As I mentioned late last night when I sleepily keyed out an entry about the funeral, Jeffrey had planned a reunion for his entire family at Copake, the very weekend that is known up there as the best time to come and see the leaves turn. Fall. So all of the cabins were ready and reserved for us to go to his favorite vacation spot 3 hours north of his home. None of us believe that the timing was coincidence, and none of us could imagine not going to Copake now. Those who had declined the original invitation for whatever reasons, either stayed in someone else�s cabin or got a hotel room.

The drive was fun as shit. Jane driving, Heather, my pregnant sister sitting shotgun, Jenny and I in the back. The four of us shared memories we have of us as children, we talked about family and life, we laughed and laughed. Hard. Maybe it was some kind of release needed after such a week of tension, sadness, intense emotion. But whatever the reason, we laughed our fucking asses off for that entire 3 hours, even laughed our way into our hotel room. I love that the 4 of us stuck together like glue for the entire week. We were inseparable. And we all know how much I love to be around all of my sisters at the same time, so I feel very rejuvenated and replenished in that way, after a full week of sisterhood.

Copake, my God, the colors. Fields of trees, like something out of a tripper�s perception of the wilderness, all color, all vibrant, it almost seemed unnatural. Reds, yellows, oranges, fire on the horizon on a beautiful, clear day. For awhile that first morning, we just stared at it. Don�t worry, I took plenty of pictures, and I can�t wait to get them developed! Herman Melville wrote Moby Dick not too far from where we were staying. I can see why, this land is just� inspiring. Saturday morning we drove to the cabins, where most of the family was staying. About 13 children, all beautiful, all Jeffrey�s nieces and nephews. How wonderful this must be for them, adventuring through the wilderness, following the stream that ran for miles, over water-smoothed rocks and fallen trees made into little bridges. Overwhelming in its natural beauty.

I took some pictures of a few beautiful boys on a rock in the middle of the stream. Now, let me explain something here for a minute. When I say �beautiful� in reference to these children, I�m not talking about �oh, look at the cute kids,� or anything like that. I mean, these children are all bright-faced, blue-eyed, cherub-like, GORGEOUS children. Some of them have modeled. And all of them have a little New York attitude and a strong accent to match. All of it thrown together just makes for a weekend of entertainment for those of us visiting. I can�t explain it much better than that.

After meeting up with the crew, my nuclear family decided to go to the falls, where my mother and father had come as children. We went to the top of the road, parked, and hiked a little over half a mile straight down. Beautiful. Painful. Didn�t mention that the only shoes I brought, aside from the heels to wear to the functions, were some new black boots. Not the best to hike in, but if my pregnant sister could do it in HER boots, I�d be damned to sit this one out. We laughed later when comparing the bottom of our ruined shoes, too-thin soles poked by too many rocks. My feet still hurt today, but it was worth it. Down at the bottom, we came upon a little lake, translucent blue-green, moving and churning with the power of the water tumbling off of and through great boulders overhead. Again, beautiful.

The ceremony was that night. Oh, my aunt took us to a place called the Book Barn. Secret little place, old books, all in their original prints. I saw illustrations and novels over a hundred years old, leather binded, gold-gilded. I could live there. I acquired a fantastic find, Dante�s Divine Comedy, complete with intricate illustrations, the binding fine enough for a new Bible. Untouched since it was printed in the 70�s as part of a limited collection. $15.00. I KNOW! Can you believe it?? I�m ecstatic. Anyway, after we filled our bags with books, we headed back for the ceremony.

Each person was assigned some part of it. 4 of the children were �keepers of the light�, they lit the candles in the 4 directions, North, South, East, and West. There were drums, the presenting of earth, wind, and water, and a reading for each presentation and what it means to us now. Neil, Jeff�s closest brother and best friend, gave a beautiful reading at the end, how we release Jeffrey into rest, and how we love and miss him, will keep him in our hearts, but are ready to move on without him. About 30 of us circled around, sending our energy into the wilderness, and I swear I kept feeling it come back, like electricity. We went around the circle, sharing memories and thoughts of Jeff. The children�s memories were poignant. They didn�t share at first, but once they started, it went on with a fervor I haven�t seen in them all week. They really needed this. It was in terms that they could understand, and they were participating in a way that they couldn�t have back in the city.

When it was all over, the candles were extinguished, and we all looked at each other, smiled with our wet eyes, and retreated to one cabin to drink and play charades and laugh. We thanked Jeffrey for giving us this time in the mountains, realized that he was there with us, in all forms but physical. Uncle Jimmy found Saturn on his telescope (which made him quite proud of himself). �Look, girls. I came out here two hours ago, looked up at all those stars and said, somewhere, Saturn is IN all of that. And your uncle has found Saturn in all of the fucking galaxy. I know, I know. Amazing. Come and see it.�

It was so hard to say goodbye. We hugged each other tightly, had to crack wise-ass jokes to keep from making spectacles out of ourselves. Yesterday, Dad took me and Jenny back to the city, we walked around, saw an exhibit in the library, then back to Ground Zero one more time before we ran to catch the plane. And we were okay. I believe the week and weekend served Jeffrey well, as was well-deserved. And I may allude to this in the future, but in many ways, I feel changed. We all needed this. For the last time in my journals, thank you, Jeffrey. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You don�t know just how much you really saved by sacrificing yourself. Not just the thousands of people in that hour and a half of running through fire before the building took you, but much, much more. I can feel it. I know it. And as we said in Copake, we will make sure through our reunions and lives that you did not die in vain.

-Barbarella

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