A Note from Isa Milman

My story begins in Cambridge, circa 1972, when I met Ed through a mutual friend from Tufts. Ed was looking for roommates in a big rambling house off Harvard Square, and I was looking for a place to live. As Ed and I were conversing, an unexpected knock on the door brought in Pat Farrell, who was also looking for a place to live. I suppose it was instant karma, because although the rooms available weren't great, the promise of friendship was strong, and here we are, almost 50 years later, still deeply connected, despite the great geographic distance that separates us. Fate brought me to Canada in 1975, and I’ve lived here ever since— first in Montreal, where my three kids were born, and in Victoria, British Columbia, for the last 24 years. It’s no surprise that Ed and Laurel (and Pat) have remained my dearest friends, and we’ve managed to share the joys and tragedies of our lives. 

When Owen was born, I bought him a tiny black t-shirt emblazoned with ‘bébé cool’, from the cool fashion capital of Canada, and I know it struck Ed with particular delight. Owen was indeed a bebe cool, although I didn’t have many opportunities to observe his growing up (nor Leda’s). I felt a special bond with him when he went to Tufts, and I imagined him walking the same paths on campus. When Ed and Laurel told me about Owen’s devastating medical news, like everyone, I was struck with pain, and then awe as I learned about the family efforts to do whatever was possible to fix it. The strongest testament of love and faith. But what strikes me as most powerful is Owen’s attitude to what befell him. Most of us don’t have the chance to face the news of our pending impermanence with such grace. And then there’s Owen and Stacia’s love story— shining much light on how best to be human. I’m so happy they found each other and shared such love, but the brevity of it makes me weep. 

I wish that I could have come to New York for Owen’s memorial. My darling husband Robert had died just a few months before. I was deeply grieving, and the distance to travel was too great. Here is a poem I wrote for the occasion, and share with love to all,

Isa Milman