Saying Good Bye to Wendy Wasserstein

It is just about a year ago that I spoke to Wendy for the last time. She had invited me to a preview of her play Third at Lincoln Center. I sat next to Dustin Hoffman; I felt creative, cool and so NYC. I called Wendy to thank her and then out poured my list of helpful suggestions.

"Ring ring ring, calling Dr Gorgeous. " In her play, the Sisters Rosensweig, Gorgeous, a suburban housewife gives advice to radio callers. Asked about professional credentials , she answers," You have heard about Dr Pepper ..."

Wendy did not appreciate my advice. She told me to write my own book. The conversation changed and we talked about her daughter Lucy Jane and my son Max. Then Wendy said that she was tired so we said goodbye. I thought it was strange that at nine p.m. Wendy was getting ready for bed. I had no idea this would be the last time I would hear her voice.

When I saw Wendy the next time she was in a coma in the intensive care unit. Her eyes were shut and she was hooked to oxygen. I sang to her old rock and roll songs and stroked her arm. Suddenly her breathing changed and she rolled her eyes. The nurse said it did not mean anything; I knew that Wendy was having her last good laugh. I wish, like Edith Piaf I could say, Non je ne regrette rien, because regret is now part of my life. I regret lost opportunities of the past and lost possibilites of the future.

This year there was just too much sadness, now I am beginning to recover. When the Wassersteins gathered for Thanksgiving, Lucy Jane, Wendy's daughter, cartwheeled across the playroom and then flashed her missing a few teeth grin. My niece Samantha began dinner by asking everyone to raise a glass in memory of those missing at the table, Grandpa, Mommy and Wendy. They will always be part of our lives and for that we give thanks.