5/9/1933 – 11/27/2019
I grew up watching my grandfather take many roles; the goofy ball, the photographer, the mensch, the napper, the father, the disciplinarian, the bicyclist, the book aficionado, and countless others.
A month ago, I visited him for what turned out to be the last time, but it was the first time we truly talked to one another. We talked about love and loss, triumph, and failure, but mostly we talked about our family name. From him, the Rosenblum name was passed to my father, who gave it to me, and one day I will pass it to my children. They will know the family history that comes from being a Rosenblum because my grandfather taught me what it meant to be part of the Rosenblum family.
To the man facing his death that told everyone, “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” I will cry for you, but I will also laugh and live for you. Thank you, Grandpa.