Alex Benders

What is there you can say for someone who has done so much in your life? Someone who has always been there for you and meant so much to you, only to be ripped away in such an untimely manner? My dad wasn't perfect-- nobody is, of course-- but he was my dad and for that he was perfect, he was golden and there was nothing else I could have needed or asked for.

There's so much that can be said about him and not enough time to get it all out. A five minute speech isn't enough to truly do him justice. The best thing any of us can do now is to keep talking, keep reminiscing about the good times. Even the bad times have a positive spin on them now, simply for the fact that he was a part of them. What I wouldn't give to have him scolding me that I stay up too late or nagging me to eat more fruits and vegetables. Now all these mundane every-day details are precious memories of a man who lived a rich and full if much too short existence.

My dad went through a lot in his 66 years of life; there were many hardships but so many more miracles and wondrous things. He grew up under the harsh circumstances of post-World War II USSR, he served in the military, he found love at first sight with my mom and he raised two nerdy but loving kids. He traveled across the world to find a better life for his family only to go from being a Jew in a bigoted Ukraine to being a "Russian" in Cold War-era America. And yet despite all the difficulties and all the toil and all the hours upon hours of hard work, he was able to build something for himself and his family. He persevered and accomplished so much. A comfortable lifestyle, a devoted wife who traveled the globe with him, two children he was so proud of, a flock of rambunctious grandkids that meant the world to him, a warm and dedicated extended family, and so so many friends.

My father had a zest for life and numerous interests and passions. He was an avid sports fan, with his two favorites being hockey and soccer. Back in the Ukraine he actually played on a team and here in America he frequently tried to get me and my cousin Michael into playing it with him in the nearby schoolyard. He was a diehard Rangers fan, through thick and thin, no matter how pathetic their losses. He was also a cultured man and a great aficionado of music and the arts. He knew every composer and all their famous pieces; you could hum a tune and he would tell you what it was. When I was younger I would frequently go to see the ballet and the opera with him and my mom and those were special times that have shaped me in so many ways. He had high standards in many aspects of his life and this only pushed me and those around him to be better people, to do greater things in life.

But he was also such a funny and playful man, with a quirky and silly sense of humor. He would always sing songs and tell jokes and read poetry at family gatherings. At big parties he was never shy to jump on the dance floor and he knew how to bust a move in his own spirited way. He would do funny voices and put on shows for me using small toys and ornaments. He would draw sweet little pictures in notes and memos that he left us. He would arrange the stuffed animals on my bed, even as I grew older. He loved cats and would always cuddle and chase and coo our kitties. I am quite certain this is where I got my crazy cat lady qualities from.

He was a caring man who worried about so many people and only ever wanted the best for us, even when we couldn't see this. He loved his family and would do anything for us, no matter what. And we loved him back, and still love him so very much. There are no words for the loss we feel now, nor the tragedy that someone this good and this strong and this amazing should vanish from the world. But you know what? He isn't really gone, not as long as we remember him and keep remembering him. So by all means-- talk and remember, reminisce and laugh and cry and keep him in your heart. I know I will. I will never forget you Papa. I love you and I miss you.