact and I was happy that I finally had the chance to hear them.
The words gave us both a sense of peace and and finally, a deeper connection.
I will always be grateful for that exchange!
At one point he said, "I didn't understand your way of life but I never disapproved"! And I have always loved you and been proud of you"! I looked at him and said, "Dad, why didn't you ever say this before"? He said, "I thought you knew and I guess maybe because I never heard those words spoken by my father"!
From generation to generation, the words we hear and use have an important role to play in how we perceive ourselves. These words, or the lack of them, have a lasting impact and I was happy that I finally had the chance to hear them.
The words gave us both a sense of peace and and finally, a deeper connection.
I will always be grateful for that exchange!
28
Yes, this.
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
I've long struggled to put this into words and this describes it perfectly. Life is good, still, filled with much joy, but an undeniable hole is left and you remain aware of it for the rest of your life. I am aware of my own mortality now after their passing more than at any other time in life.
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
I've long struggled to put this into words and this describes it perfectly. Life is good, still, filled with much joy, but an undeniable hole is left and you remain aware of it for the rest of your life. I am aware of my own mortality now after their passing more than at any other time in life.
18
My deepest condolences to you, Mr. Cohen, on your loss of your extraordinary father, who gave so much to the world, including you. Thank you for sharing him with us in this beautiful essay. May you find peace as you cherish his memory.
19
If one lives long enough, there comes a day when you know more dead people than living: parents, relatives, siblings, friends, spouse. Then, at some advanced age, you are faced with decisions about the meaning and direction of your life that you thought you made once and for all... long ago.
The colors of the trees and tomatoes are brighter, and things are all right, but there is no one to tell.
Thanks, Roger.
The colors of the trees and tomatoes are brighter, and things are all right, but there is no one to tell.
Thanks, Roger.
28
It is difficult for me to read such warm, emotional stories about father-child relationships. My father provided the worst of all worlds: he was physically present but functioned as a stranger. He first became a father when he was 42, and lived until he was 89, but he chose to regard his five children (and my mother) as objects. He paid attention to us when there might be a benefit to him, but otherwise was an emotional void. Financial support beyond the basics was foreign to him, as it was an investment that he could not be sure would pay off. My oldest sister went to college, graduated and became a nun; my father was furious that that education had been wasted. When it came time for me to go to college, and I needed a check for $12 as the application fee, he refused, citing my sister's experience. (My mother had a small savings account and she withdrew $12 as a cashiers check.) When it turned out that I had been accepted at Stanford University with a complete scholarship, room and board included, I became useful as something he could brag about. His essential absence from the family was hardest on my brother, the youngest and the only son. He searched for approval from this specter his entire life and died far too young having never received it. The worst for all of us was having not a single positive experience with him while still hoping it might occur.
19
I'm so sorry. I love the "Eistein" rebuttal! No better men, than those like your father.
My father went first and then my mother. I'm almost the baby. I was in junior college at the time with a paper due, and so naturally, I worked my mother into it. I too experienced the "last cushion" sentiment, and I wrote how suddenly my own "mortality" came into play.
Well, my English professor, whom I adored, thought the piece worthy of publication in the annual compilation of literary works. (Writing was new to me, I had always been a science girl.) However, when they published, they left the "t" out of "mortality", so it read my own "morality" came into play! I was ready to skin those men alive!
One of the guys who worked on the publication tried to convince me the "t" was forgotten in Bernard Shaw's, printing of "Pygmalion", too. I haven't found any evidence of such.
(On your mother's mental illness --- Roger, I have come to the conclusion given my own understanding of my mother's illness, knowing others who suffered, someone within your mother's circle was up to no good, and they're not bothered by making family members feel guilty. I'm convinced it is a racket.)
My father went first and then my mother. I'm almost the baby. I was in junior college at the time with a paper due, and so naturally, I worked my mother into it. I too experienced the "last cushion" sentiment, and I wrote how suddenly my own "mortality" came into play.
Well, my English professor, whom I adored, thought the piece worthy of publication in the annual compilation of literary works. (Writing was new to me, I had always been a science girl.) However, when they published, they left the "t" out of "mortality", so it read my own "morality" came into play! I was ready to skin those men alive!
One of the guys who worked on the publication tried to convince me the "t" was forgotten in Bernard Shaw's, printing of "Pygmalion", too. I haven't found any evidence of such.
(On your mother's mental illness --- Roger, I have come to the conclusion given my own understanding of my mother's illness, knowing others who suffered, someone within your mother's circle was up to no good, and they're not bothered by making family members feel guilty. I'm convinced it is a racket.)
2
Mr. Cohen:
A tremdous column. Thank you.
I had a very similar experience when my own father passed 30 years ago. As he transitioned from one world to another, it was then, really, that we connected on a level which involved our very souls. And I am thankful still.
A tremdous column. Thank you.
I had a very similar experience when my own father passed 30 years ago. As he transitioned from one world to another, it was then, really, that we connected on a level which involved our very souls. And I am thankful still.
7
Thank you! Thank you!
5
I am the oldest of fifteen by my father's four wives and two mistresses. My father was a cruel selfish cowardly liar who was physically, emotionally and mentally abusive while evading most material support for his kids.
Me and my surviving 7 younger brothers and 6 sisters have very different perspectives on him now that he died at 90 years old about two months ago. His two oldest kids- me and my sister -were disinvited to his memorial service per his request. We would not tolerate nor excuse his nonsense. My younger siblings chose to focus on the few postives. My father taught me what kind of person, man and father I did not want to be. I did not want my wife to be married to a man like him. And I did want my kids to have a father like him. How I did will be determined by them. I had a daughter who has given me two grandsons who
never knew my Dad.
I did not hate nor love my father. I was indifferent to him. And I forgave him for the sake of my soul to his face. He did not see it coming. His voice broke and tears welled in his eyes. Then he went back to being the Devil's Disciple.
Me and my surviving 7 younger brothers and 6 sisters have very different perspectives on him now that he died at 90 years old about two months ago. His two oldest kids- me and my sister -were disinvited to his memorial service per his request. We would not tolerate nor excuse his nonsense. My younger siblings chose to focus on the few postives. My father taught me what kind of person, man and father I did not want to be. I did not want my wife to be married to a man like him. And I did want my kids to have a father like him. How I did will be determined by them. I had a daughter who has given me two grandsons who
never knew my Dad.
I did not hate nor love my father. I was indifferent to him. And I forgave him for the sake of my soul to his face. He did not see it coming. His voice broke and tears welled in his eyes. Then he went back to being the Devil's Disciple.
14
So sorrowful I have read all your postings
You are ok
Keep writing
You are ok
Keep writing
3
It's okay that you feel this way. Just because a person dies- it doesn't make them a saint, suddenly.
2
My dad died when I was 7, my mom died when I was 27. Few people these days even have a complete set of parents to begin with. Sentimental pieces about the privileged are hard for me to digest.
6
A suggested digestive aid: a dose of empathy
6
Lovely how well you honor your mom and dad's memory. You are a good son. Bless you.
8
You are so fortunate that you had a father who loved and respected you, Roger.
Not all of us can say that.
In that regard, one day I hope that you can feel fortunate for the sadness and pain you are feeling now with your great loss, because not all of us have that experience.
Not all of us can say that.
In that regard, one day I hope that you can feel fortunate for the sadness and pain you are feeling now with your great loss, because not all of us have that experience.
5
Mr. Cohen, my sympathy to you on the loss of your dear father. My Dad, is 97 declining quickly now. He has congestive heart failure and lung cancer that fortunately is slow growing. He is blessed to have a sharp mind, he easily switches from his native Spanish to English effortlessly. I know that his passing will bring a deep sadness, your article helps prepare me....a little. Thank you. Peace.
5
Death never comes to the souls like that of Sydney Cohen who realise at the early stage that death is nothing but a renewal of life to again appreciate the beauty of nature in detached joyous moments but not forgetting the truth that the physical presence is nothing but an existence consisting of the five elements, the earth, water, air, and sky, fire that ultimately merge into the main sources. It's body that decays and melts, not the soul or spirit that's eternal. May the soul of Sydney Cohen rest in peace.
11
My condolences on your loss.
You have penned a remarkable tribute to your late father that is touching but not sentimental. Your companion tribute to your late mother, "death was the only angel that could shield her from despair" has great resonance. I recall it from your column of December 2, 2016 and it has lost none of its poignancy or freshness.
Strong, vivid, humane writing.
You have penned a remarkable tribute to your late father that is touching but not sentimental. Your companion tribute to your late mother, "death was the only angel that could shield her from despair" has great resonance. I recall it from your column of December 2, 2016 and it has lost none of its poignancy or freshness.
Strong, vivid, humane writing.
12
So very sorry for your loss, Roger. Weren't you fortunate to have him as long as you did? 33 years longer than I had my father.
I smiled when I read that your father spent many happy years in St Andrews. It's where I met lovely wife 37 years ago and we still go back whenever we can. It's a very special place, made all the more so by our personal memories, like yours.
I smiled when I read that your father spent many happy years in St Andrews. It's where I met lovely wife 37 years ago and we still go back whenever we can. It's a very special place, made all the more so by our personal memories, like yours.
8
Lyrical, eloquent prose and insightful commentary on the human condition. This is a beautiful piece of writing that I will share with my students and revisit throughout the ages and stages of my own life.
11
Mr. Cohen, what a stunningly frank and beautiful article-as I have often thought, you are never too old to be and feel like an orphan. I did not understand that sentiment when my own mother said it to me after the loss of her 95 year old mother when she was 71 years old but I did when I lost my mother at age 53. Thank you for writing this and sharing it.
11
Exactly so. I wish I had been more sympathetic to Mom when she lost her own mother to sepsis after years of dementia. I felt grateful for Grandmother's deliverance from her hellish existence of confusion and fear, as well as for Mom's reprieve from the constant worry and strain of caring for her. So I did not expect Mom to be as crushed as she was after Grandmother's death. Mom could only say, "No matter what, you always need your mom." Now that Mom is gone, how acutely I understand how she felt.
1
I don't usually tear up reading articles from the NYT. Well done.
7
It wasn't both parents, but the loss of my spouse, that left me alone and face to face with my own mortality. The relationship, not necessarily blood ties, are what decides one's reaction. Thanks for putting it so eloquently!
7
"The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
For those of us w estranged siblings, the death of the remaining parent can lead to more silence than we ever expected. My mother was my only source of information re: the goings-on (not always deaths) of all the people we mutually knew. Was quite a lot of people. What they're up to now, I have no idea. Not an exaggeration to call that sudden elimination of the human touch, even one step removed, a grievous loss. And in my case, the loss of my mother seriously decimated the people-who-love-me list. also not healthy.
For those of us w estranged siblings, the death of the remaining parent can lead to more silence than we ever expected. My mother was my only source of information re: the goings-on (not always deaths) of all the people we mutually knew. Was quite a lot of people. What they're up to now, I have no idea. Not an exaggeration to call that sudden elimination of the human touch, even one step removed, a grievous loss. And in my case, the loss of my mother seriously decimated the people-who-love-me list. also not healthy.
12
Thank you for writing so eloquently what I have felt. Having both parents gone is life changing. It made me re-think my life and become the person I thought I should be but was not. It helped me grow into myself. I wish you the same.
5
This article made me cry Mr. Cohen. It was so beautifully written and with such great love and admiration for a great father. You were so fortunate to have him in your life. I am sure you will continue his legacy.
10
You have our deepest condolences. How blessed you are to have had such a father, and what a beautiful tribute.
9
Gorgeous prose that's inspiring. I'm lucky enough to still have my parents, but you really made me think. I'm going to save it... Thank you.
6
Your father will always be part of you through your gift of writing from him. Beautiful piece. My tears started after he called you darling. My mother who died at 95 called me darling. No one else has. What a touching piece and enviable father son relationship.
6
Amen...that was beautiful, Mr. Cohen
7
That was lovely. Thank you for sharing.
7
Written with such depth of the presence of love in all its many forms of textures . I was deeply touched by this eloquent tribute to your father - a man you clearly admired , respected, and without question cherished and loved.
I extend my condolences for your loss. You honor your Dad by your heartfelt words of a life well lived.
I extend my condolences for your loss. You honor your Dad by your heartfelt words of a life well lived.
8
So much wisdom and insight. We all become orphans when our parents die, no matter our age. It's time to gather what's left of the family and circle the wagons. I remember Mother sitting in her garden as Fall was in full force - the turning leaves, the advancing cold, and her look of sadness, the realization that this would be her last Fall (she died in November of that year).
5
There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone.
Possibly, if your parents raised you. My father opted out of his family with anger and alcohol, and my siblings and I became our mother's parent due to her shattered self.
I knew at 11 years old that I could not rely on them, and so when they died 50 years later, I had already lived half a century without any parents.
Possibly, if your parents raised you. My father opted out of his family with anger and alcohol, and my siblings and I became our mother's parent due to her shattered self.
I knew at 11 years old that I could not rely on them, and so when they died 50 years later, I had already lived half a century without any parents.
8
I understand how it feels. My 94 and 95 year old mother and father passed away four months apart three years ago. They were mourned by three generations of family forever grateful of their nurture.
When they lost their second son forty-two years ago, I'm afraid that the follies of heaven were loosed.
When they lost their second son forty-two years ago, I'm afraid that the follies of heaven were loosed.
4
So well written. How cool to be as talented as your father but in another field altogether. I am so grateful I had a father like yours who was there for me always and feel bad for those who have to grow up without the helping hand of dear old dad.
4
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone," perfectly describes the feeling that arrives with the final loss of one's parents. Their imperfections and their glories pass away with them. Only the beauty of their lives remains as a blessing.
6
Becoming an orphan at any age tears a hole in the firmament of the life we have known. My condolences and thanks to Roger Cohen for putting this so elegantly.
"The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality."
"The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality."
34
Thank you, Mr.Cohen.
2
This was a beautiful tribute! It creates a magnificent portrait of a complex human being. Your reverence for your father is evident. Very moving piece! I'm sorry for your loss.
5
Pieces like this are why I continue to slog past the coverage of trump. Thank you for honoring your dad with such touching and heartfelt clarity.
11
Thank you Mr. Cohen. And by that, I mean both of you. If only I were lucky enough to be able to read and ponder information as meaningful and lovely as this fabulous piece of writing every day the world would be a brighter place.
11
What a lovely tribute to your extraordinary father. Your and your father's wisdom, reflected in this piece, brought me comforting perspective on my parents' recent deaths. Thank you.
7
What a beautifully written tribute. Thank you
4
Roger's writing has always rested on a firm foundation of wisdom. Now we know from whence it came. Prayers for you and yours in both this world and the next!
6
Beautiful eulogy. Sorry for your loss. What wonderful memories you have to treasure.
5
My father died last October at the age of 87. This piece really struck a nerve. Thank you Mr. Cohen for writing this about your similar loss.
9
Thank you, Mr. Cohen
5
My father, who was a loving but sometimes difficult man, died well over a decade ago. My mother, a unfailingly generous woman, died last December - we buried her the day after a Christmas after her struggle with Multiple Myeloma ended.
My Mom reacted to every available drug to fight the Cancer or it aggravated her existing conditions. This meant she had to lay down and let the Cancer eat her. Through it all she exhibited a grace and courage beyond anything I could imagine in myself. As she lay in hospice days before her death, she was praying for the people coming to visit her and the staff of the hospice attending to her.
In over 30 years of working in hospitals and clinics I have seen many things many would find disturbing, but nothing like seeing what my own Mother had to go through with little to mitigate the march of Cancer. The cruelty of someone so gentle having to walk that path makes one wonder...
My Mom reacted to every available drug to fight the Cancer or it aggravated her existing conditions. This meant she had to lay down and let the Cancer eat her. Through it all she exhibited a grace and courage beyond anything I could imagine in myself. As she lay in hospice days before her death, she was praying for the people coming to visit her and the staff of the hospice attending to her.
In over 30 years of working in hospitals and clinics I have seen many things many would find disturbing, but nothing like seeing what my own Mother had to go through with little to mitigate the march of Cancer. The cruelty of someone so gentle having to walk that path makes one wonder...
11
You captured what my Mother went through. Death became an unwilling partner, wore her down and eventually, won. It was a difficult process but met with such dignity and forbearance. I've written about it since and it helped.
5
Beautiful tribute.
2
A beautifully written piece and my condolence for your loss Mr. Cohen. As I've read your essays throughout the years it is now apparent where some of your compassionate values were derived. However I must take exception with some of the commenters who refer to themselves as orphans, even though they are in their 40s or older. Webster's first definition describes an orphan as a child who lost both parents due to death. I'm 61, lost my mother in 1987 and father in 2012. I learned many things from my parents, both good and bad. They were both wonderful and flawed. I looked up to them and sometimes didn't like them. And I loved them. And I learned from them. As adults we need to set the examples for the people we encounter, whether they be our own children or co-workers or people we meet at the grocery store. Hopefully those people will look up to us and learned from us as we learned from our parents. Thank you Mr. Cohen
4
I understand this all too well. My mother died 54 years ago, but there are still times when I think I must tell her about such-and-such, only to remember with a jolt that she is no longer with us. My older daughter resembles her just enough to both confuse and delight me.
50
Peace be with you.
5
There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone.
-------------
Good luck, Mr. Cohen.
I think if your parents are the people you think, you are prepared by now to walk on alone in life... Look to other humans now when you need help and uplifting. You are more human than you know, and more prepared than you think.
-------------
Good luck, Mr. Cohen.
I think if your parents are the people you think, you are prepared by now to walk on alone in life... Look to other humans now when you need help and uplifting. You are more human than you know, and more prepared than you think.
27
Thank You. Beautifully said.
3
Condolences. You had a loving Dad.
4
You will know that your father lives on when, faced with uncertainty, you say "What would my father do?"
6
I had tears in my eyes as I finished your lovely column, wishing that my final conversation with my father had been longer and more honest as he and I had so much to overcome. Thank you.
2
Rabbi Jacob Rudin wrote, "...Let it not be said that life was good to us, but, rather, that we were good to life", which seems so very apt for your extraordinary father. You have truly honored him here today, & I thank you for sharing a bit of him with us, your readers. Zichrono livracha: may his memory always be for blessing & deepest condolences to you & your family.
8
Such a warm tribute to a good man.
4
Dad went on ahead some twenty-five years ago, Mum just two.
I can't describe how it is to have lost that one sure and unconditional love, so unworthy of it as I was. I still can't believe it. Sometimes I beg her to come back. All the things I should have said, all the listening I didn't do..
I don't believe in a Heaven, but in an afterlife of sone kind? I cherish that tiny, tiny, tiny hope.
I can't describe how it is to have lost that one sure and unconditional love, so unworthy of it as I was. I still can't believe it. Sometimes I beg her to come back. All the things I should have said, all the listening I didn't do..
I don't believe in a Heaven, but in an afterlife of sone kind? I cherish that tiny, tiny, tiny hope.
6
Thank you for this, Roger. I hope my own flawed, but modest, kind, and loving father lives on in me.
4
In addition to Sydney's vulnerability, there was yours in this price. What a gift to your readers--your humanness (as usual).
3
Oh my... beautiful and touching and so thoughtful! What a gift you had to have him as your touchstone. And as an adult whose Dad passed in January, and Mom nearly forty years ago, being an orphan is just hard! But we get thru with essays like yours. Thanx, Roger and warm Regards.
5
Dear Mr. Cohen: What a beautiful tribute to your father.
I felt I got to know your family a bit better when I read your book "The Girl From Human Street" which focused on your family, its Jewish roots, and your mother's death. The book moved me, just like today's column. Your father was an amazing gentleman, and I know you will carry him in your heart always.
You have my sincere condolences on his passing. One last thing - the picture of you and your father in this digital version of the Times that accompanied your piece just made me smile.
I felt I got to know your family a bit better when I read your book "The Girl From Human Street" which focused on your family, its Jewish roots, and your mother's death. The book moved me, just like today's column. Your father was an amazing gentleman, and I know you will carry him in your heart always.
You have my sincere condolences on his passing. One last thing - the picture of you and your father in this digital version of the Times that accompanied your piece just made me smile.
3
What a lovely homage to your father. Mine was exceedingly difficult. He was outwardly aggressive and inwardly distant. He left a trail of the wounded behind him. You are extremely fortunate to have been fathered by one so loving. My mother was the one one about whom I've written lovingly. My siblings and I all agree, she saved our lives. His was on the other hand a sad, sad soul. As I grow older I feel more compassion for him as the years give distance to our relationship.
2
Thank you for this column about your father. I, too, have lost both my parents, and your paragraph expresses perfectly ideas I've been contemplating (much less eloquently) for the past several years. Thank you for your wisdom, thoughtfulness, and kindness.
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
5
Sorry about the passing of your Dad. You have honored him greatly. And will continue to honor him with your writing in the future.
I lost my dad at age 33, and had my mom until I was 60.
My dad suffered from depression for the last 15 years of his life.
He came over from Ireland when he was in his 20's. He only had what amounted to a grammar school education. He joined the NYC Fire Department. He suffered his first heart attack while involved in rescuing people from an apartment fire when he was 31. He had 8 children, 7 sons and 1 daughter. He did not want any of his sons to follow in his footsteps in the NYFD. He wanted us to have the opportunities that he didn't have. All 8 of us graduated from college.
My mom developed Alzheimer's when I was 50. For the next 10 years, our family endured "the long goodbye" that comes with this disease. My wife lost her dad when she was 29, and her mom had Alzheimer's for 10 years, also.
So we are all members of this club that no one willingly joins.
There is a feeling of loss and what I would describe as a sense of unmooring that never quite goes away.
I am glad my father saw me start a career, get married, and buy a house. I was the youngest, and the last one to complete those tasks of adulthood. I wish he lived much longer, of course. It would have been nice to chat with him as an adult.
I know you miss him. And wanted him to stay longer.
Try to take some comfort in the very special relationship you had with your dad.
I lost my dad at age 33, and had my mom until I was 60.
My dad suffered from depression for the last 15 years of his life.
He came over from Ireland when he was in his 20's. He only had what amounted to a grammar school education. He joined the NYC Fire Department. He suffered his first heart attack while involved in rescuing people from an apartment fire when he was 31. He had 8 children, 7 sons and 1 daughter. He did not want any of his sons to follow in his footsteps in the NYFD. He wanted us to have the opportunities that he didn't have. All 8 of us graduated from college.
My mom developed Alzheimer's when I was 50. For the next 10 years, our family endured "the long goodbye" that comes with this disease. My wife lost her dad when she was 29, and her mom had Alzheimer's for 10 years, also.
So we are all members of this club that no one willingly joins.
There is a feeling of loss and what I would describe as a sense of unmooring that never quite goes away.
I am glad my father saw me start a career, get married, and buy a house. I was the youngest, and the last one to complete those tasks of adulthood. I wish he lived much longer, of course. It would have been nice to chat with him as an adult.
I know you miss him. And wanted him to stay longer.
Try to take some comfort in the very special relationship you had with your dad.
7
Thankfully death only comes to this temporary physical form we know as our body. While the loneliness might feel real enough, it is an illusion.
What is eternal in us, our very essence, lives on and never dies.
Our blessings go out to the Cohen family.
What is eternal in us, our very essence, lives on and never dies.
Our blessings go out to the Cohen family.
2
Well, its been 10 years since my parents passed, close together, as was their way. And not a day goes by where I dont at least think of my father. I now reside on their home, so its filled with not so much as memories, but rather my fathers remodeling tweaks and quirks. Many of which cause me slight frustration as I too try to keep the place operational. But when I come across them, he is right there with me. Not that he was bad at it, in fact he was a gifted self-taught carpenter, with a frustrated artists side that would occasional bloom with a piece of furniture. Also a skilled electrician - thanks to his stint in the US Army Signal Corps, and then 50+ years at MaBell - rather NYNEX...uh, no make that what is now Verizon. Some of which he passed on to me. When I was willing to pay enough attention while being his helper thru the years.
I miss him. Its that simple. Im the youngest of 4 and as adults we are not very good at being a family. It was my parents, esp. my father that I revolved around as we aged. They were the hub, and when they passed, for me the wheel fell apart...and there ain't much left.
But whats important to me are the lessons my father taught me...about being a trustworthy, honest and hardworking male. Compassionate, but not too much. Forgiving but not without careful contemplation as to why and how. And most of all to laugh...at oneself, the world, and all the silly things and places we put ourselves as we grow older.
A good man, with a golden soul
I miss him. Its that simple. Im the youngest of 4 and as adults we are not very good at being a family. It was my parents, esp. my father that I revolved around as we aged. They were the hub, and when they passed, for me the wheel fell apart...and there ain't much left.
But whats important to me are the lessons my father taught me...about being a trustworthy, honest and hardworking male. Compassionate, but not too much. Forgiving but not without careful contemplation as to why and how. And most of all to laugh...at oneself, the world, and all the silly things and places we put ourselves as we grow older.
A good man, with a golden soul
5
Thank you for sharing your story about your dad. He sounded like an interesting man who made a tremendous impact in this world and with his family.
My mom died at the age of 90 one year ago. She was my best friend and someone who I will strive to be like as I get older. Our parents leave us gifts that we take with us during our journey of life. May your dad's memory be a blessing to you and your family.
My mom died at the age of 90 one year ago. She was my best friend and someone who I will strive to be like as I get older. Our parents leave us gifts that we take with us during our journey of life. May your dad's memory be a blessing to you and your family.
1
Beautiful! Thanks for sharing.
2
Your beautiful, reflective writing is surely a tribute to your father. Thank you to your father for producing the son.
3
I have been working for ten years on an essay that conveys the loss of losing parents, even as, especially as an adult on the cusp of her own inevitable decline. There is such a thing as a late-blooming orphan.
4
Simply beautiful!
4
I pray that Mr Cohen rests in peace.
I have admired your moral compass reflected in your columns for a long time.
When ones son has such clear demonstrable clarity of morality, it's proof perfect that ones life was lived in an honorable way.
I have admired your moral compass reflected in your columns for a long time.
When ones son has such clear demonstrable clarity of morality, it's proof perfect that ones life was lived in an honorable way.
6
My mother died almost 40 years ago. My father, not an easy man, to say the least, but a constant presence in my life, passed away this past November at 98. Now, in my mid 60s, with a career, amazing family, and a grandchild -- in other words, an abundance of riches -- I nonetheless feel absolutely unmoored. Mr. Cohen, you were very fortunate to have so loving a relationship with your dad. May all of our parents' memories be a blessing.
8
Thank you for such beautiful writing and this loving tribute to your father. I would wish to be as successful as you in honoring mine.
4
By the age of 44 I had lost both parents. My grief has lasted till today. But I realized something very important: one is not truly an adult until such inevitable separation. Your tribute to your father has moved me deeply. Keep the faith. You shall see each other again.
3
I am so touched by Sydney's story! Thank you so much for sharing his life and your grief at his passing with us. Hail, the Traveler! as he goes forth shining from this world! His many achievements, including raising you, shall live on beyond his lifespan. I give thanks for his life and his life's work.
1
I too am an orphan. Dad left in 2002. Mom left in 2015 at age 95. You so beautifully put into words my feelings of loneliness now that they are gone. Thank you for your wonderful writing.
5
In a world where so much evil and noise is all around us....you, at least for a very brief moment have reminded us as to what is important in this funny thing we call life. Thank you Mr Cohen!
2
My father also spent the 40 plus years of his marriage caring for my mother and her depression. It took a toll on both of them. They separated after their 80th birthdays. My father moved down the street, but he never left her or me or my brother. You Dad and mine were honorable men
My father died 10 years ago, my mother three years later. I see them and talk to them everyday. I suspect you will too.
These words you write are a gift to me
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
Thank you for them
My father died 10 years ago, my mother three years later. I see them and talk to them everyday. I suspect you will too.
These words you write are a gift to me
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
Thank you for them
4
What a lovely tribute to your father. My condolences to you.
4
A beautiful column Roger. My parents are old now, and with each passing day I wonder how I will honor them. I hope as well as this.
3
a beautiful tribute, roger. your father would be pleased. and although grief is hard, my sense is that you are fortunate to have had a relationship with your father that leads you to appreciate him so deeply now. the things that were good about him will live on in you, even though you may not be aware of it most of the time. god bless Sydney Cohen.
7
Thank you. Loss parents is when we start to look at the world again with a different set of eyes.
I knew of and about your father without realising the connection. he has the well deserved reputation for being a teacher in every sense of the word.
I knew of and about your father without realising the connection. he has the well deserved reputation for being a teacher in every sense of the word.
5
I have always admired your work, but never more than today. I wept as I read this column. Thank you for a beautiful love note.
6
Your words resonate with me. Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece with me. My father is 90 and although he struggles with failing eyesight, still works away at his computer. My father lost his wife, my mother in her 50th year to brain cancer. Observing him quietly, yet compassionately support my mother as they struggled for 10 years as she battled brain cancer gifted me a doorway to build the foundation of a relationship with my father... that evolved from a parent to child dynamic into an adult to adult dynamic. We have explored the shores of Lake Superior, the prairie skies of the Midwest and the soul recharging energy of many jazz musicians together. Like your father, my father has taught me a great deal about what it means to be human... about the importance of love, humanity and empathy and reverence for all life. Thank you for sharing your moving words.
8
You've penned a beautiful and loving tribute. While your father was a brilliant and accomplished man, what you will miss most I expect will be his calling you, "Darling," a name that says everything about your father's powerful love for you and his emotional intelligence. After losing my own father, I found strength in reminding my own family about the lessons learned from my him about life and love. His words and thoughts still ring through my ears like listening to a favorite record.
6
True enough, except less so for those with parents who were totally uninterested in and never spoke to you.
You can get an appreciation for life however, by observing nature and people in it.
You can get an appreciation for life however, by observing nature and people in it.
1
Thank you for sharing this beautiful essay.
3
I don't know why everyone here is blaming
Donald and GOP about morality and other things.
Why they don't see that "we the people "elected
him and GOP despite knowing everything about
Them.
So our problem is bigger than Donald and Mitch
It is the good portion of society which is edecaying
And accepting approving and defending this
Donald and GOP about morality and other things.
Why they don't see that "we the people "elected
him and GOP despite knowing everything about
Them.
So our problem is bigger than Donald and Mitch
It is the good portion of society which is edecaying
And accepting approving and defending this
A beautiful and poignant tribute to a man you were blessed to have for so long. Yes, "the death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality." It is even lonelier and less cushioned when your parents are gone, along with all your siblings, and you are the last one standing. Then, all memories exist in a vacuum.
9
Yes, when both parents are gone you really lose your bookends. Your essay has reminded me of a painful time...that did abate with time. I'm so sorry for your loss Mr. Cohen.
3
a beautiful tribute to a father who recognized no limits in the human sphere, you were very lucky ...
1
If you are still fortunate enough to have one or both parents still alive, give a thought to what you'd miss doing with them should they pass before you.... A chat on the phone. A lunch date. Having a catch with your Pop.
Then do it.
Then do it again. And again.
Then do it.
Then do it again. And again.
3
Excellent piece, got me misty eyed. But you have to admit 'Roger Einstein' would have been a pretty good byline.
8
I am so glad that the Times has room for Roger Cohen's voice.
7
Mr. Cohen. this is such a moving piece. Condolences and deep sympathy on the loss of your father, who sounds like a wonderful man to have had as a Dad. And the photo of the two of you is lovely.
3
Maybe traces of Hinduism touch you?
When my mother was cremated, I felt (imagined?) her re-uniting with a warm, sunny nature. The image that came forcefully into my mind, was hills (more upward slopes than hills even) behind where we lived when I was a kid. On days when I'd go exploring there with friends, we would feel the sun, see the grass and weeds proudly growing in dry dirt, the rocks, the groupings of goat dung (looking like marbles, which we sometimes played) and the rings of rocks surrounding ashes where those who could not afford crematoriums, would burn their loved ones.
I imagined my mother fusing with and joining the light and warmth of those hills, the sun, the butterflies, the rocks and grass and gentle buzz and relaxed nature of nature, as I saw it (all unpleasant parts of it washed from my mind).
May my mother have that peace. And may your father, and the billions of the rest of us(!) share in that peace as well.
When my mother was cremated, I felt (imagined?) her re-uniting with a warm, sunny nature. The image that came forcefully into my mind, was hills (more upward slopes than hills even) behind where we lived when I was a kid. On days when I'd go exploring there with friends, we would feel the sun, see the grass and weeds proudly growing in dry dirt, the rocks, the groupings of goat dung (looking like marbles, which we sometimes played) and the rings of rocks surrounding ashes where those who could not afford crematoriums, would burn their loved ones.
I imagined my mother fusing with and joining the light and warmth of those hills, the sun, the butterflies, the rocks and grass and gentle buzz and relaxed nature of nature, as I saw it (all unpleasant parts of it washed from my mind).
May my mother have that peace. And may your father, and the billions of the rest of us(!) share in that peace as well.
7
What a beautiful tribute. Tears are in my eyes. May God bless you and hold you in the palm of His hand.
4
Thank you...I am sorry for loss...and feeling how proud of you he must have been.
5
“You’ll always be with me.”
“That’s for sure.”
Simply beautiful and true.
“That’s for sure.”
Simply beautiful and true.
5
exquisite, thank you.
3
I love your column, and admire your writing so very much. My condolences on this enormous loss. It doesn't matter how old we are when we lose a parent, we feel like an abandoned child. You will always hear your father's voice, know what his advice would have been, and still share the moments with you, that you now face without him. The human condition is a beautiful and terrible thing. Wish you peace.
2
.......Unless one comes from a physically and sexually abusive childhood, compounded with no resolution. My mother's sudden death and estrangement from my father are liberating. I am saddened by not having parents who loved me and who were truthful. I am not sad I lost MY OWN parents. I confronted them at age 53, and now at 60, hindsight has provided me wisdom and peace. I broke my chain of violence and have a beautiful family; a loving husband a four grown sons. But for all in my position, it is NEVER too late. I always enjoyed reading about your Yiddisha Mom and Dad.
2
Thank you for sharing.
1
I have the good fortune to remember my dreams after I awaken. I have had many visits from my dear father in dreams since his death in 1971. He renews conversations and delights with his wisdom, intelligence, understanding of human nature and wonderful sense of humor.
3
Today's Roger Cohen column is an especially nice gift. Thank you.
3
I miss my father every day. He was, interestingly, something of a parallel to Sidney Cohen, though younger and he started off in England. Sadness tempered with joy will turn to joy tempered with sadness.
6
Roger's comments are warm and sincere. I am sad for his loss. But there can be another side to the death of parents. Both of my parents died, dad in is late 80's, mom in her mid-90's. They were normal people who led remarkable lives. They had long rich lives. They were religious. Both were convinced that their impending corporeal death was just a beginning for their spiritual life. I am sad they are gone, but I cannot be too sad for their passing.
2
Thank you. Such a wonderful tribute and reflection on being human, with all that entails. Would make any dad very proud. So sorry for your loss.
9
Very bittersweet and moving. We can, indeed, be "orphans" way into adulthood. Lost both my parents within 8 weeks when I was 41. This essay artciulates the deep feelings that "the world is forever changed." I didn't necessarily feel more mortal. Rather, I felt somewhat "left behind." Still do.
8
I so wish I could have be half as eloquent after losing my father in 2002, 7 years after my mother died. There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair, now of inspiration. The earth acquires a new quality of silence.
5
So moving. I lost both of my parents four years ago 10 weeks apart. It was devastating. My grandfather was a Jewish doctor who was born in London and raised in South Africa. He was brilliant, but he passed away before I was born much too soon.
1
Thank you, Mr. Cohen, for this wonderful piece. As my 92 year old father is in the final stages of his journey through life, your words struck me. The way the late afternoon sun lights the now empty chair where he always sat, the empty house with the loud ticking of clocks, all these familiar things now foreign without the presence of him.
Your father sounds like a wonderful man; I hope you find comfort in the memories of the good he brought to the world and those close to him.
Your father sounds like a wonderful man; I hope you find comfort in the memories of the good he brought to the world and those close to him.
12
Very wonderful, and a great insight into what informs your writing.
4
My mother, who was my best friend for many years died ten years ago next month. My father's death preceded my mother's by twelve years. Losing my father was so hard but my mother's death was devastating. I realized that I was an orphan and it was a loneliness that was crushing despite have two married children and three grandchildren. I had divorced four years earlier after a long marriage so I was truly an empty nester.
Time eased my grief but there are still unexpected moments while watching a movie or reading a story that I am overwhelmed with tears because I miss my mother.
I believe in a heaven and I take comfort in knowing that someday I will be reunited with all of the loved ones I have lost. Praise the Lord. My sincere condolences to all people who long for those they have lost. May the Spirit of God comfort you.
Time eased my grief but there are still unexpected moments while watching a movie or reading a story that I am overwhelmed with tears because I miss my mother.
I believe in a heaven and I take comfort in knowing that someday I will be reunited with all of the loved ones I have lost. Praise the Lord. My sincere condolences to all people who long for those they have lost. May the Spirit of God comfort you.
5
This is truly lovely. Thank you for sharing. I feel very fortunate to have a close relationships with my father who is now in his 80s.
2
Beautiful. I relived my relationship with my father today.
2
What a beautiful tribute. Thank you for sharing this extraordinary human being with us.
6
Lovely tribute. That's for sure.
3
Beautifully written, Mr Cohen. I'm very sorry for your loss.
5
A beautiful reminder of my parents as well.
6
I was deeply moved by your tribute to your Father. My Father died when I was 17, we had a difficult relationship. I am now nearly 60 and deeply regret, he did not live long enough, for us to have become friends. I think of him almost daily and have always struggled with the vacuum his early death left in my life. You were indeed fortunate ,to have had ,such a rich and loving relationship with him for so long. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful tribute.
11
Like you, Mr. Cohen, I was with my father at the end, as he was with me at my birth. The circle opens and closes, and it will again and again. But love remains constant and forever. Thank you for sharing your father with us.
10
Beautiful. Thank you, Roger.
2
I thought the quote would lead the loss of Lou Xiaobo, but of your father. Thank you for sharing a beautiful history of your family. It was also a great respite from Tramp and Russia.
7
That was lovely. Thanks so much for sharing your Dad with us.
I'm so sorry for your loss. I miss my Dad.
I'm so sorry for your loss. I miss my Dad.
7
Thank you. My own Father is gone for over 35 years but I miss him still. Thank you for this beautiful piece.
4
Beautiful, beautiful prose that captures
your father, lets readers know him
and allows a glimpse into your soul.
May you be blessed with good memories
of your remarkable father. Your expression
of love and respect are impactful, the good
deeds of your father in his healing are
impressive. Keep him in your heart for
your children and grandchildren and in that
manner a part of him will live forever.
your father, lets readers know him
and allows a glimpse into your soul.
May you be blessed with good memories
of your remarkable father. Your expression
of love and respect are impactful, the good
deeds of your father in his healing are
impressive. Keep him in your heart for
your children and grandchildren and in that
manner a part of him will live forever.
8
Mr. Cohen, I an a regular reader of your columns and this is the most memorable. Thank you - your father is brought back to life in your words.
10
You want to hear about sons without fathers? Mine died when I was 5. My mom was 27 and she was left with 4 small kids. My dad probably died of mesothelioma (death certificate was vague) after working in the boiler room of the USS Ticonderoga during World War II, then working for an asbestos company after the war. My mom never remarried, never even went out with anyone else. I grew up with no male role model whatsoever. Never had anything that even came close. My life has been OK, but I am acutely aware of the disadvantage of growing up without a dad. Huge disadvantage. In my opinion, the biggest disadvantage of all.
12
I am familiar with personal narratives about family lost. I wrote one for my grandfather over 20 years ago. Sharing the last few exchanges with your father was touching. Thank you, Mr. Cohen.
The Christian Bible powerfully touches on mortality in what is a very meaningful passage to many good men.
Ecclesiastes 12:1-7 (KJV)
12 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;
2 While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:
3 In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,
4 And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low;
5 Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:
6 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.
7 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.
The Christian Bible powerfully touches on mortality in what is a very meaningful passage to many good men.
Ecclesiastes 12:1-7 (KJV)
12 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;
2 While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:
3 In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,
4 And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low;
5 Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:
6 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.
7 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.
4
I was surprised by the unguarded humanity that emerged when my father's death approached. It had been there all along, but in the end, he resorted to it and became entirely that side of himself, a marvelous human being; at once familiar and novel. He seemed determined to ease our passage through his transition, and made many choices so that he would leave no debts, financial or spiritual. The thing I cherish most is the sense that he was giving permission for the world to be as it is; saying that we need not fight it; saying that I have permission to live even if he is gone. Now the gift of life seems entire, not mediated, and not contingent.
16
Dear Mr. Cohen,
You are a fine essayist. This is a very moving piece. I bought plane tickets to visit my parents next weekend.
Best Regards.
You are a fine essayist. This is a very moving piece. I bought plane tickets to visit my parents next weekend.
Best Regards.
21
I became aware that the word loss would be capitalized and become Loss after my mother died in 1995. My father predeceased her in 1992 and now I was alone: no siblings and no longer anyone's daughter. You will survive and you will always have precious memories. My daughter married a South African in 2012 and resides in Johannesburg with my wonderful son-in-law and first grandchild. A beautifully tragic country.
9
My Dad would be 95 if he hadn't lost his battle with the same leukemia I now have in 1992. Glad that you had the extra quarter century. Sons and fathers have a special kind of relationship, don't they?
6
Losing both parents really grabs you by the roots. Sorry for your loss.
10
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
46
This moved me very much. I'm sorry for your loss.
11
Many, many thanks.
9
Exquisite . Thank you.
My condolences to you, Mr.Cohen.
My condolences to you, Mr.Cohen.
7
Thank you!
4
thank you mr cohen for making me remember the glow of the last times i spent with my father watching the sun and the sky
8
Thanks for sharing. My adopted dad is terminally ill so this piece is a welcome reminder of what things look like once your dad has passed. They live on through our memories.
4
God bless
5
You're a top man, Mr. Cohen, marshaling the skills you've obviously honed over decades to pay tribute to your father. The son showing his dad his love through his craft. Simply: you did the Old Boy proud.
7
Now from my home in a rural French village, like the photo shows you in yours with Sydney, I send you thanks for this and all your columns.
John
John
5
Just thank you for revealing his heart.... and yours.
1
The third person "you" in which much of this is written seems to imply a universality that is based on reality for only a potion - a culturally privileged portion, perhaps - of readers. Imagine an article written in this style by someone experiencing relieved released following the deaths of parents? I wonder if the first person wouldn't have left me feeling so alien?
1
He would be honored.
4
Thank you. I lost both my parents and your words . . . sentiments ... feelings exactly catch my own sense of my mortal existence.
6
Thank you, Roger, for this exceptionally lovely piece. Your expression of love for your complicated father feels like a balm to my troubled soul. You both seem like such lovely, thoughtful men and it's a comfort to be reminded of your ilk.
8
Thank you, Mr. Cohen. I woke up yesterday with the immediate realization that the day would have been my beloved father's 100th birthday had he lived four more years. My son called me to ask how we should commemorate the occasion. Go out to dinner at his favorite place? Watch his favorite movie? Visit his gravesite? Nothing seemed to be exactly right. There are only a few, besides us, who remember him anymore. We decided he is always in our hearts and thoughts, and, as you write, he is now part of the world around us as we move within it. What a day for me to read this essay. I was very moved. Thank you again for baring your heart.
14
Memory for a blessing, Mr. Cohen. Your father sounds like he was a remarkable man.
6
Such a tribute, and you were able to share part of it with him while he could still hear it. Thank you!
5
Mr. Cohen the younger, this was so absolutely beautiful, loving and perfect. Thank you
7
Brought me to tears, as I could feel through your eloquent words the deep love you and your father will share eternally.
9
I call my 95 year old mother everyday not only to find out how her day went but because I can.I always end by saying "I love you -talk to you tomorrow" wondering if it is the last time.
So sorry to hear about your father, Mr. Cohen. Thank you for sharing a very personal moment with us, your audience.
So sorry to hear about your father, Mr. Cohen. Thank you for sharing a very personal moment with us, your audience.
3
Dear Mr. Cohen,
I'm so sorry for your loss. I too had a loving, funny, witty, bright dad that I miss every day. Your father not only loved you unconditionally, he taught you life is beautiful despite the challenges we all go through, and to take it all in, while giving back. Your essay reminded me of the
beautiful Jewish prayer, "We Remember Them".
"At the blueness of the skies and warmth of the summer, we remember them.
At the blowing of the wind, and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
When we have difficult decisions to make, we remember them.
For as long as we live, they too will live, as they are a part of us."
Thank you for your eloquent words.
I'm so sorry for your loss. I too had a loving, funny, witty, bright dad that I miss every day. Your father not only loved you unconditionally, he taught you life is beautiful despite the challenges we all go through, and to take it all in, while giving back. Your essay reminded me of the
beautiful Jewish prayer, "We Remember Them".
"At the blueness of the skies and warmth of the summer, we remember them.
At the blowing of the wind, and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
When we have difficult decisions to make, we remember them.
For as long as we live, they too will live, as they are a part of us."
Thank you for your eloquent words.
13
I often marvel at those who've had happy childhoods or at least, a deep connection with their parents. You were truly blessed to have such a connection and with so good a father and so singular a man. My own father also struggled with my mother's depression but not well and so I and my four siblings suffered for it, doubly. I won't say sorry for 'your loss' for although he is gone, your good father will always remain with you.
5
This was absolutely beautiful. My heartfelt condolences go out to you, along with my heartfelt thanks for sharing this tribute with the world.
7
A gentle reminder of the blessings and agonies in life. Thank you.
9
Beautiful, beautiful. I'm in tears. Thank you.
9
Just beautiful. This perfectly captures what it's like to talk to a parent who retains their essential self but doesn't know who you , their child, are.
8
The line, "The death of parents removes the last cushion..." rings so true to my own experience after my mother and father died.
Thanks for this moving and lyrical tribute to your father. What a profound meditation on our vulnerability to mortality and yet our capacity to cherish our connections with others, especially our parents.
Thanks for this moving and lyrical tribute to your father. What a profound meditation on our vulnerability to mortality and yet our capacity to cherish our connections with others, especially our parents.
8
Lovely piece reflecting the deeply human and mature connection between father and son. Thank you.
8
An eloquent, moving piece on the ties that bind and the ephemeral beauty of the here and now. May your father's spirit continue to bring you peace for the tomorrows to come.
7
Powerfully moving tribute of which, for myself, I can only imagine.
Bravo Roger Cohen
Bravo Roger Cohen
6
Mr. Cohen, what a pleasure it is to read this column, a perfect eulogy to a dear father. Your words are balm at the end of a hectic and tiring day. Thank you so much.
10
Beautiful article & tribute. Thank you for sharing.
4
It is always sad to see parents leave us; but we all were created with an awareness, unique among all creatures, that our death is inevitable.
I am glad Sydney Cohen had such a rich and varied life and stayed true to himself first of all.
I am also glad to see the political hate-war in play at the NY Times hasn't completely dehumanized the writer.
I am glad Sydney Cohen had such a rich and varied life and stayed true to himself first of all.
I am also glad to see the political hate-war in play at the NY Times hasn't completely dehumanized the writer.
8
Thank you, Mr. Cohen, for this beautiful tribute to your incredible father. What a gift his life was to you and countless others. Very inspiring.
5
Incredible words. Thanks for sharing.
6
Lovely piece. How fortunate you are! Such an admirable man. Lovely memories. Thank you.
4
What a testimony of love and dedication between father and son. I always take great insight and comfort from your writing, but this personal note touched me to the core. Thank you Mr. Cohen.
10
I have read and enjoyed your column for years. Your perspective on the world is unique and I thank you for sharing it with me.
Of course, we've never met in person so it's hard to truly know you. However, in reading this piece, I feel that I have a much better understanding of the man behind the column.
What a remarkable life your father lived! While it may not help ease the pain of your loss, to know that he had a full life and an exceptional one, is definitely something to cherish.
Thank you for sharing your story with us in such a markedly public way.
Of course, we've never met in person so it's hard to truly know you. However, in reading this piece, I feel that I have a much better understanding of the man behind the column.
What a remarkable life your father lived! While it may not help ease the pain of your loss, to know that he had a full life and an exceptional one, is definitely something to cherish.
Thank you for sharing your story with us in such a markedly public way.
10
Simply beautiful, Mr. Cohen. Thank you for sharing your father with us. What an exceptional man.
10
Thank you for sharing this. I am so very sorry for your loss. With tears in my eyes, -Laura
11
Dear Roger Cohen,
like father like son... thank you for allowing vulnerability: the poetry of your grief turns into a most piercingly beautiful and moving piece of writing! I've been a fan for years, but as a recent widow who has experienced the intimacy, mystery and healing when accompanying the dying – my mother and my husband within 9 months – I was in bittersweet tears of recognition. How death humbles and teaches us all about essence. What a treasure you gave us - may you be with the glow of sun, sky and trees, anew each day...
like father like son... thank you for allowing vulnerability: the poetry of your grief turns into a most piercingly beautiful and moving piece of writing! I've been a fan for years, but as a recent widow who has experienced the intimacy, mystery and healing when accompanying the dying – my mother and my husband within 9 months – I was in bittersweet tears of recognition. How death humbles and teaches us all about essence. What a treasure you gave us - may you be with the glow of sun, sky and trees, anew each day...
32
Beautifully written, and you were absolutely right, your father (and mother) will always be with you. I hope that brings you comfort.
12
Such a wonderful photo, and you really do look just like your dad.
My mother died when I was three and my father abandoned me when I was seven. For most of my life growing up I was not parented, but that's true of many people who live with their parents. When I was 27, I met my father again. I was surprised to discover that he was not a stranger. He was very familiar to me, known to me, in an almost bodily way that I couldn't have imagined until I felt it. People around me kept referring to "your dad" this and "your dad" that, which struck me as odd. Such a common word, but one I'd never heard or used with reference to myself. It gave me the feeling that I have the right to be here, that I belong on the earth as much as anyone. Until then, I didn't know I felt otherwise.
My mother died when I was three and my father abandoned me when I was seven. For most of my life growing up I was not parented, but that's true of many people who live with their parents. When I was 27, I met my father again. I was surprised to discover that he was not a stranger. He was very familiar to me, known to me, in an almost bodily way that I couldn't have imagined until I felt it. People around me kept referring to "your dad" this and "your dad" that, which struck me as odd. Such a common word, but one I'd never heard or used with reference to myself. It gave me the feeling that I have the right to be here, that I belong on the earth as much as anyone. Until then, I didn't know I felt otherwise.
31
Mr. Cohen, simply beautiful. I am sorry for your loss.
15
What an exceptionally moving tribute. Bravo, Mr. Cohen.
9
Dear Mr. Cohen, my sincerest condolences. Thank you for your wonderful column. Among the many legacies from your Father's long and blessed life, is having given the rest of us the gift of his son Roger, one of earth's best columnists. I lost my own Father three years ago, he was 82, I was 48. One thing I realized during that time, was how blessed we are whom have our parents live long and loving lives, that allow their children to enjoy their company until our own middle or mature age. It also has deepened my respect and admiration for those that can nurture productive and happy lives despite losing one or both parents at a very young age, and strengthened my determination to stay healthy and present for my own children for as long as humanly possible. God bless.
16
Beautiful, thank you for this
10
Every syllable of Mr. Cohen's third paragraph -- beginning "There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone." -- resonates deeply with me. My father died when I was 19, my mother when I was 49. Mom's death was more than two years ago now, yet I have miles to go before I emerge from my grief. Despite my successful career and happy marriage, and having liked, admired, and learned from many wonderful people over the years, there are none I have loved or respected as much as my own parents. Certainly no one has ever loved or believed in me as much as they did without even trying, just because I was theirs. I never had to earn it. And until the day she died, Mom was still my best friend. We understood each other like no one else could, literally down to the genes. It's embarrassing to admit at my age, but I can't help but miss that. Terribly. Terribly. The world is a colder place without parental love at any age.
95
My mother died 18 months ago and I feel the same as you. In fact, 'every syllable' you wrote resonates with me. I do not forsee getting beyond this paralyzing grief.
The only words I don't agree with are where you say you feel embarrased. There is no reason to feel embarrassed.
The only words I don't agree with are where you say you feel embarrased. There is no reason to feel embarrassed.
1
Cynthia, your words moved me very much, and I am so sorry for your loss.
2
Your reply meant so much to me. I've found it difficult to express these feelings to anyone. Ironically, I think Mom is the one person who would understand them. There are others who care about me and know I am having a difficult time with my grief (such as my spouse), but this just has nothing to do with those people, so I cannot bear to discuss it with them. Hearing that I am not the only NYT reader admitting to this first-world problem is a relief. Thank you.
Wow. Simply beautiful. Elegantly embraces the complexities of enduring love, and commitment, in the face of the challenges and insults with which life seeds our path. Thank you.
11
As much as DNA and the blood that flows through our veins, our experiences with our parents make us who we are. Each of the relationships has special impact: father/son; mother/daughter; mother/son; mother/daughter; and the relationships we have with all of our grandparents. They live with us and guide us even after they're gone.
My father died years ago, and yet he is still with me. I still hear his guidance and though at times I disagree, it still informs my decisions.
And yet in our world we have children without such guidance. And we have older people with no one to confer that guidance upon. We have boys not knowing what it is to be a man. We have girls not understanding the selfless love of a father. We should be able to do something about those problems.
My father died years ago, and yet he is still with me. I still hear his guidance and though at times I disagree, it still informs my decisions.
And yet in our world we have children without such guidance. And we have older people with no one to confer that guidance upon. We have boys not knowing what it is to be a man. We have girls not understanding the selfless love of a father. We should be able to do something about those problems.
11
I hope God blesses my grandsons with such beautiful words for their father. When you write about your family, you touch hearts deeply. I pray that the Holy Spirit comforts your heart on your time of loss. Bless you.
12
Gorgeous writing, beautiful story and such truth. Thank you.
15
My heartfelt condolences on the loss of your beloved father. My own father is almost ninety, very frail, and has been in and out of hospital these past six months. I'd like to think I'll be able to write such a beautiful and touching tribute when the time inevitably comes. Thank you for sharing yours.
6
It was the distortion that bothered me when my first parent died--the "wrongness" in the shape of the world, which had always had Dad in it--always, until it didn't.
11
A breathtaking tribute.
6
As I tell my son - "I will always be with you. Not in words. For real."
Thanks for sharing, Mr. Cohen.
Thanks for sharing, Mr. Cohen.
6
Simply beautiful.......expresses thoughts I have grappled with since the loss of my mother in 2007 which left me without a living parent. Than you, Roger.
7
As an older person now, this piece resonates fully with me. I wish I could unwind a little of time for one last visit with my mother and father.
As a father myself, you have helped me to a place where I can give just a little more to my own children.
Thank you for your beautiful remembrance
As a father myself, you have helped me to a place where I can give just a little more to my own children.
Thank you for your beautiful remembrance
8
What a beautiful piece. Thanks so much for sharing. My condolences. Your article brought back some memories for me when my father died 15 years ago. And as I age myself and look at all the beauty in the world, I feel so blessed to see it anew every day.
4
My condolences, Mr. Cohen. May your father's memory be a blessing.
4
You were lucky - most fathers and mothers are pathetic and negative forces in their childrens lives.
The state of parenting in our modern societies is one of ignorant unprepared unstable play it by ear obstruction to the potential growth of their primary responsibility in life.
Just look at the status of children in the USA! Led by drugged and drunken and stupid parents they suffer from physical and mental malnourishment on a level unheard of among more enlightened cultures.
Yes! There are amazing loving and aware and knowledgeable parents who understand the needs of their kids and do their best to maximize their potential as humans BUT they are the vast. minority.
How else could any society devolve to the point where they could elevate a complete monstor like trump and his miserable acolytes to the top of their government.
The state of parenting in our modern societies is one of ignorant unprepared unstable play it by ear obstruction to the potential growth of their primary responsibility in life.
Just look at the status of children in the USA! Led by drugged and drunken and stupid parents they suffer from physical and mental malnourishment on a level unheard of among more enlightened cultures.
Yes! There are amazing loving and aware and knowledgeable parents who understand the needs of their kids and do their best to maximize their potential as humans BUT they are the vast. minority.
How else could any society devolve to the point where they could elevate a complete monstor like trump and his miserable acolytes to the top of their government.
11
"You were lucky - most fathers and mothers are pathetic and negative forces in their childrens lives."
Yes, Mr Nelson, and the luckiest people of all, don't get born
Yes, Mr Nelson, and the luckiest people of all, don't get born
2
I'm sorry your father has died. I know what a loss that is. You were lucky to have him with you for so long, though. And he'll always be with you.
7
My grandmother once told me, "you don't become an adult until your parents die." I found that to be true.
25
Roger, this is a wonderfully sincere and eloquent encomium to your father and his time here on earth. I feel confident that he was proud of your own way through life, as his words imply. It seems a good death, at least as good as death can ever be, since you seem to have had a chance to have some conversations with him before the end. It's really an honor to read about your father's life, and that final conversation. You are now officially the 'senior' in your familial lines of life; it is not easy being part of the oldest generation so I wish you good luck.
Keep writing. I've always read you since first encountering you in print; your use of English is usually very fine. Your personal family linkage to South Africa caught my attention some years ago. It's a country I've followed very closely over the decades. I taught for 2 1/2 years in next-door Botswana in the 1970s. We were 'persona non grata'- not allowed to visit by the South.
I'd like to hear more from you about how South Africa featured in your father's thinking/life, especially after leaving. Literature, history, connections, post-apartheid, current struggles, etc. He sounds like a thoughtful man.
Or, maybe you or the NYT comments reader could refer me to already existing writings you refer to. Your own thoughts about him and SA would also be interesting, of course.
Thanks again for the thoughtful way your NYT columns are used, even most of the time when I strongly disagree with you on issues.
Keep writing. I've always read you since first encountering you in print; your use of English is usually very fine. Your personal family linkage to South Africa caught my attention some years ago. It's a country I've followed very closely over the decades. I taught for 2 1/2 years in next-door Botswana in the 1970s. We were 'persona non grata'- not allowed to visit by the South.
I'd like to hear more from you about how South Africa featured in your father's thinking/life, especially after leaving. Literature, history, connections, post-apartheid, current struggles, etc. He sounds like a thoughtful man.
Or, maybe you or the NYT comments reader could refer me to already existing writings you refer to. Your own thoughts about him and SA would also be interesting, of course.
Thanks again for the thoughtful way your NYT columns are used, even most of the time when I strongly disagree with you on issues.
5
Mr. Cohen, thank you for your most lovely testimonial to your father. It is amazing how everything and every moment become increasingly vivid and precious with advancing age. I'm not certain that this is due to one's increasing realization of the brevity of life, however. I think it may be more complicated than that.
The NYT was considering publishing a version of following as a letter from me in response to Zach Gross' July 10 Op-Ed,
In the 1940s, my father, who passed in 1991 at age 89, was contracted to decorate New York Pennsylvania Station for Christmas. Though seventy-two years have passed, I still vividly remember him taking me with him and his crew, starting when I was 4 years old.
He pulled his trailer, piled with wreathes, roping and the other
decorations he had created down the ramp to the plaza between the
Seventh Avenue subway and what was then the U.S.O. His crew unloaded
the trailer, lugged the decorations into the main station, climbed and
hung the wreathes and roping from the iron columns into the hushed
vastness, with me asleep on a burlap sack of spare princess pine.
About 2 a.m., Dad woke me for the finale: suspending the 20-foot
wreath to magically float over the escalators across from the clock.
The final touch was when Dad climbed that shaky ladder to make sure
the huge red satin bow was just right! No matter what it took, he always made my life just right, too. Dad, I Love You, miss you every moment of every day, and Thank You Forever!
The NYT was considering publishing a version of following as a letter from me in response to Zach Gross' July 10 Op-Ed,
In the 1940s, my father, who passed in 1991 at age 89, was contracted to decorate New York Pennsylvania Station for Christmas. Though seventy-two years have passed, I still vividly remember him taking me with him and his crew, starting when I was 4 years old.
He pulled his trailer, piled with wreathes, roping and the other
decorations he had created down the ramp to the plaza between the
Seventh Avenue subway and what was then the U.S.O. His crew unloaded
the trailer, lugged the decorations into the main station, climbed and
hung the wreathes and roping from the iron columns into the hushed
vastness, with me asleep on a burlap sack of spare princess pine.
About 2 a.m., Dad woke me for the finale: suspending the 20-foot
wreath to magically float over the escalators across from the clock.
The final touch was when Dad climbed that shaky ladder to make sure
the huge red satin bow was just right! No matter what it took, he always made my life just right, too. Dad, I Love You, miss you every moment of every day, and Thank You Forever!
16
Thank you for sharing your feelings with tender words. A lovely family, all.
3
I just attended the funeral of a man I never met. He was the father of my daughter's boyfriend. The young man is 23, his father 50. The young man's mother died when he was in high school. He is an only child. How do you help him with events that he should not have to deal with?
3
This piece is exceptionally beautiful.
"The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
Yes.
Yes.
Wishes of peace and thanks, Mr. Cohen.
"The earth acquires a new quality of silence."
Yes.
Yes.
Wishes of peace and thanks, Mr. Cohen.
10
Dear Mr. Cohen.
What a lovely tribute to your father.
As someone who was raised by a cruel one, his last days, when I took care of him (In the Jewish religion, you don't have to love them but you must take care of your parents), he became a grateful child. It was then that I saw his vulnerability, and while he was horrible to me all my life, my hatred vanished toward the end of his. I can't say I love him, but I see the flawed human being that he was. Unlike your father, who obviously valued you all your life, I did catch a glimpse of a sad, flawed man at the end of our relationship and rancor vanished.
How lucky you are that your father was a mensch, plain and simple. I can't help but think when I read your columns, which I do religiously, that much of his humanity is in them.
Thanks for hearing my "kvetch," although I'm not sure where the parallel is, I envy your wonderful relationship with such a lovely man.
Keep your opinions coming, I treasure them all the more now.
Eddie Lew
What a lovely tribute to your father.
As someone who was raised by a cruel one, his last days, when I took care of him (In the Jewish religion, you don't have to love them but you must take care of your parents), he became a grateful child. It was then that I saw his vulnerability, and while he was horrible to me all my life, my hatred vanished toward the end of his. I can't say I love him, but I see the flawed human being that he was. Unlike your father, who obviously valued you all your life, I did catch a glimpse of a sad, flawed man at the end of our relationship and rancor vanished.
How lucky you are that your father was a mensch, plain and simple. I can't help but think when I read your columns, which I do religiously, that much of his humanity is in them.
Thanks for hearing my "kvetch," although I'm not sure where the parallel is, I envy your wonderful relationship with such a lovely man.
Keep your opinions coming, I treasure them all the more now.
Eddie Lew
25
Exquisitely written.
4
Reading your column today, I felt sad for the father I did not have. It is a long story of early family abandonment. But he was my father anyway, and some months ago I learned I lost him, and a tear rolled down my face. Sorry for your loss, thanks for your gift-column.
13
Mr. Cohen, my condolences to you on the passing of your father.
7
This is a beautiful tribute to parenthood. My mother died when I was 15 and my dad when I was 19. But I was the luckiest girl to have gotten the best in-laws ever. They became my mother and dad. I had them for many years and treasure the memory of them every day.
7
It is true, as Roger says, that there is no preparation for losing both parents. No matter our age, becoming an "orphan" exposes our mortality like nothing else. No longer is there anyone alive who has been with us (even when not present) through every step of our journey.
And few of us are fortunate enough to have a parent who also provides such a beacon to follow, as Mr. Cohen's father clearly did.
Thank you for this column, and for the many, many others which have been equally inspired. You are another immigrant gift to our country; as your father was to Britain.
And few of us are fortunate enough to have a parent who also provides such a beacon to follow, as Mr. Cohen's father clearly did.
Thank you for this column, and for the many, many others which have been equally inspired. You are another immigrant gift to our country; as your father was to Britain.
19
A marvelous tribute which also helps one to understand why Roger's writings are often filled with gentleness and honesty. I particularly was taken by the father's unwillingness to change from Cohen with the possibility of using Einstein to mask his jewishness. When we came to America in the early 1940's my father, also a physician, was interviewed for position in a clinic. The interviewer felt that my father's name was too long and perhaps he should shorten it. My father's reply was that "when Eisenhower shortens his I'll shorten mine".
7
Thank you for sharing. Your piece touched me deeply as well. It's been 14 years since my father's passing. When he passed away in Mexico and myself being in Europe, people used to ask me if we were close and if we met frequently. I answered no, because my dad was not only geographically distant most of my life but also emtionally, but that what made it even more devastating.
And as time goes by, I understand more and more why he was like he was and see more and more of him in my brothers and me.
And as time goes by, I understand more and more why he was like he was and see more and more of him in my brothers and me.
11
I have always looked forward to your columns, but held my breath when I saw the title and the photo which led this one. The picture may indeed be worth a thousand words, but the 22 words contained in the one sentence , "There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone" profoundly sum up the experience of parental loss.
I lost both of them years ago, but they are with me every day, as I know yours will be as well. My sincere condolences . Know that you are a healer as well, as every time I read one of your columns, I feel better. Thank you.
I lost both of them years ago, but they are with me every day, as I know yours will be as well. My sincere condolences . Know that you are a healer as well, as every time I read one of your columns, I feel better. Thank you.
20
Very touching.
2
In the words of the traditional Jewish condolence, "May his memory be for a blessing."
6
I am sorry for your loss Mr Cohen. My condolences. Your article brought tears to my eyes. I think you may be able to find some solace in your ability to articulate your thoughts and feelings in writing and share them with your NY Times readers. I appreciate your honesty.
God Bless!
God Bless!
3
Sorry to hear of your loss. This essay is a marvelous tribute to your father. He will always live within it thanks to your own words.
3
Mr. Cohen, I was deeply moved by your tribute to your father. Sheer poetry.
3
Probably the best column I have read all year. Wow.
8
For those of us who are sons of fathers and fathers of sons, this lovely, almost priceless piece of revelatory writing cuts two ways.
When my father died, far too young at 51, my mother said to me, her oldest son, "As deeply as this cuts, as much as it leaves a hole in your life that can never be filled, it will be important to remember that your father many times told me how much he hoped he died before any of his boys. 'It is the way of nature,' he would say, 'and they will grieve and carry on. But the reversal of nature's rules that would mean my loss of one of them would be more than I could bear.'"
I am now a father of a son. And I know exactly what he meant.
Thank you for opening a floodgate through which a river of memories have flowed in the hour since I first read your piece. Now, having written of my gratitude, I'm going to once again lean back in that river and let the current take me where it will.
When my father died, far too young at 51, my mother said to me, her oldest son, "As deeply as this cuts, as much as it leaves a hole in your life that can never be filled, it will be important to remember that your father many times told me how much he hoped he died before any of his boys. 'It is the way of nature,' he would say, 'and they will grieve and carry on. But the reversal of nature's rules that would mean my loss of one of them would be more than I could bear.'"
I am now a father of a son. And I know exactly what he meant.
Thank you for opening a floodgate through which a river of memories have flowed in the hour since I first read your piece. Now, having written of my gratitude, I'm going to once again lean back in that river and let the current take me where it will.
12
Touching!! My parents are both, thank God, still with me. And hope they always will be. Yes, it is a foolish sentiment. But, I go into panic just to think of a day, when I won't have one of them with me anymore. And I do pray I am taken before either of them is.
3
I would like to say something in response to this piece, a column that is so moving I find it hard to think of words to describe it. Does that sound weird? Fine.
Here's something that is even more weird. Some will call it sentimental, others will say it's simply crazy: I do believe you will see your father again in a better world, and your mother as well.
In that world, everything will be aglow, and the glow will last forever.
Here's something that is even more weird. Some will call it sentimental, others will say it's simply crazy: I do believe you will see your father again in a better world, and your mother as well.
In that world, everything will be aglow, and the glow will last forever.
2
lovely piece mr cohen.....
4
Mr. Cohen, this is a beautiful and moving column. My father died when I was 34 and my mother when I was 14. I think about and miss them every day. No doubt the world may seem dark to you now but the light will return. I think our parents give us what Saul Bellow once called the "axial lines" that keep us on course in the world. You can have faith that those lines will never disappear.
4
You put into words exactly what I have felt since losing my last parent this winter. Thank you for your beautiful words.
4
A beautiful and moving tribute. I am very sorry for your loss; but, oh, to have had such a father! What a blessing.
8
Thanks for a beautiful column on family, life, death, and the things that sustain us.
1
I find myself tearing up, thinking of my wonderful father, what he meant to all of us, and how we are forever poorer without him. thank you for this beautiful tribute to your dear father.
2
Lovely memories. As someone who grew up in foster "care" I hope anyone lucky enough to have a good father will reach out to the children with none and pass it on.
8
Dear Roger Cohen, You are so blessed, as you know to have had such a beautiful spirit as you father. And to be able to take his views of life with you every day.It is a pleasure for me to sense your inherited kindness and compass-
in your writings. Thank you.
in your writings. Thank you.
fabulously heartening
Thank you for sharing your feelings so openly. I am sorry for your loss.
You say "On all this he turned his back 30 years ago, dedicating himself to gardening and carpentry, painting and golf. He knew what the affairs of the world were worth beside the majesty of the mountaintop."
I don't understand this. Do you think that when you get old enough you reach some mountaintop from which the world looks trivial? I never heard of that. As a Buddhist I hear a lot of people saying that the world is totally illusory but I don't believe it and I doubt if you do either.
My best guess is that you didn't understand your father's retirement so you made something up to pretend you did. Is that it?
You say "On all this he turned his back 30 years ago, dedicating himself to gardening and carpentry, painting and golf. He knew what the affairs of the world were worth beside the majesty of the mountaintop."
I don't understand this. Do you think that when you get old enough you reach some mountaintop from which the world looks trivial? I never heard of that. As a Buddhist I hear a lot of people saying that the world is totally illusory but I don't believe it and I doubt if you do either.
My best guess is that you didn't understand your father's retirement so you made something up to pretend you did. Is that it?
2
Dear Mr. Cohen — I write this for my wife, who has just read your essay and whose eyes are too blurred with tears to see the keyboard and type you a response. Her father died in February, and she says that everything you say, applies to daughters too. We are both very sorry for your great loss. Thank you for telling your story so beautifully.
15
I was in the room with my two brothers, holding his hand, when my father died fifteen years ago. My mother had passed after open-heart surgery two years before. I don't know what else to say.
Our parents will rest forever, deep in our hearts. Thank you for sharing the story of yours.
Our parents will rest forever, deep in our hearts. Thank you for sharing the story of yours.
4
Beautiful! That was the best article I've read in weeks, if not months, you really nailed it on several fronts.
5
Getting old means accepting that we stand on an ever-narrowing ledge. One by one we lose the people who knew us as children, and thus our own history. That realization creates a particular kind of loneliness, even for those of us fortunate enough to be surrounded by young, beautiful people whom we love.
25
Thank you for a beautifully touching tribute. Your writing has always been amazing for me and this one has deeply touched my heart.
3
I've lost my 90 year old father last year, and that left me in the same spot you are right now. I feel your loss and I feel you as a brother in sentiment. I hope you can feel my hug.
4
Another way to think about "mental illness": 1--All humans have experiences. 2--Each of us has had at least one experience that devastated her/him. 3--Some of us lack the skills and/or resources to overcome that personal crisis. To identify the source of the problem and find a way to feel secure from it is more than some of us can accomplish. 4--Personal support may be the missing element. That includes an atmosphere of acceptance for the embattled one. 5--Treatment usually starts and maybe stops with medication, whether self administered or medical. 6--Group support combined with education in how to identify and interrupt distorted thinking at the root of inappropriate moods can help all of us.
I have tried to give you a thumbnail sketch of how any and all of us can feel the extremity which, when one succumbs to it, we call "mental illness."
And this was a well written, evocative piece, Mr. Cohen.
I have tried to give you a thumbnail sketch of how any and all of us can feel the extremity which, when one succumbs to it, we call "mental illness."
And this was a well written, evocative piece, Mr. Cohen.
3
In better response to the eulogy, I add that your mother as well as your father taught you how to be human. That said, your father sounds like a lovely man.
2
An elegantly poignant tribute.
"Tranquility in your inner self" is the ultimate goal to reach (in this life). Thanks for writing this piece.
"Tranquility in your inner self" is the ultimate goal to reach (in this life). Thanks for writing this piece.
5
Even when a son can see from the perspective of his father in addition to his own perspective, he can’t see both at the same time. A father’s vision is irreplaceable.
1
Roger:
I lost my father in 1990, my mother in 2004. They are still with me. I feel my father's presence each time someone makes me feel small; he lifts me up with his humor, confidence, courage and love. I feel my mother when I am frustrated with my adult son; she offers patience, wisdom and affection. (She also chastises me when I cut corners in the kitchen; she was a superb chef.)
You will always miss your father, but never lose him. Good parents ride with us throughout their lives, and ours.
I lost my father in 1990, my mother in 2004. They are still with me. I feel my father's presence each time someone makes me feel small; he lifts me up with his humor, confidence, courage and love. I feel my mother when I am frustrated with my adult son; she offers patience, wisdom and affection. (She also chastises me when I cut corners in the kitchen; she was a superb chef.)
You will always miss your father, but never lose him. Good parents ride with us throughout their lives, and ours.
3
Such beautiful writing. I lost both my parents in the last few years (my mother just one year ago) and the loss is palpable. Thank you for sharing your words with those of us who cannot express as well our feelings of how much the end of our parents lives shapes our own futures.
5
My paternal Jewish family hails from the same shtetl as Cohen's in Russia-Lithuania, and my emigre links with Johannesburg, South Africa and the (segregated) University of the Witwatersrand -- like those of many South African "Litvaks" -- are errily similar. My parents never left South Africa and did not live to witness legal apartheid coming to an end as my wife and I did, also from abroad, but in Canada rather than England and having studied and worked at McGill rather than at UK schools.
Cohen's ongoing telling of his mother's sad experience in the UK, and of his father's warm intellect, humour, deep altruism and great humanity -- prototypical of so many of that generation of South African Litvak- and German-refugee Jews (including my parents and in-laws, all of my many uncles, aunts, and their respective circles) -- is deeply insighful and enriching.
Yasher koach, Roger.
Cohen's ongoing telling of his mother's sad experience in the UK, and of his father's warm intellect, humour, deep altruism and great humanity -- prototypical of so many of that generation of South African Litvak- and German-refugee Jews (including my parents and in-laws, all of my many uncles, aunts, and their respective circles) -- is deeply insighful and enriching.
Yasher koach, Roger.
6
Mr. Cohen, you have inherited your father's gifts, just in a different idiom. Beautiful article here. "Heaven rest him now."
9
Mr. Cohen,
I wept at the beauty of your words. Thank you for the generosity in sharing something so sacred with us. I will carry Sydney with me today. You as we'll.
Tom Wagner
I wept at the beauty of your words. Thank you for the generosity in sharing something so sacred with us. I will carry Sydney with me today. You as we'll.
Tom Wagner
5
Nice.
2
You honor your father well. Thank you for sharing this.
As an eighty year old who still misses his Daddy, I feel it.
As an eighty year old who still misses his Daddy, I feel it.
12
That was lovely Mr Cohen. Your dad was obviously a man of great integrity and passionate about helping others. Some of us have been so fortunate to have had the pleasure of wonderful and inspiring parents who have brought much to our lives.
2
Thank you
2
I love that your Dad referred to you as "Darling." It made me cry.
9
A very British term of endearment. My British Grandfather and Grandmother when I was in the UK, both called me - a male - darling. Until they died. My British Mum too. It always felt just right.
6
Truly lovely. And, you ARE your Fathers Son.
4
Be gentle with yourself and take tender care.
2
What a wonderful, lovely tribute. What a special man, your father was. I'm sure you will carry on his legacy.
3
What we all must face. Once on each side of the ledger.
1
Condolences on the death of your father. This is so beautifully written. You should write a book.
2
What a wonderful eulogy for your father, made more so by the times in which it is written. This eulogy is about the majesty of life, during the death throes of a great country. It offers hope. It offers a way out of trumpery. Thank you
4
What an amazing father, and son. Happy that you were able to have him for such a long life.
1
Roger, thank you for this moving column. My late dad was also born in 1921. Here is an excerpt of what I wrote him for his 90th birthday:
I came into my father’s life a mere 9 years after my father was robbed of everything: mother, father, sister, all murdered in the Holocaust. Is it any wonder then that when I was born, my father cautioned my mother not to get too attached to me? But luckily for me, my father’s heart was way too big for him to follow his own advice.
When I studied psychology, my professors told me that a son is naturally competitive with his father. When I went on to study anthropology for my doctorate, my instructors informed me that the father-son relationship is fraught with conflict. The father, they said, fears the son who is anxious to replace him as authority figure in the family. My teachers may have been right about much, but they were not right when it came to my father. My dad showed me that I was a part of him, not some instrument of his will. As a part of him, what hurt me, hurt him. What brought me joy, brought him joy. He never raised a hand to me and always treated me with the utmost respect....
Roger, we are both exceedingly fortunate to have had wonderfully decent fathers. In your case for sure, the apple does not fall far from the tree. Thank you for all you write.
I came into my father’s life a mere 9 years after my father was robbed of everything: mother, father, sister, all murdered in the Holocaust. Is it any wonder then that when I was born, my father cautioned my mother not to get too attached to me? But luckily for me, my father’s heart was way too big for him to follow his own advice.
When I studied psychology, my professors told me that a son is naturally competitive with his father. When I went on to study anthropology for my doctorate, my instructors informed me that the father-son relationship is fraught with conflict. The father, they said, fears the son who is anxious to replace him as authority figure in the family. My teachers may have been right about much, but they were not right when it came to my father. My dad showed me that I was a part of him, not some instrument of his will. As a part of him, what hurt me, hurt him. What brought me joy, brought him joy. He never raised a hand to me and always treated me with the utmost respect....
Roger, we are both exceedingly fortunate to have had wonderfully decent fathers. In your case for sure, the apple does not fall far from the tree. Thank you for all you write.
23
Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute with all of us.
4
Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful tribute.
4
This is the gentlest loveliest ode to family that I have read. I read this with tears in my eyes. Thank you Mr. Cohen for sharing this with us.
9
Lovely.
3
One of the best pieces of writing I've read in years. The language exquisite, simple, soulful. And your father's written words to you after your mother's death shimmer equally, especially this: "But alas — for Mama ultimately, death was the only angel that could shield her from despair.”
7
Roger, this article made me cry!
3
Mr Cohen,
As I know from now nearly 20 years experience, your father will continue to live with and within you. He will cast eyes critical, approving, evaluative, or bemused on your future activities, as mine does with me. And as you consider words or actions that cover new ground, you may feel his guidance and pride.
Tim
As I know from now nearly 20 years experience, your father will continue to live with and within you. He will cast eyes critical, approving, evaluative, or bemused on your future activities, as mine does with me. And as you consider words or actions that cover new ground, you may feel his guidance and pride.
Tim
120
beautifully said. I lost my dad two years ago and everyday i hear his voice or remember a joke or what he would say to encourage me. Like Mr. Cohen I was blessed with a loving father who supported me always. What a beautiful piece of writing. i cried tears of knowing as i read them.
How right you are, Tim. Not a day passes that my father, dead 29 years now, isn't a presence in my life. Walking through a market, I'll see a food that he particularly liked (same for my mother more that 30 years gone.
We cannot achieve immortality by not dying, we achieve it in the memories of those we leave.
We cannot achieve immortality by not dying, we achieve it in the memories of those we leave.
Thank you, Marsh.
How blessed your father was to have a son like you and thank you for sharing these intimate pieces of your life with your readers.
2
My condolences, Mr. Cohen. It is an honor to know your father, a little, who was a wonderful man.
4
Beautiful.
1
I think of my own father. Thank you.
5
I'm 86 years old and lost my father 19 years ago at the age of 98. I think of this good gentleman almost every day and a smile goes on my face. I miss him just like Roger misses his father.
5
Just the way I've seen it too, since both my parents have gone on to the Great Beyond... So many natural things do seem richer, even as they have passed on. It must be the transferred energy of love everlasting.
1
Consider how fortunate you had a parent that lived to 95. Very few have had that luxury.
4
Forgive me but I hate when people say that, particularly in the days immediately following a loss.
As Whitman noted, to be human is to “contain multitudes.”
Amen. May I also add that part of that multitudes are parallel universe and our souls are all interconnected.
I have your book "The Girl from Human Street" on my Nook book reader, to be finished this summer. I brought it years ago but got side-tracked from reading Vivien Leigh's memoirs. She, like your mom, also suffered from mental illness that marked tragically the last chapters of her life. She was a beautiful woman, externally but also spiritually. She, like your mom, had also undergone electric-shock treatments. I have no doubt of your mom's grace, and no doubt that you had had many conversations with your father about it, as if she were still a phantom "access point" in our present lives. Admirably, I sense much more fortitude from your father than that of the late Sir Lawrence Olivier.
My father was just diagnosed with cancer and had his colon resected last month. They said it has been there for 3 years. He is 82. I just brought a camper and we plan to road trip along the coast of California soon. Your words are a beautiful prelude in the years to come for this father and son. Thank you!
Amen. May I also add that part of that multitudes are parallel universe and our souls are all interconnected.
I have your book "The Girl from Human Street" on my Nook book reader, to be finished this summer. I brought it years ago but got side-tracked from reading Vivien Leigh's memoirs. She, like your mom, also suffered from mental illness that marked tragically the last chapters of her life. She was a beautiful woman, externally but also spiritually. She, like your mom, had also undergone electric-shock treatments. I have no doubt of your mom's grace, and no doubt that you had had many conversations with your father about it, as if she were still a phantom "access point" in our present lives. Admirably, I sense much more fortitude from your father than that of the late Sir Lawrence Olivier.
My father was just diagnosed with cancer and had his colon resected last month. They said it has been there for 3 years. He is 82. I just brought a camper and we plan to road trip along the coast of California soon. Your words are a beautiful prelude in the years to come for this father and son. Thank you!
3
A beautiful, beautiful piece.
3
Thank you for sharing this deeply felt tribute. Owing to post - WWII circumstances I could not be with either of my parents when they died.
3
What a lovely tribute. Peace to you and your family.
2
Oh Mr. Cohen! Wonderful--wonderful--wonderful!
In your own words--your sentences--your paragraphs, this incredible man came alive. For me--for thousands of other people. Thank you. Again and again. Thank you.
"My son!" that marvelous man would say. "My son did me proud!"
Indeed he did, sir. Indeed he did. Thank you again.
In your own words--your sentences--your paragraphs, this incredible man came alive. For me--for thousands of other people. Thank you. Again and again. Thank you.
"My son!" that marvelous man would say. "My son did me proud!"
Indeed he did, sir. Indeed he did. Thank you again.
3
Though my father died while I was very young, my mother is still alive today, albeit in frail health. Your column helped put much into perspective. Thank you for sharing this beautifully-crafted piece.
3
Deepest condolences, Roger, on the loss of your beloved father. He sounds like an incredible human being, and we are all the more fortunate to have had him with us for this brief moment in time. May his memory continue to inspire you and your family in the pursuit of the important work you do in helping to educate all of us.
5
Hi Roger. Man, this is sad. Although I have never met you, I consider you as a friend and so, to see a friend mourn, makes me mourn too.
What can I say more? The beautiful comments here on this page, are telling it better than I could do. Bless you, Roger, and stay with us, for a long time to come.
What can I say more? The beautiful comments here on this page, are telling it better than I could do. Bless you, Roger, and stay with us, for a long time to come.
4
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone. The death of parents removes the last cushion against contemplating your own mortality. The cycle of life and death becomes internal, bone-deep knowledge, a source now of despair"
The death of children before parents is terrible too. It changes lives.
The death of children before parents is terrible too. It changes lives.
3
I must share this exquisitely written ode to your father, Mr Cohen, with my husband. You see, his father was born in a covered wagon between Cape Town and Johannesburg around the turn of the century. His mother died during his birth.
Currently, my husband is working at creating an account of his father, and the life that eventually let him to the U.S. and to a successful business career. I believe that the heart and soul of your account will be an inspiration to him as he continues this project.
Currently, my husband is working at creating an account of his father, and the life that eventually let him to the U.S. and to a successful business career. I believe that the heart and soul of your account will be an inspiration to him as he continues this project.
2
What a beautiful tribute. I read it with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye as I thought of my precious father and his death a year ago at age 91. His was also a beautiful life lived with dignity while caring for my mother and her mental fragility. Never complaining, never wavering. I don't feel worthy to be the one carrying on when he is gone, but for him, I am trying.
5
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing inspirations on what is beautiful, difficult, and important in life.
5
mdess--Sooner or later, we will all become orphans. The loss of one's parents usually leaves a hole that can never again be filled. Lovely reminiscence.
3
What a beautiful piece Roger, how fortunate you were to have such a person in your life, increasingly it becomes clear that we are for the most part products, for better or for worse, of not only our genealogy but more importantly of our relationships as we grow up. I never had the luxury of knowing who my father was, something that didn't really bother me as a child but as an older adult I wish I did. There's an old expression Roger, " a chip off the old block", referencing I believe, that the son is often much like the father; your dad left the world a little better place than he found it, about the best most of us can hope for, keep up the writing that causes us to stop and think, or reflect, for a moment, it's truly a gift. Thank you so much Roger, I would say you're a "chip off the old block"!
5
Thank you very much for your exquisite words and please accept my deepest condolences on your loss. I, too, have lost the people who knew me from the start and I know how difficult it is to become the older generation without the presence of the previous older generation. Within each of us, and not too difficult to find, are the sensibilities of our selves at 3 and 4 years old and the knowledge of who our parents were back then and where they reside now--in our memories.
You keep your parent alive when you write about them and their moments of beauty.
You keep your parent alive when you write about them and their moments of beauty.
2
What a beautiful tribute- and proof of the adage about the tree and the apple...
5
I became an orphan ten days before I turned 50 when my dad died, having lost my mom when I was just 32. They are always with me, in so many different ways. The sense of having lost both the people who loved me FIRST can sometimes lead me-- 12 years later-- to a place of sorrow. Mostly though, it reminds me to live life well, and to be grateful for what I have and for what I had. Many, many people are not blessed with even one good parent. I am sorry for your loss Roger, and thank you for this column.
5
Thank you for another chance to go backwards into memory, to remember my own father, other people's fathers and all those adults who nurtured us. My father, my last remaining parent, died nearly two years ago. But it wasn't until this morning when I read, "There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone", that I was able to nearly understand the sense of profound silence and solitude that is now part of my life.
7
Thank you Mr. Cohen for a most beautiful and moving essay. You have brought back memories of my own father, with whom unfortunately I did not have such a close relationship as yours, but whom I remember and appreciate every day more since his passing away in 1977. And I am proud that I was able to convey my father's sentiments and my love of him to my own son, who was born too late to meet him, and who told me once again yesterday how much he wishes he would have known him personally.
2
Memorable and moving! From another orphan at any age.
2
Mr. Cohen,
May your father's memory always be for a blessing for all those who knew him...and for those whose lives were changed because of him.
HaMakom yenachem et'chem b'toch shar avay'lay Tzion vee'Yerushalayim.
sj
http://wifelyperson.blogspot.com/2015/11/dad-has-left-bulding.html
May your father's memory always be for a blessing for all those who knew him...and for those whose lives were changed because of him.
HaMakom yenachem et'chem b'toch shar avay'lay Tzion vee'Yerushalayim.
sj
http://wifelyperson.blogspot.com/2015/11/dad-has-left-bulding.html
3
My condolences on the loss of your father, whom you were fortunate to have for so many years. Your description reminded me of e.e. cummings' "my father moved through dooms of love", which I cannot cite here in full for reasons of space -- may it be a comfort to you:
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height [...]
My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)
then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine, passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear, to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit, all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why men breathe—
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/my-father-moved-through-dooms-love-0
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height [...]
My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)
then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine, passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear, to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit, all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why men breathe—
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/my-father-moved-through-dooms-love-0
67
Thank you.
2
What a lovely essay on the passing of a dear one! Thank you. What a soothing contrast to the Donalds Sr. and Jr. Integrity and ethics as a fundamental part of human relationships.
4
What a lovely essay. We are so fortunate to have writers like Roger Cohen.
2
Thank you Roger, I've always felt that beyond the objective content of your pieces, your writing style, the sentiments you express, are beautiful.
It is such a blessing to be able to attend to the dying. There is much to be learned, not easily acquired otherwise, from our death phobic culture(s).
It is such a blessing to be able to attend to the dying. There is much to be learned, not easily acquired otherwise, from our death phobic culture(s).
123
Made me cry, again, Einstein. Well said, sir. You honor him and us. But as an old father, I will speak for Sydney, "Your writing was beautiful, but this picture is worth a billion words." It sure as hell better be on your desk my friend.
5
What a pair of handsome gentlemen in the photo!
5
Thanks for saying what I have long felt. Like an orphan when both my parents, at different times, passed on. I was truly alone. Despite the raging arguments over the years, the insistence that "you never listen" the "what, are crazy?", there were those many times when these two very damaged people gave valiant efforts to be good parents though neither one had been parented themselves. I never thought to thank them for those things, until they were gone.
99
When my father died 33 years ago, I told my wife that I was now an orphan (my mother died 10 years before him). My wife couldn't comprehend why I would call myself an orphan. No explanation could make her see the way I felt. Other people also didn't get it.
I once called some young adults in the family children & they were very insulted to be called children. I tried explaining that as long as they had living parents, they were someone's children & should be glad to still be children. They wouldn't accept the explanation. After all, children are youngsters. They were ADULTS!
When my wife's SIL's second parent died, I asked her if she finally understood why I called myself an orphan. She said she understood & now felt the same way.
When my MIL died 10 years ago (her father died 3 months before my father, who attended my FIL's funeral), I asked her if she finally understood my feelings of being orphaned. She grudgingly agreed, but won't call herself an orphan.
When you have no more parents, not only are you an orphan, you're no longer a child. You are now the adult.
I once called some young adults in the family children & they were very insulted to be called children. I tried explaining that as long as they had living parents, they were someone's children & should be glad to still be children. They wouldn't accept the explanation. After all, children are youngsters. They were ADULTS!
When my wife's SIL's second parent died, I asked her if she finally understood why I called myself an orphan. She said she understood & now felt the same way.
When my MIL died 10 years ago (her father died 3 months before my father, who attended my FIL's funeral), I asked her if she finally understood my feelings of being orphaned. She grudgingly agreed, but won't call herself an orphan.
When you have no more parents, not only are you an orphan, you're no longer a child. You are now the adult.
7
I've enjoyed your writing over the years, Mr. Cohen, but this column and "Do not go gentle" (https://nyti.ms/2jAkTTQ ) have touched me (and no doubt others) in ways that are hard for me to explain, for words fail me. So I'll just say simply: Thank you!
4
I have found they are always with us nevertheless. The conversation continues.
May his memory be a blessing.
Dear Roger Cohen,
Not having had a parent like your father, I was nonetheless greatly moved by how you brought him to life. I appreciated your nuance--not leaving out how he came to terms with his relationship with your mother; your Whitman quote--"to be human is to contain multitudes;" his wisdom in retiring at 65--in this way respecting his own mortality in knowing what to cherish in life beyond and in addition to his brilliant career; how "each if us carries a measure of mystery...wary of casting the first stone; your honor of his "deepest vulnerable part."
In your respect for his humanness--along with his many gifts--not the least of which is the loving father he was to you--you include all of us in the experience of how we learn, as fallible humans, to love and care each other. I can't leave out how you describe the gift of nature. And more. I will treasure this piece.
Not having had a parent like your father, I was nonetheless greatly moved by how you brought him to life. I appreciated your nuance--not leaving out how he came to terms with his relationship with your mother; your Whitman quote--"to be human is to contain multitudes;" his wisdom in retiring at 65--in this way respecting his own mortality in knowing what to cherish in life beyond and in addition to his brilliant career; how "each if us carries a measure of mystery...wary of casting the first stone; your honor of his "deepest vulnerable part."
In your respect for his humanness--along with his many gifts--not the least of which is the loving father he was to you--you include all of us in the experience of how we learn, as fallible humans, to love and care each other. I can't leave out how you describe the gift of nature. And more. I will treasure this piece.
186
Ms Cohen,
I was going to write my own tribute to this wonderful column but when I read your response, I saw no need as you said so brilliantly everything I would have wanted - only you said it so much better.
I was going to write my own tribute to this wonderful column but when I read your response, I saw no need as you said so brilliantly everything I would have wanted - only you said it so much better.
Yes, the death of parents leaves a hole in one's life, which can be filled with children and grandchildren.
It must have been great to have a good father. Let's not sentimentalize family relationships, they may be the best, but often, they're the worst. Some men are just horrible. My life was under a shadow until my father died, forty years too late.
1
Luck had nothing to do with it. God blessed you with this father. And this column, along with that photo (oh what a photo) of the two of you, displays a gratitude appropriate to the blessing.
105
And, so, did God condemn those who drew the short straw and ended up with alcoholic, abusive parents?!
It's a tad superstitious and nonsensical to attribute to supernatural causes what are normal events... and truly hypocritical to invoke his name only for the good things!
Mr. Cohen's lovely tribute and reflections deserve more than a sweeping religious brush stroke!
It's a tad superstitious and nonsensical to attribute to supernatural causes what are normal events... and truly hypocritical to invoke his name only for the good things!
Mr. Cohen's lovely tribute and reflections deserve more than a sweeping religious brush stroke!
1
Roger, thank you for that wonderful ode. I often sense the qualities of your father to permeate your writings. I know I am grateful to be able to read you.
Eloquent and so very touching. Nothing does prepare one for the effect of the loss of parents, but somehow they are always within us. Thank you.
Nicely said.Dad is proud.
I have tears remembering the last things I said to my mother and father....talking to my mother who was In the hospital, on the phone, and telling her that my Dad, who was I. My house, was okay, that he was a reading a book and it must have been funny because he was chuckling....we did not expect her to die that night.
Oh Dad.
This is an elegant and genuine tribute. My sympathy for your father's passing, Roger Cohen.
1
Beautiful. Thank you Roger. Both he and you have been lucky.
1
Ahhh. Lovely! Thank you.
Thanks for sharing your poignant tribute to a father any child would be proud to have. Roger, you can draw some solace from the fact he is not completely gone. You'll see his likeness every morning when you look in mirror for the first time. That's where I've seen my dad every day for the last nine years.
251
Me too - and I never thought of it that way. I thank you for this.
"The other evening everything was aglow. They are not “the same old sun and sky and trees.” That must be because my father is in them."
Has anything more beautiful and lovely ever been written about the ties between a father and his child?
BRAVO!
Has anything more beautiful and lovely ever been written about the ties between a father and his child?
BRAVO!
3
Your eloquent and tender tribute to your father provided a beautiful start for all of us who are terrified of losing our aging parents. I appreciate your bravery in helping our generation face this scary eventuality.
2
I am very touched by this loving reflection and tribute to your wonderful father. As an avid reader of your columns, I salute you.
It probably sounds odd to find good luck in the death of a loved one. But while I'm sorry for your loss, I cannot help but notice how fortunate you are to have in your mind and heart the memory of a good man, a man you clearly loved, and a man who clearly loved you. Those are valuable gifts not conferred on all of us. And in that you are genuinely blessed.
2
I lost both parents m, in the same year, in my early 20s; I envy Mr. Cohen for being able to have a long life with his Dad. And for having the words to describe his abiding love and affection for him...
No one understands "lonely" -- in the sense of feeling alone in this vast universe -- until that day when you can no longer dial a phone number and say "Hi, Dad" to the person who answers. The very lucky among us, of whom I count myself one, meet a soulmate with whom to go through life. But that is different, a mutual relationship, whereas our father was the one upon whom we could always count as a friend and ally, always to have our best interest in mind, no matter how stupidly or wretchedly we might have behaved. For communicating this sense, my thanks to Mr. Cohen (Roger) -- and for the wonderful, wise anecdote about his father's response to advice about changing his name from HIS father's name--as if.
11
Excellent.
A rarity for the NYT these days.
A rarity for the NYT these days.
See below the link to Mr. Cohen's earlier op-ed piece on his father in the NYT from 2009, the source of the Cohen-Einstein name change story, as well as for other pertinent information and reminiscences.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/01/opinion/01iht-edcohen.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/01/opinion/01iht-edcohen.html
1
Rest In Peace, Sydney. Give my love to my father, Simon.
1
Beautiful. Was starting to cry by fourth paragraph.
1
Roger, you never let your father down, but somehow, even if you had, I think the love would still be there.
1
This might be one of the most beautiful things I've ever read. I'm sitting here in tears, thinking about and missing my dad. Thank you.
1
I remember, as well, the evening my father passed away. I took my young son on a long, long walk down some familiar streets and some unfamiliar as well. The stars were thing brightly and the moon danced with the light clouds overhead. We talked off and on, and it was a chance to ensure that my son would remember the treasures he had received from his grandfather. My son had been able to talk directly with someone who knew and lived with veterans of the US Civil War, who rode a pony to a one-room school, who drove Model A automobiles, who experienced the Great Depression and WWII, who had seen the elephants exercising on Water Street as the Ringling Circus wintered in his hometown. All of these wonderful things, and more, my son now had direct knowledge of, and would not just read about them in a history book. My son could see what the future might hold for him by knowing the what my father saw in his lifetime. It's an enduring memory for me, one of gladness and not sadness, and also I hope for my son. The final gift from my father is that he is still here, in our minds and in our hearts.
Thank you Roger, for your lovely essay. You have made my day brighter.
Thank you Roger, for your lovely essay. You have made my day brighter.
1
Having read your book, "The Girl From Human Street," several years ago, this article was especially poignant. You did live in a family of real human beings, something I envy you for. If only I could cry. I lost the ability to cry around age 2 when I told myself I was never going to let them see how much they hurt me. I succeeded, became a "strong woman," as they say, and regret the loss of those tears and my humanity. Peace to you.
1
The "preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone" perhaps lies in the comfort of living in a world of your own making, surrounded by your friends and your family and your ideals and your struggles.
Lovely! A worthy tribute.
1
Thank you Mr Cohen. What a beautiful tribute to your father. I so much hope that my son will grow up to be like you.
188
This is a great piece!
Thank you. My parents were very different from yours, born in America, uneducated, hard-working and hard-worked. But gifted, in their way, and a guiding light for me always. I could say many of the same things of them that you say about your parents. This only shows, I guess, how alike we all are and how we should love one another.
1
I'm immensly touched by this beautiful essay. I lost my Mom to the debilitating disease of Alzheimer's in 2009, and my Dad at age 90 is weathering health challenges now. It's disconcerting to see one's loved ones suffer and alters one's universe and awareness of morality. Mr. Cohen's Dad was a remarkable human being whose legacy will continue. Thanks for this moving piece.
3
On first seeing the title of your piece "Sons Without Fathers", I wrongly assumed you would be writing about Don Jr., Eric, Jared, and Donald himself, for all these men do not have "fathers" in any sense of the word. They have, to their great detriment when they were children, simply been sired. Such is the state of my jaded hypervigilance. And then I read your beautiful tribute to your father. Thank you for taking the time to share such a moving account of your relationship with him. Being a father is so much more than being "great', "the best", "amazing" or "incredible". Being a father, that is living and striving to honor the role, requires the patience, dedication and commitment, and most of all, the capacity to truly give and receive love as evidenced by Sydney's love for you, and in your loving tribute to him.
Many things echoed through my mind as you brought me into your world with your Dad. Of course I thought of my own father who died eight years ago but is with me always, but the predominant echo was the voice and words of Stevie Wonder. He wrote that "love's is need of love today". Now more needed than ever. Thank you Mr. Cohen for reminding us of what it means to be a father, and to love, and to be loved.
Many things echoed through my mind as you brought me into your world with your Dad. Of course I thought of my own father who died eight years ago but is with me always, but the predominant echo was the voice and words of Stevie Wonder. He wrote that "love's is need of love today". Now more needed than ever. Thank you Mr. Cohen for reminding us of what it means to be a father, and to love, and to be loved.
1
Sometimes we aren't aware of how well-meaning, nor what rich advice, our parents provide.
At my well-into-middle-age years, I am often surprised that my parents were almost invariably right about everything.
Of course it's too late to tell them so.
At my well-into-middle-age years, I am often surprised that my parents were almost invariably right about everything.
Of course it's too late to tell them so.
5
Thank you for sharing your beautiful thoughts of your Dad and the emotions you feel. It's been over a decade that I lost my Mom and Dad and I realize the change in all aspects of my life without them. This is the life chapter that will never end.
1
I love your writing style deep thoughts with philosophical and poetic dimensions, my wife and I religiously read your articles and discuss. The deepest feelings and cluster of emotions you portrayed touched my own feelings when my father passed away some 20 years he came from the old country and taught us to learn everything you encounter in life, knowledge has power and open door to success. We all in this country very successful with grace of God and I admire your thoughts very cogent.
1
Interminable thanks for sharing such a personal and poignant story. I thought of my late father who died over twenty years ago. He was the last parent to go and at 41, I felt like an orphan. Today, I sometimes still do. Thanks for reminding me how lucky I am to have had good parents.
4
Such a beautiful essay. Thank you.
3
The 25th anniversary of my dad's death is coming in a month, but the moments encompassing his real-time passing are still etched in my recall as if they happened this morning. We were not close the last few years of his life, but every time I see an old photo of us together, especially when I was a child, my memory of him is sparked, the same as when I see a photo of my grown sons and me when they were little kids. This was a very moving, personal but also universal essay. The proverbial cycle of life.
A beautiful poem, as the emotions are so wonderfully expressed. This is what life can be when given to a child by a parent.
4
Wouldn't it be wonderful if all children were as fortunate as Cohen to have had such wonderful family experiences, like his dad Sydney! This is a gorgeous story. It's a precious piece of writing. Thank you Mr. Cohen for writing it for us so we could have a glimpse of life well lived!
5
Your loss, for which I am deeply sorry, has brought this beautiful, peace-giving prose to those of us who are part of your titular group, and for that, we thank you.
6
A very heartfelt and moving tribute from a caring son on the passing of his father. Beautifully written and like much of your writing always moving.
Thank you Mr. Cohen.
Thank you Mr. Cohen.
4
Beautiful, well written essay, striking a responsive chord in all who read it. Who cannot identify with sentence that the deaths of one's parents removes final barrier to contemplating one's own mortality? Suddenly u r on ur own, no one's son, since both parents r no longer there. However, RC does not mention accompanying regret that comes with the loss of not having done more for parents when they were alive. Father returned to Old Blighty, his birthplace after he had a stroke,over my strenuous objections, because rest of family made calculated decision that keeping him in a nursing home in US would lead to bankruptcy. Yet hadn't he earned the right to remain in this country, having worked for over 50 years as a seagoing butler? One misses all of one's kith and kin as well as the dogs we had, buried in woods at back, and whom my late sister referred to as the "Mighty Three," Treff, Juma and Muffitt, whose names are engraved on gravestone in Nassau Knowles.One question: Why did Sydney Cohen not remain in South Africa with fellow crusaders for justice, Nadine Gordimer, Helen Suzman,Nelson Mandela, Oliver Timbo and Alan Paton. inter alios, to lead the fight for social justice against the "verkrampt" leadership of the National Party which assumed power in 1948 ,and instituted hated policy of separate development? His father's was needed there more than in GB, my opinion.
1
What a beautiful heartfelt tribute to your father. Your words ring true to my soul.
4
beautiful. i miss my dad everyday. t
9
Dear Mr.Cohen: I was very moved by your article. Before reading your article I was facing a busy day, but everything slowed down as I thought about my own father who passed away 11 years ago last June 30th when you were describing your father. I've been looking at the sky, trees, flowers and feeling the breeze on my face thinking that my father is there too.
God bless you, Roger!
God bless you, Roger!
7
I am very grateful to read this heart's song at the distance of Keuka Lake in Upstate New York. Poignant writing such as this explores & even plumbs the depths we humans both descend & ascend. In this case, so lovingly... Thank you
4
Thank you for this beautiful essay Roger Cohen. I miss my dad every day.
7
The day my father died I refused to go to sleep. I could not bare to wake up to the first full day without him. at the moment of his death I found an increased capacity within myself- I didn't think it was possible to love my father more than I already did, but that expansion in my chest was a revelation.
I now see him and my mother in my everyday life. I will never stop looking for them. Thank you for this beautiful piece
I now see him and my mother in my everyday life. I will never stop looking for them. Thank you for this beautiful piece
17
I was also fortunate to have a Father who was my best friend, lived with me the last six months of his life, told me to go to work, said goodbye, and a final "I love you" with a kiss and hug the day he died. My memory of our relationship, and that of my Mother, makes me so fortunate.
15
This is a candid and touching article. I like the Whitman quote, that we "contain multitudes". Since you write so well, a biography of your father - and mother, of whom you have written before - could be a good book. Looking back at my family, I see how so many of their attitudes and actions were representative of their times, not radically individual - as in your family, the then approved electro shock treatment of your mother. I love the photo of your and your father.
6
Beautiful. Thank you.
15
In general, I dislike the writings of Roger Cohen. But he is gifted and when he displays his gentle, human side, he can be very moving, as he is here.
3
Simply beautiful.
4
Ah Roger, such tenderness. Your Pa and you were so fortunate to have created such a lovely relationship. I remember well when my Ma died in '95, my Pa 10 months before here. An emptiness overwhelmed me. I hear the chickadees and work in the garden and know Pa is present, I know Ma is present most of the time. I can chat with them whenever I wish. I still yearn for answers to some questions. My siblings and I compare notes on food we ate, on memories we share. Thank you for writing. I am happy you had your lovely father.
8
The most important commandment to me is to honor thy father and mother. Sir, you have done that. In doing so, you honor all of us. Thank you for being the best son any father could hope to have.
37
I don't recall who exactly you were writing about in a previous eulogy -- perhaps your mother or other family member -- but the grace and kindness with which you describe dignified death moved me then, as it does now. In the end, as circumstance permit, love is the last thing that we can freely give, and hope to receive, when our time is due.
11
This is so beautiful. Thank you so much for contemplating and sharing this. When I visit a shiva home, I sometimes see the stories of the lost beloved floating from the mouths of the mourners to the hearts of the listeners. It is a way to distribute treasured pieces of their life into the lives of those who take the stories with them, thereby extending the life of the departed. I'll take your father's garden with me, and seek to coax life out of the multitudes that dwell within. May you be comforted knowing that your father is not just in the sky and leaves, but in the hearts of your readers as well.
12
I am sorry for your loss. My parents died in South Africa 46 years ago when we were young. My grandparents (who were then in their 80's, bless them) took in 3 teenagers and nurtured them. It wasn't until my grandparents died that I truly felt like an orphan. I feel your pain and your love. Thank you for a wonderful essay.
8
Your insight and wisdom are broad, deep, and wide Mr. Cohen. Thank you for sharing these reflections and reminding us that there exists grace amidst adversity (your father's dedication to your mother), and beauty, humor and balance in the imperfection of this life.
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My father and mother have been gone 12 and 10 years respectively. I miss them more with each passing day and I suppose that widely common feeling would support the hope for and belief in an eternal re-awakening.
As with all of us my parents were flawed in ways that notably affected we kids growing up. Happily, none of us felt the need to wallow in self pity for their shortcomings as parents. That we loved them without restrictions owed to the recognition of their own flaws and the lessons learned from their forthright admissions of them.
My mother's family who roundly condemned my father for his failings as provider could never understand why we kids, deprived in large measure growing up, did not condemn our dad, but rather embraced him fondly.
Their company is sorely missed. But I thank them for their example of learning to accept ourselves.
As with all of us my parents were flawed in ways that notably affected we kids growing up. Happily, none of us felt the need to wallow in self pity for their shortcomings as parents. That we loved them without restrictions owed to the recognition of their own flaws and the lessons learned from their forthright admissions of them.
My mother's family who roundly condemned my father for his failings as provider could never understand why we kids, deprived in large measure growing up, did not condemn our dad, but rather embraced him fondly.
Their company is sorely missed. But I thank them for their example of learning to accept ourselves.
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That was so beautiful! I read it thru tears. Thank you for sharing your personal story and the image of your dad. It means so much to me on this day in particular, as my mom passed away 31 years ago on this exact day. By the age of 30 I had lost both parents and a grand mom who lived with us. I felt the weight shift and the gravity of the new responsibilities that I would bear alone for my two year old. By the way, she would have been 95 also as her birthday was yesterday. I am glad you had all those years and memories with your dad.
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It sounds like Sydney Cohen was a wonderful human spirit. How fortunate you were to have had such a father! I am sorry for your loss. Thanks for your thought provoking essay.
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Beautiful. . .brought tears to my eyes. Thank you - Donna in Fort Collins
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Simply beautiful
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For someone who lost his father, sorry about your loss, and the painful irreversibility of life.
I'll keep this article, for your having captured both life's sadness and joy.
I'll keep this article, for your having captured both life's sadness and joy.
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Thank you Roger. Beautiful writing, beautiful thoughts. Always appreciate reading you.
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Thank you for sharing this poignant and vulnerable memory of your father
7
I lost my father just over two years ago. I'm still making sense of our relationship and what it means to me to be without either of my parents. It's too easy to dwell on the negatives, of which you gave us a glimpse in this piece, but you reminded me of all the excellent preparation I received from both of my parents to be a flawed but hopeful person.
8
How very beautiful.
8
Sorry for your loss. Your father seemed like a wonderful man. It is clear there was much mutual love. Your tribute was heartfelt and touching. Thank you for sharing your memories.
6
Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute to a wonderful person. As we say in the Jewish tradition, "May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem." The general idea is that no human being can truly understand the loss that another human being is feeling and offer really meaningful comfort -- only God can (if you believe in God). I wish that for you.
8
Thank you for your beautiful paean to Sidney Cohen, your wonderful father, Roger Cohen. Just as you saw your father the other evening, where "everything was aglow", so we see our dead parents in the day's gorgeous clouds above, in the moon's eye at night. Please know that "Daughters Without Mothers" have similar feelings.
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You are a lucky guy to be left with such memories.
12
This tender piece is an antidote to the poison in our society of craven and selfish men. Here is a man who dedicated his life to truly serving others. Here is a man who did not abandon his wife when she became mentally ill. Thank you, Mr. Cohen, for showing us a man of courage, devotion, strength of character, a good, wise, and honorable man. What a gift you have had, Mr. Cohen. The world needs more, so many more men like your father.
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Stella, please re-read the piece!
Mr. Cohen admits that his father *withdrew*... that he did not simply bear up under it. He also later notes his father had another relationship.
Fully understandable, but don't make his Dad out to be a utter Stoic or a saint or something other than what he was-- an amazing, caring, thoughtful, yet multi-dimensional individual. It's the reason for the Whitman quote about being human means having "multitudes" within!
The column was far more nuanced than you describe!
Mr. Cohen admits that his father *withdrew*... that he did not simply bear up under it. He also later notes his father had another relationship.
Fully understandable, but don't make his Dad out to be a utter Stoic or a saint or something other than what he was-- an amazing, caring, thoughtful, yet multi-dimensional individual. It's the reason for the Whitman quote about being human means having "multitudes" within!
The column was far more nuanced than you describe!
Dear Mr. Cohen,
Thank you for sharing your father with us. Lovely that you can articulate his formidable life's accomplishments and his ageless soul so beautifully. Honestly, Einstein would have suited a man such as he. I am so sorry for your loss. Silly note: I received my malaria vaccine in Reading, before leaving for J-town in the '70's.
Thank you for sharing your father with us. Lovely that you can articulate his formidable life's accomplishments and his ageless soul so beautifully. Honestly, Einstein would have suited a man such as he. I am so sorry for your loss. Silly note: I received my malaria vaccine in Reading, before leaving for J-town in the '70's.
8
Not the point of this beautiful piece, I realize, but the line ".. chickens ... squawking in terror if picked for a Sunday lunch" ... stood out. Yes, even they are sentient: we should stop killing the innocent and the helpless (even if they have feathers .. or hide or scales).
As for the piece itself, very nice.
As for the piece itself, very nice.
7
A father who was a real mensch, a son who is one, too.
Sad to say, I know of a family in a white house who will have no comprehension of the impact this relationship can have on the next generation and the next...
and the society in which we live.
Sad to say, I know of a family in a white house who will have no comprehension of the impact this relationship can have on the next generation and the next...
and the society in which we live.
18
This has made me think how one of my sons will deal with my eventual death.
Years ago, and in retrospect too soon, I exposed what I considered the truth of our temporary existence to his still developing mind and while I am not sure, strongly suspect he was adversely affected with this unsolicited knowledge. In some ways, more than I willingly admit, that untimely exposure to reality drove him to religious flirtation and the personal resentment though not clearly discernible has never gone.
I left him without the chance to approach life on his own terms and he will probably accept my departure with a sense of relief.
Years ago, and in retrospect too soon, I exposed what I considered the truth of our temporary existence to his still developing mind and while I am not sure, strongly suspect he was adversely affected with this unsolicited knowledge. In some ways, more than I willingly admit, that untimely exposure to reality drove him to religious flirtation and the personal resentment though not clearly discernible has never gone.
I left him without the chance to approach life on his own terms and he will probably accept my departure with a sense of relief.
1
How beautiful. May his memory be for a blessing.
8
Thank you for sharing this warm, deep and true hesped of your father. May his memory be a blessing. Alav haShalom.
8
It was a pleasure to have met your father, however briefly, through this column today. Would that there were more like him in this world. Oh, the places we could go!
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Mr. Cohen, please accept my sincere condolences at the loss of your father. I lost both my parents over the past nine months, and both suffered from different forms of mental illness. Your column today touched me, and spurred once again the complicated feelings I have at the deaths of my parents, the sorrow and joy at having known them, and the anger I am at last letting go. I hope you continue to honor your father and mother by embracing each moment of life in all its complexity and beauty. May you continue to be a beacon of light, learning, and joy to all your loved ones, even as you strive--always successfully, I might add--to educate and enlighten all your readers. Just as your father was a blessing to you and all your family, you are a blessing to us all.
15
the most beautiful tribute to a lost parent I have ever read.
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You have given your Sidney a beautiful and fitting tribute. So sorry for your loss.
16
Sincerest condolences to Roger Cohen from the depth of my heart.
9
You are a fine writer sir. Condolences on the loss of your father. This is one article I will save for future reference.
12
An appropriate tribute. It sounds like you were a fortunate son in having such a father, and that your father must have been fortunate too.
(I think you mean the "gift of foresight" rather than "hindsight"; we almost all have the benefit of hindsight.)
(I think you mean the "gift of foresight" rather than "hindsight"; we almost all have the benefit of hindsight.)
5
Deepest sympathy for your loss, Roger Cohen. Beautifully recorded.
9
So eloquent, so heartfelt, and so true, about losing our parents. Thank you, and sincere sympathy for your lost.
21
Beautiful.
I might read this to my 94 yr. old mother.
She would be touched by your love and eloquence.
I might read this to my 94 yr. old mother.
She would be touched by your love and eloquence.
9
Before I clicked on Comments, that was the word that came to mind--beautiful.
Mr. Cohen, much more than nearly all in his field, obviously spends much time striving for elegance in his writings. Here, his words not only illuminate great lessons of life, but emotionally move. There are several paragraphs that I could read over and over. This is a column I want to print and keep. Well done.
Mr. Cohen, much more than nearly all in his field, obviously spends much time striving for elegance in his writings. Here, his words not only illuminate great lessons of life, but emotionally move. There are several paragraphs that I could read over and over. This is a column I want to print and keep. Well done.
10
After losing my mother this year, three days before what would have been her 89th birthday, I've been surprised to find that 65 years with her was not enough.
That in itself can make me happy, at times.
That in itself can make me happy, at times.
44
What a beautiful and touching piece. Writing and sharing it with us all helps us to acknowledge and remember our humanity and what is important in this all too short life. Thank you.
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Thank you for sharing this lovely memory of your father.
7
Thank you, Mr. Cohen, for your beautiful tribute to your father.
11
Thank you for sharing this. I lost my father this year and he was the world tree of my universe, so I appreciate the love and relationship with your father that you provide a glimpse of here.
7
This is a beautiful tribute.
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone."
There is also no answer to it, alas.
"There is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone."
There is also no answer to it, alas.
17
Thank you for sharing. Deeply moving. The pain of losing one's parents never goes away. But in time, magically, one's memories turn to the best moments in their lives, drowning out the trauma of the moments they leave us.
44
Thank you, Mr. Cohen, for so eloquently and movingly sharing your perspective on paternal loss. Having lost both of my parents this year and become an orphan at 57, I can concur that "there is no preparation for the loneliness of a world from which the two people who put you in it have gone." Never have I felt so unmoored, cast off into an open sea of grief on which there is no speck of familiar land to provide hope and comfort—only the infinite, beckoning horizon on all sides. Intellectually, I understand that to be orphaned, to survive one's parents, is the price exacted for living many decades. Emotionally, I struggle to fathom the totality and permanence of this loss. The "new quality of silence" rings loud in my ears and renders me mute. I drift on.
109
I recommend a wonderful book called The Adult Orphan about the experience of losing both parents.
3
beautifully stated.
Thank you for this beautiful tribute Mr. Cohen, and for sharing your father's life with your readers. I love this prayer from my (Catholic) tradition: "Eternal rest grant unto him oh Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace."
24
There is no finer blessing than to have a loving and supportive father. There is not a day I don't wish I could turn back time to 2003 before my Dad passed away.
We don't measure our father's death by their age. We measure it by our own age (44, for me), the years we will miss thereafter, and the time when we first walk alone.
It is beautiful to see a tribute to a man from his children. We seem to be darker about fathers these days.
Thank you, Mr. Cohen.
We don't measure our father's death by their age. We measure it by our own age (44, for me), the years we will miss thereafter, and the time when we first walk alone.
It is beautiful to see a tribute to a man from his children. We seem to be darker about fathers these days.
Thank you, Mr. Cohen.
54
I always took some comfort that I loved and treasured my parents. So many do not have that good fortune. But no, the world will never be the same. Bless.
15
Your beautifully written piece hit very close to home as I now consider my own father's passing (he will be 89 next month). My mom left us a few years ago and the idea of becoming an orphan does indeed expose the fact that my own mortality is no longer an abstract thought but something I most confront.
Thank you for sharing your story; may God help you deal with your loss.
Thank you for sharing your story; may God help you deal with your loss.
10
I never knew my father because he died when I was 18 months old and my mother was absent. However, I have always dreamed of growing up with a father or mother such as you described. Your thoughts expressed in such beautiful prose touched my heart.
Maybe in my next life…
Maybe in my next life…
95
A beautiful tribute. May his memory be eternal.
11
We do indeed cite your father's pioneering malaria studies to this day--they underpin our work and justify our hope that a malaria vaccine is within reach. I am so glad to learn about the other contours of his rich life. I lost my own father last year, and am moved by this lovely piece. Thank you.
216
Beautifully stated. May your memories and family comfort you during this difficult hour.
12
Thank you for sharing the gift of your father with us through the gift of your beautiful prose.
19
Dear Mr.Cohen,
Every time I am lucky enough to read something you've written, I have often been so moved. Today was no exception. Thank you for sharing this beautiful remembrance. My condolences on the loss of your father.
Every time I am lucky enough to read something you've written, I have often been so moved. Today was no exception. Thank you for sharing this beautiful remembrance. My condolences on the loss of your father.
282
Beautifully written, Mr. Cohen.
Thank you for bringing us all inside in sharing this most personal part of your life.
As someone who recently lost his father - and mine, like yours, was a wonderful human being - I can relate.
My deepest and sincerest condolences to you and your entire family.
Thank you for bringing us all inside in sharing this most personal part of your life.
As someone who recently lost his father - and mine, like yours, was a wonderful human being - I can relate.
My deepest and sincerest condolences to you and your entire family.
58
What a gift to have such fine memories and feelings of your father. This is not true for all of us. Alas. If only.
74
Your loss now feels like mine. That was beautifully written. I am so sorry for your loss and for humanity's. Decent men these days seem scarce.
177
Sincerest condolences, from a subscriber in Switzerland who thanks you for sharing this; it resonates strongly for all those of us in a similar situation.
I subscribed to the New York Times so that I could be sure of reading all your columns. Thank you.
I subscribed to the New York Times so that I could be sure of reading all your columns. Thank you.
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