Manford

 My Dearest Celeste~
Dr. Angel has suggested I write letters to you. She says that, perhaps, it will be therapeutic and that, in some strange way, it may make you seem closer than you are. I miss you, Celeste. Spending 54 years with you, of course I am going to miss you. I miss sitting in our front room, having our morning coffee; you commenting on how lovely it looks outside, while I complain about the current political status of our nation. Looking back on it now, I wish I hadn't complained so much. I wish I had been less of a grump. Your positivity was the combatant to my sullen disposition. Why did you pick me, Celeste. You could have had your choice of any strapping, young man. Why did you choose the tall, gangly fellow who decided far too young to grow up and be a man. I took everything too serious, you always told me that. But you did it with a smile and a laugh. Oh, I miss your laugh. I watch old home movies of us and I feel myself begin to crumble into pieces. For a man who has pulled himself together, pushed out softer feelings, and put up walls stronger than Berlin, I sure have become an old softie. Don't you get me wrong now, I still yell at the children who insist on running all over the damn lawn when there is a perfectly good sidewalk a few inches away. I still have to call and give an earful to that dimwitted dame from the social security office who's never sent a check on time in her life! And I still curse the farkakte mailman for delivering Deloris' mail to our apartment. Some things never change. Some times, I wish nothing ever changed. I wish you would still make cookies for the Rabbi Saperstein so that I could steal a few and not tell you (though I think you knew) I wish you would still turn on Barbra Streisand on a Sunday morning and dance in the front room in your soft, yellow nightgown until I would yell at you to 'turn off the damn Streisand! Always with the Streisand!' I'm sorry I was such a harsh boy, such a stubborn young man, and such an ill-tempered old dreck. You were, and still are, my everything. You're my lady and you always will be. Say hello to Angela for me, and I'll give your love to Ricky, if he ever calls. Goodnight, my lady.
 ~Your Manford