Edward Sanders, was known by many different names throughout his life: Ed, Eddie, Mr. Sanders, Chief.  Grandpa was not one of them.  While the nickname may date back to his early childhood, long before grandchildren or children or even law school and the army were ever on the horizon, as the first grandchild, I take full responsibility for bestowing him with the ultimate moniker – MY Eddie – OUR Eddie.  “We’re going to Santa Barbara this weekend to celebrate Our Eddie’s birthday,” or “My Eddie works in an office with red carpet, even though no one else has red carpet,” or “Our Eddie is working to keep UES on the UCLA campus.”  Looking back now I realize that my friends must have been wondering who this Eddie character was – after all there were so many stories and so many adventures that OUR Eddie was a part of.  I just assumed everyone had an Eddie of their very own.

I remember when I found out the truth.  I was in the 2^nd grade and there was a new boy in my class.  As soon as I could unbuckle myself from the backseat of my mother’s Volvo station wagon, I ran up the brick stairs to our house and threw open the door – automatically dialing my Nani and Eddie’s number.  “Yallow,” the strong familiar voice answered.”  “Eddie,” I yelled, “It’s Fanny.  You are not going to believe this – there’s a new kid in my class, and he’s Chinese, and they call him Eddie too!”  I could feel my heart beating in my ears as I anticipated his explanation.  My Eddie laughed for a moment and took a deep breath.  “Well,” he said, “it turns out there are quite a few of us out there.  Eddies can come in all shapes and sizes.”

After that day, my world would never be the same.  While there might be other Eddies out there, I knew that My Eddie was different.

We all realized early on how lucky we were to have a Nani and an Eddie who lived practically right around the corner.  While friends were jetting to Florida every six months to visit their grandparents – we saw Our Nani and Eddie constantly.    Eddie would often stop by our house on his way home from the office – picking up dinner that my mom had prepared (fajitas were always a favorite), checking on Sandy’s potty training progress and humoring me by humming along to whatever song I was attempting to pound out on the piano.  On Friday nights I remember waiting for My Eddie outside on our front steps.   A white cardigan sweater over my Lanz night gown, little red suitcase in hand, waiting to be picked up for an overnight at My Nani and Eddie’s house.  Eddie and I would sit in bed eating ice cream and raspberries and then we’d all fall asleep, my head on Nani’s pillow and my feet resting on My Eddie’s chest.

I have always known that My Eddie was a powerful man – that when he spoke people listened, that he challenged people to speak up and fight against injustice.  And at the same time, My Eddie was the most sentimental man I know.  More often then not, when My Eddie spoke of something he cared about – specifically about My Nani, he did it with tears in his eyes. I know he felt extremely blessed.  Blessed by his experiences, blessed by those that surrounded him, and, most importantly, blessed to share the deepest love imaginable with Our Nani.

When Ari and I became engaged a few years ago, no one was more excited then My Eddie.  Of course, he cried, this was expected.  But as I finished sharing my news he asked if I would put Ari on the phone.  “Listen,” My Eddie announced.  “We love you.  Nani and I love you.  And we’re just so happy for you and Fanny.  And we can’t wait to be at that wedding in Westport.”  My Eddie’s health had been declining for some time – he required a lot of care and spent most of his time sitting in his wheel chair.  A cross-country trip seemed unlikely and as sure as he had sounded, I knew I needed to prepare myself for that reality.

I should have known better than to ever doubt My Eddie.  When I visited LA a few months later, as soon as I entered the familiar house and dropped my bag My Eddie pointed me to his bathroom.  There, taped to his mirror he had two photos – one, an engagement picture of me and Ari and the second, a wedding dress that had been ripped out of a magazine.  He told me how he used the photos as inspiration.  That every morning he would get up and look at the photos and know that if he pushed a little further he could be there.  And sure enough, he was there – with his full entourage.  He was the first person to see me in my wedding dress when I walked down the stairs.  He was there – bawling his eyes out.

So many of us have benefited from My Eddie’s humongous heart, and over the last few years and especially these last months, the generosity that he showed so many, was reflected back upon him.  My Eddie came to rely completely on others – an especially difficult situation for a man who was used to being so strong and so in charge.  Yet My Eddie was surrounded by the most incredible care-takers – who love him as much as we do.  Roxanna Barton, Giovanni Paz, Merecedes Tucker and Roy Hernandez – your generosity and the kindness in your hearts, enabled My Eddie to live out the end of his life with great grace and dignity.  Because of you, he was constantly surrounded by those who love him the most.  You are truly part of our family and an essential part of My Eddie’s story and his lasting legacy.

Our Eddie will be with us each time watch the Bruins play

Our Eddie will be with us each time we cast a ballot in an election

Our Eddie will be with us when we push away our green vegetables

Our Eddie will be with us when we pick chocolate chunks out of our Graters Ice Cream

Our Eddie will be with us each time we go to Trader Vics and order a Navy Graug

Our Eddie will be with us as we return to the tradition of setting up model trains in the living room

Our Eddie will be with us as we continue to work for equal rights – for everyone

Our Eddie will be with us every time we order a steak at The Car

Our Eddie will be with us as we walk towards the pitching mound

My Eddie will be with me when, one day, I take my own children to see the Nutcracker

Not everyone is lucky enough to have an Eddie of they’re very own.  But for the people in this room, and for the countless others whose lives he has

touched – My Eddie is Your Eddie, too.

May the memories of Our Eddie make us feel as blessed as he always felt.  Tzichrono L’vracha – and May his memory be a blessing.