My brother Johnny would start seeding crops for fall harvesting in August, around his birthday. Every seed packet and catalog of his included the day to maturity — the amount of time it takes from germination to the plants’ full mature stage. Johnny would make sure that a given crop would mature before the weather got too cold. He was so meticulous. Johnny always said growing vegetables for the fall was easier than for the spring, since he could control garden pests better.

Johnny’s fall harvest would include kale, carrots, lettuce, radishes, and turnips, as well as many other vegetables. He started his spring, summer, and fall gardens when he was a child, and he continued planting gardens throughout his life. He would distribute a good deal of his bounty to friends, neighbors, and relatives. Every time I see a vegetable garden, I think of Johnny, who I will always miss.

I had you in my life for 65 of your birthdays and you are terribly missed for your last 5 birthdays since you passed in the very beginning of the Pandemic. I treasure all the many memories that I have. I miss your energy, compassion, kindness and love. I miss your life.

My life was more significant, fuller, and better because you were here. Thank you, Johnny, for being a wonderful brother. Tomorrow is your birthday and I will always remember and honor the kind and special soul you were and still are.

My Dad was an appliance repair, salesman/coin operated laundry mat owner since he was 16 years old. A self made man at such a young age; he was well known around the South as one of the most intelligent, genuine, funny men you would ever have the pleasure of knowing. Why everyone knew Tommy Sizemore and to know him was to love him. He never met a stranger and was always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone or any animal in need.

As a young child, I have very fond Summer memories of getting to ride to work with him and catch calls. We’d make a whole fun day out of it. And he even let me paint his tool box rainbow colors–I decorated every inch of each tool box to which he told me years later, his customers would say “I see you have a talented artist in the family.” I remember him accepting payment in the form of homemade honey and jams because the customer couldn’t afford the repair. That’s the kind of man my Dad was–always put others before himself.

On our many adventures together, I got to ride around with my Dad to all of his different coin operated laundries. What always stuck out in my mind was Pop always had loose change in his pockets. It’s how I always knew when he was home from work as I could hear the jingle jangle of the change in his pockets as he came in the door.

What most don’t know is how something as simple as the change in his pockets gave me some of the best memories of my life. From buying me a snow cone at the park on a sunny, Saturday afternoon, to laying down a quarter on every row of colors at Six Flags so I was guaranteed to win a giant stuffed animal, getting me an icey after any Dr’s appointments that required shots, or donating change to my giant Coca Cola bottle bank– there’s nothing more magical than those moments.

Pop didn’t realize that with just the change in his pocket, he made this girl, this Daughter, so happy. I wish he would have known how magical those moments were and how much they meant to me. The impact he made on me and the world will always be cherished and never forgotten. And who would have ever thought he made all of this possible with just the change in his pocket? May we always try every day to live like Pop.

Today, I find myself thinking about my Grandpa Kevin. He should have been glued to the TV today, watching all the swim events and remembering his old college days when he competed for Ohio State. His event was backstroke.

Memories and grief are like this — you can go days, weeks even, without thinking or feeling much about the one you lost, but then something hits you out of nowhere. In this case, the Olympics. You might not think Covid and the Olympics go together, but then again why shouldn’t they?

I suspect that with the election forthcoming, there will be a lot more pandemic chatter than has been present in the past year, and a lot of blaming. This will make me think of Grandpa Kevin and how none of us could be there with him at the end. That aloneness of his death will haunt me forever.

The fireworks are hailin’ over your Little Eden tonite, sending my mind back on a trip back to hot boardwalks and a Trenton Pork Roll sub. Danny, we were talking all about you tonight. Eight of us went out (You know where we went) and we were remembering being 18 in summer — all the shit we did. Asbury Park. We are all 60 now, some 61, 62. We are still proud to be from home down the shore. We miss you, man. We’re keeping your secrets safe.