My Dad Is Dead

Last night, Joel Brochstein, born June 16th, 1934, passed away. He was my father. While he made it to 90, which was longer than his brother, Bobby, and his two cousins, Branard and Raymond, he didn't live as long as his parents, Sam and Bertha Brochstein.

I will always be grateful to my father for several reasons. First, he and my mother adopted me and raised me, opening the world to me. Second, he taught me how one's spouse is so important. My parents would have celebrated their 64th anniversary tomorrow. There were some other things that I liked too.

My father struggled physically. He was suffering a rare, terminal skin cancer. While he was told a long time ago when his brother had skin cancer, dying ultimately from it, that it wasn't genetic, it was the exact same kind. Recently, he had two heart attacks and also had pneumonia and COVID. My father was terminally ill and ready to go. He lived quite a long time!

I could say a lot of not-so-nice things about him, but I don't care to do so here. I will say that all of us have to deal with imperfect people in our lives, and he was far from perfect. No one is perfect! I am glad that I learned some things watching his life.

I am glad for him to have escaped his suffering, and I wish all of my family the best as they mourn his loss.