Our family used to always say if you wanted to find Mike Mantell drive to Barnes and Noble. The man spent more time looking and buying books than he should have been working around the house. So it was so fitting that his story would be read at a book signing in Queens, New York.

Mike was born in Queens but then moved to Long Island. The book reading was the funeral I never was able to have. The wake where people talk about the life of the deceased and share memories of Mike. Again something that I was not allowed to have due to Covid. It was sad, I cried, but it also gave me great peace that Mike was recognized especially by people who understand. What a fitting tribute to Mike, to his life. Martha, there are not enough thank you’s that I can say to you.

My dad and I didn’t have to say anything … we could read each other’s thoughts.

“Always say what you need to say, because you never know what can happen” he told me as a young teen.
So, I always did.

“Break the chain” he would tell me when I didn’t like the way my life was headed.
So I would.

“Where’s the love?” He would ask when family would argue.
He reminded us to love first.

He didn’t teach me about God, he modeled a God loving man.

Him and his brother laughed until tears rolled! They mumbled stories through the laughter no one else could understand.
They taught me connection.

He turned wood into art pieces.
He taught me creative thinking.

“You know you can always talk to me.”
He taught me trust.

“Dad, how do I look?” I asked him the morning of my first day at the new job.
“Smile.” He told me
So I did.
“You look beautiful.”
He taught me that I am beautiful. Me.

“God created 100 ways to breathe.” He stated after he regained his breath.
He taught me that a strong mind and will can keep you alive, even when your body is failing from Covid.

“Mandy, you know God is the answer to everything.” He told me from the hospital.
“I know, Dad.”

“Mandy, am I dying?” He asked me after the nurse had expressed concern.
“Yes, dad. You are.”
He taught me honesty is love.

“See you in heaven.” He told me in his sign language.
He taught me we are not in control.

“I love you daddy,” I told him as he took his last breaths. “It’s okay to go.”
My dad left his body.
He taught me grief is love.

I still hear him. I know he is with me at times.
He taught me intuition.

Both my husband and I were very sick with Covid 2 days before Christmas Eve 2020. We both were taken to the hospital January 1st 2021. I stayed for 9 days, my husband stayed 2 1/2 months until he passed away 3/9/21.

We were together since we were 15 years old–high school sweethearts. I can’t stand living without him … I’m just existing. To this day, I still can’t believe he’s gone. So awful this disease came into our lives. So Heart Broken …

Today was the NY Book Launch & Reading at a lovely venue called Q.E.D. in Astoria, Queens. A group of us came from Washington Heights to support our friend/neighbor Ed as he read aloud his “Who We Lost” chapter of wonderful memories in celebration of his husband Jody. For some of the authors in this community it was the first time they’d met one another in person rather than on a Zoom screen. I feel blessed to have been there to watch those hugs, and to have been a part of the event. Thank you. I am going to set aside time to read each and every one of your chapters. You, and your loved ones, aren’t forgotten.

Today was the Who We Lost book launch and reading event in New York City. I wanted to read about Bobby and Mom but could not take the trip. Instead, I tuned into FB Live from Citrus Springs, Florida and watched others read stories about their loved ones who were taken by Covid.

Many of the authors have become my friends over the past few years. It was nice to see the faces of Martha, Ed, Kim, Mary, David, Marlene, Rima, Pamela, and all the others. Because of them, I know their loved ones. I never met Jody, Robert, Johnny, Rami, or Martin, but I know them.

David read on behalf of Marlene and himself. Marlene and I both know the pain of losing a brother. I imagine taking the stage was too difficult for her today. Rima knows the same pain because she lost her brother Rami. I felt Rima’s sadness as she tried to stop herself from crying. Every tear signified her love for Rami.

Losing a brother is more painful than I could have ever imagined. I never thought about life without one of my brothers. I hate life without Bobby. I hate that he was stolen by the virus. I hate that he died on the floor alone. I hate that such a kind man was taken in the cruelest of ways. He didn’t deserve to go out like that.

I hate trying to exist knowing Bobby is not here and he isn’t coming back. Rima and Marlene must be feeling the same. Rima works tirelessly to honor all loved ones lost to Covid. Marlene makes time to advocate in between caring for her elderly mom and taking care of her sweet granddaughter, Amanda. I suppose that is what we do now. We work hard to make sure the world knows our brothers and how special they were. We memorialize them, we advocate, and we honor them by carrying on their spirits of kindness. We do anything to distract ourselves from feeling each moment that comes with the unbearable pain of losing our brothers.