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Banishing the Ghosts of Christmas Past

Lev relished the persona of being gruff and grumpy, and he welcomed the grandchildren’s nickname for him—Grumps. Come Christmas, he played the role to the hilt when they were around, going around muttering, “Bah! Humbug!” like Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. As choreographer of our Christmas rituals and…

 

David Rockefeller: A Worthy Role Model

Lev died April 7, 2009—eight years ago tomorrow. There I was, unprepared for all that I must do, immediately confronted with practical and legal realities. Overnight, I moved from the role of smiling spouse and gracious hostess to that of executor, trustee, CEO and—most dreaded of all—matriarch. I am not…

 

Finances: A Widow’s Nightmare

Seven years ago today—one week after Lev’s death, my first day alone in my empty house—I was walking across the library when I received an unexpected call from his financial advisors—three people sitting around a speaker phone in another city. I was given no forewarning, no opportunity to have my…

 

A Christmas Decree

That first Christmas as a widow was a challenge, and I kept the decorations quiet—mostly green and white. Instead of putting the leaves in the table, as I did when there were 10 of us, I squeezed us all close together, avoiding an empty chair. And on Christmas morning, in…