Uncle Morty is my mom’s uncle, married to my grandmother’s sister; a sweet man with eyebrows as animated as his stories.

When I was in college, he used to send me instant messages, and every time he said goodbye, I laughed; he signed those IMs “Love, Uncle Morty and Aunt Selma.” In the summers when he and Aunt Selma visited my grandmother in Syracuse, Uncle Morty would take my mom, my sister, and me out to breakfast, long before my grandmother and my aunt woke up to discourage him from doing so.

Three years ago, Uncle Morty and Aunt Selma celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary with a party in Syracuse. There are pictures of them kissing like it was their first anniversary.

In May they moved to a house in Ohio, after spending over sixty years in an apartment in Brooklyn. Shortly after they moved, Uncle Morty left my mother a message on her answering machine, happily describing the grass, the trees, and the air he was enjoying there.

Today we’re going to his funeral.

We’ll miss you, Uncle Morty.

Love, Sara