Halloween to my husband Mike was bigger than Christmas. For a guy who never took off of work, this was the one day he would rush home to be there to go trick or treating with the kids. His job was to take them out at night to all the spooky houses. He drove our big old green van and when the door opened it was like the clown car at the circus. Everyone would get out and run up and down a street and keep going till very late. I don’t know who had more fun–Mike or the kids. Me? by that time I was with a cup of tea, exhausted!!

Such great memories.

In Jody’s mind, Halloween ran from July 5th until the night before Thanksgiving. After the Independence Day holiday, grocery stores would start featuring bags of Halloween candy. Each week, Jody would buy another bag. “You never want to run out of candy” was his mantra. Before I knew it, there were at least a dozen bags of candy stuffed into a kitchen drawer. That was a little bit over the top, given that, normally, we only had about fifteen kids come knocking on our door. It took me a while to catch on. During the day, while I was at work, Jody was snacking on the accumulated sweets! This would continue after Halloween until he had polished off all the candy that was left over.

Jody also insisted that we (read that as “I”) carve a pumpkin. Our tradition started with Jody sketching out the face that he wanted carved in the pumpkin. He would sit back and laugh while I performed a lobotomy on the unsuspecting gourd. He chuckled as I exhibited my revulsion as I grabbed handfuls of guts from inside the pumpkin. Before we knew it, the surgery was over. We would light a votive candle, put it inside the pumpkin, and, turning off the lights, sit back and enjoy a few pieces of all that leftover candy.

Happy Halloween in Heaven. I’m sure the candy is sweet.

We drove from Paducah to Frankfort to be at the Memorial. It’s beautiful. We live in a community of Covid deniers. We cannot speak about how or why dad died without hearing negative comments about his heart problems, and how that’s what really killed him, not Covid.

Well, being at the Memorial feels like a home for our grief. No hiding, no lying. When I stood there and saw myself in the mirrored sphere, I became a part of it, and everyone else who comes to visit is a part of it too.

So, this is what it means. It’s a neutral, lovely, safe space.

Ben wanted to leave his mark on the world. He had energy, knowledge, and passion to share and so much to give. What he ultimately didn’t have was time. He lost his individuality and his dreams in the hospital and became just another body in a refrigerated truck. Since he can’t leave the mark he wanted to leave in Brooklyn, I want him to leave his mark everywhere I can — both tangibly and intangibly.

Rami’s Heart creates a space not only for a physical mark, but for reflection, to grieve with others, and to remember these individuals as the world moves on without them. They must not be forgotten — neither in our lifetime nor in the generations that come after us.

I lost my brother, Wilmard Santiago on April 15, 2020 at the height of the pandemic in New York City. Like so many others, we couldn’t be there for them. We couldn’t comfort them, hold their hand and tell them how much we loved them. We couldn’t have funerals for them.

I have added my brother’s name to so many memorials. I felt I needed to do this to keep his memory alive; to let people know he wasn’t just a number. He was a father, a son, a husband, a brother, a friend, and an all-around amazing human being. My family and I felt so lost and empty and felt we were robbed from giving him the honorable farewell he so deserved.

Then Rami’s Heart was created. I immediately added his name. Little did I know that it would become the first, permanent memorial in the US and in New Jersey, so close to home. I got the opportunity to visit and see firsthand the hearts filled with the names of loved ones lost to COVID. It was very emotional and sad to read the names and the notes left by loved ones. But at the same time it felt so peaceful. It gave me comfort that he was being honored and remembered as the wonderful human being that he was. I felt that I wasn’t alone in my pain.

I am so thankful for this permanent memorial and for the co-founders and all who helped and continue to maintain it so peaceful and serene. It was what many of us needed. My brother, Wilmard and my stepson Alberto Locascio are remembered there and I will forever be grateful to have a place to go to remember them and pray for them and all the innocent lives that were lost.

May they all rest in peace.