From Jane Poindexter

Dear Michael,

I remember the day you told me you were getting married. We were standing in the Alameda. With a big smile on your face, you said: "I think this time I finally got it right." And through the years I have been grateful that I knew Angeles’ actual name because if I had not, I might have thought it was "mi amor," because that is what you mostly called her. You were a man so in love.

I remember the wonderful times we all spent together like the time Siobhan came and you and Angeles, Don, Adam, Alba, baby Francisco, Rebeca and I met at the pool at the Hotel Victoria. Alba had just given birth to the beautiful Francisco. We talked about the Steig Larsson trilogy and how we were looking forward to the as yet unpublished third book.

I remember meeting your brother and his wife at the Casa Oaxaca and the improbable but apparently true stories you and he told of your parents. I remember another day at the Casa Oaxaca when you threw a surprise birthday party for Don, and how Angeles told hilarious jokes.
I remember what a good cook you were and those afternoons spent on your porch.

I remember especially your 64^th birthday party and the Russian food you prepared. You asked how I liked the borscht and I told you that you had not quite nailed it - your only culinary miss. You took it in stride. You never did sweat the small stuff.

I remember our little ritual. How you would tell anyone who would listen that I thought New York was the world’s capitol and how I would chastise you for being a Yankee’s fan. Really, Michael, a Yankee’s fan? It doesn’t square with your politics. And I remember how on any number of occasions you would look at Francisco and mutter quietly, almost to yourself, "he’s such a beautiful baby."

And I remember the last time I saw you. It was at the small party Don and I gave for you and Angeles at Don’s house just before you left for Brazil. You drove me home even though you were going in the very opposite direction. I told you that I hoped you and Angeles would have a wonderful trip and you told me that I had been a good friend. That was so important to me. Thank you for saying those words out loud.

I remember you, Michael. I remember your kindness, your wit, your intelligence, your generosity, and your openness to people from every walk of life imaginable.

And I know that this small corner of the universe that we call home is greatly diminished by your absence. I miss you.

Love, Jane