Stephen Orlofsky writes of his memories of Joyce

Dear Uncle Symo: I was at your wedding in that little synagogue in the Bronx (Was it on University Avenue?). I remember it clearly. Joyce was laughing, smiling, joking with me. She took me seriously all my life, from the day of your wedding. You, of course, as well as the rest of my family, knew better. Joyce did too, but she pretended there was more to me than there really was. After a while, because Joyce believed in me, I started to believe in me too. Of course, I knew in my heart of hearts that you did too, but you were my Uncle Symo, and we are guys and couldn't admit to something like that publicly. Joyce could and did. She was always supportive, and after Robbie and Michael were born, I was like a third son to her, albeit a much more difficult child than either of those two turkeys.

Sometimes, people would become impatient with Joyce's enthusiasms. I never did, although I never could understand how she rooted for the Knicks. Of course, she would be delighted to know that Patrick Ewing was just inducted into the Hall of Fame. She would also love to know that I too now have a dog named Riley. She made a difference in my life, and I miss her, especially her love and enthusiasms for all the things and the people who mattered to her.

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been , time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Dirge Without Music
Edna St. Vincent Millay

I love you Uncle Symo.

Stephen