There are at least three people whose presence in my life is so precious and miraculous that I know any attempt on my part to tell you about them will fall short of its mark. It is impossible, at least for me, to set down in words how much I love them, how each of them is as vital to my being as my vital organs are to my body.

I can name them for you. My father, Sanford Kahrmann, was the greatest gift life has ever given me. Poppop, my mother’s father, Prescott Beach, had a Jimmy Stewart like warmth to him, and was, like my father, one of my life’s angels from the beginning. There is my friend, Michael Sulsona. He and I have been friends for more than 30 years now and do not think a brother can love a brother any more than I love Michael.

I am in the midst of writing a memoir and the end is in sight. I know I still have writing to do when it comes to my father, Poppop and Michael. Sometimes stillness comes over me and it is as if my body freezes in place. I cannot move a muscle. I cannot even get my pen to move. I know I will fail in any attempt to write the three miracles in my life just mentioned.

I know, too, that the greater failure would be not to try.


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