[This is the transcript of what I planned to say (but didn’t) at my aunt‘s funeral]
How many of you only knew Cindy? Go ahead, raise your hands.
Good. Ok – you all know me as “Mike”.
Put your hands down.
The rest of you know me as Warren. Either way, I’m her nephew.
Cindy was the only person I know who could cry during “Rumble in the Bronx”.
Most of you know that I don’t get emotional frequently.
I’m a contrarian fellow, and so instead of trying to come up with good memories to share, I thought I’d come up with bad memories. I’ve spent the last several days trying to come up with them. I’ve had since Monday evening to think, and with it being Friday morning, you’d think I’d have an exhaustive list.
But I don’t.
I couldn’t come up with any. In nearly 27 years of knowing Cindy, I couldn’t recall ANY bad memories.
I can recall some “inherited” memories, but those were things she told me that were bad memories for her.
In nearly 27 years, all I have are good memories.
They range back to some I was told about (cheerios pop to mind); some were from when I was small and can remember (like the Berenstain Bears books); some from being in school; others while in college; more since I’ve graduated; and, most recently, chatting about how she was excited to be back at work after having been out sick with various illnesses and afflictions … six days ago.
We could spend months rehearsing all the good things we remember about Cindy’s life. Unfortunately, today we only have a couple hours together.
So there’s my comments. more than a quarter of a century of, at times, daily contact with Cindy Myers – and all I have are good memories.
“I will see you again my friend. But not yet. Not yet.”