Sheila Barbara Strongin Berger, 12/1/35-12/9/08, R.I.P.

Mom and grand-dog Bo in summer, circa 2002, on the front stoop of our house, 471 State Street, Albany, NY. One brief note, strictly as a bereaved son. Sheila Berger understood me, my aesthetic, my hopes as a writer, an artist, a person -what I could be and make and do at my best -better than anyone, and I am overwhelmed with sadness and regret at the books that remain unfinished, my homework for myself, for her, that she'll never see completed. I just didn't know the deadline was coming up so soon. "Same old Jamie," she'd have said, and start to get mad, then shake her head and go back to scratching things off and adding things to her magnificent lists while I'd channel surf, as we'd sit ather kitchen table late at night, and then maybe we'd just crack up laughing – it happened sometimes.