Observations -- In memory of a dear friend

A dear friend, a marvelous person is dead. She was a second mother to me. An affectionate, generous, inquisitive, intellectually intriguing woman for those of us who were lucky to have known her.

I met her at a party for graduate students. I just arrived in the United States to study for my Ph.D. at Case-Western Reserve in Cleveland, Ohio. I must confess in those years I felt lost due to my lack of knowledge of the English language and the cultural differences between Italy and the United States.

She realized I was having problems. She came toward me and asked me where I was from. As soon as she found out I was from Italy, she began to talk about Italy and Rome as if she had always lived there. I felt immediately at home. My fears vanished. After that day she remained a confidant, an advisor, and a friend with whom I could discuss any subject.

Her questions were always probing and challenging. Her suggestions were always wise. She knew how to find the angle to make people relax and talk about their feelings and beliefs. I knew I could always call her and find warm encouragement.

Every Thanksgiving we went to her house. A marvelous bouquet of flowers was invariably adorning the table. Candles were lit on an immaculate tablecloth. Drinks of any kind were carefully arranged. I was the bartender, a duty I did not mind. Often champagne was the drink of choice as we tasted the succulent hors d'oeuvres or we ate the delicacies she carefully prepared. Everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be, as she shared her love for us.

After her husband died, I sat at the head of the table. My duty was to fill the glasses with various libations and say a few words before Thanksgiving dinner. At the end of the toast I would go close to her and give her a big, profound kiss on her forehead and then on her cheek as I told her we all loved her very much.

This Thanksgiving was much different. She was not feeling well and had to cancel the festivities. She had to go to the hospital. We all went to see what was happening. We saw her breathing with difficulty, completely sedated. She could not see us. But we all talked to her anyway. We were trying to reach her, with the hidden desire to stop the unstoppable.

I kissed her again, as I always did: deeply, profoundly on her tired forehead, holding her head with my left hand. Mrs. Veatch died a few hours later.

George Dagnino, PhD
Editor, The Peter Dag Portfolio. Since 1977
Ranked second best gold timer by Timer Digest

To find out more about my in depth views of the markets and my strategy just visit our website https://www.peterdag.com/ where you can subscribe to The Peter Dag Portfolio. You can also call me at 1-800-833-2782 to discuss your specific investment portfolio.

Disclaimer.The content on this site is provided as general information only and should not be taken as investment advice nor is it a recommendation to buy or sell any financial instrument. Actions you undertake as a consequence of any analysis, opinion or advertisement on this site.