My words have failed me over the last few days. Peter's death came so quickly that I haven't quite registered everything yet. My nights are often interupted by my own sobbing. I'm hoping that by writing a few thoughts down I can get enough sleep to go back into the office.
For a few weeks, I had the great privilege of reclaiming my old desk, listening to him brilliantly negotiate another deal, praise his children and grandchildren, and let him know that we are good. I love this man with all of my heart. The day I walked into his office for the first time in 2007 changed my life forever. He took me in all broken and weary and gave me hope and strength and the desire to live every day a little bit more like Peter.
He likes to tell the story about when I left him. I hated that the feeling kept coming strongly that I wouldn't be with him for the long haul. We had a disagreement in the Spring of 2010. I know he thought that my leaving at the end of 2010 was a result of that discussion, but I had let that go. I loved Peter as a boss, as a mentor, as a friend, and in many ways as a father. It broke my heart to leave him. The day he hired my replacement he came out of his office to tears streaming down my face. And he said "No! You are leaving me! You don't get to cry!" but I sobbed and sobbed.
In hindsight, I had a myriad of health problems in the next few years that would have made the pace I sustained working for him impossible. He didn't tell me though that the PSA numbers we used to high five every month were in decline.
Everytime I flew home to NJ, I came in through a NYC airport. The car service knew the first top was 57th Street. I had to see Peter.
We stayed in touch by phone, by email, and visits whenever possible. I worked for 3 years at a bank and loved my managers there, but would unfailingly only use "my boss" in conversation to mean Peter.
I was fortunate enough to have one of the politically incorrect nicknames he would often dole out to the luckiest of us: "Maggie The Mormon". And he would often sign his emails to me as "The Jew".
2013 was a tough year for my family. Many funerals, even more surgeries that became scary. In the wake of my own surgery, I received a FedEx box from the office packed full of every possible store bought chocolate chip cookie with the note "Get better so you can make your own." I called him laughing and crying. He asked if it made me smile. He was that guy. Always cheering up the suffering, never letting on about his own grave situation.
In February 2014 I was able to resume my visits, this time in a new office. It was apparent that he hadn't been telling me that his health was in decline. I wanted to spend every possible minute more with him. He finally let me come back. He looked and seemed to have regained much of his energy and enthusiasm on my return, so I was hopeful that I could reduce enough of his stress so that he could emerge victorious from his 10 year battle with prostate cancer.
He laughed a little at my attempts to coax away "bad foods" and keep him hydrated. In hindsight, he knew his time was close at hand. He called last Tuesday to have the last conversation we would ever have, where he told me it was pneumonia, and to go through his emails and pull out the garbage so he could tackle the important stuff when he was back in the office. Up until the day before he passed, he honestly believed he would be in on Monday handling business as usual. And I willingly believed as well.
At end of business the day before he passed, there were 447 unread emails waiting for his return.
Yesterday we had a funeral for this event that still feels unreal. 500+ in attendance - a sold out show. I think he enjoyed that. The number of mourners around the world far exceeds that. Whether known only briefly or for years, this is a dearly beloved man. Everyone has extraodinary experiences and private moments where he changed the course of their lives forever. I know that he has shaped mine and every decision will run by the age old test of "what would Peter say?".
Thank you, Peter for everything. Most especially for knowing how deeply I needed to be here for the last 27 days of your life here on earth. Thank you for your unselfish love and your example of loyalty, of family, and unwaivering passion for everything you did. I love you forever. ~Maggie The Mormon
For a few weeks, I had the great privilege of reclaiming my old desk, listening to him brilliantly negotiate another deal, praise his children and grandchildren, and let him know that we are good. I love this man with all of my heart. The day I walked into his office for the first time in 2007 changed my life forever. He took me in all broken and weary and gave me hope and strength and the desire to live every day a little bit more like Peter.
He likes to tell the story about when I left him. I hated that the feeling kept coming strongly that I wouldn't be with him for the long haul. We had a disagreement in the Spring of 2010. I know he thought that my leaving at the end of 2010 was a result of that discussion, but I had let that go. I loved Peter as a boss, as a mentor, as a friend, and in many ways as a father. It broke my heart to leave him. The day he hired my replacement he came out of his office to tears streaming down my face. And he said "No! You are leaving me! You don't get to cry!" but I sobbed and sobbed.
In hindsight, I had a myriad of health problems in the next few years that would have made the pace I sustained working for him impossible. He didn't tell me though that the PSA numbers we used to high five every month were in decline.
Everytime I flew home to NJ, I came in through a NYC airport. The car service knew the first top was 57th Street. I had to see Peter.
We stayed in touch by phone, by email, and visits whenever possible. I worked for 3 years at a bank and loved my managers there, but would unfailingly only use "my boss" in conversation to mean Peter.
I was fortunate enough to have one of the politically incorrect nicknames he would often dole out to the luckiest of us: "Maggie The Mormon". And he would often sign his emails to me as "The Jew".
2013 was a tough year for my family. Many funerals, even more surgeries that became scary. In the wake of my own surgery, I received a FedEx box from the office packed full of every possible store bought chocolate chip cookie with the note "Get better so you can make your own." I called him laughing and crying. He asked if it made me smile. He was that guy. Always cheering up the suffering, never letting on about his own grave situation.
In February 2014 I was able to resume my visits, this time in a new office. It was apparent that he hadn't been telling me that his health was in decline. I wanted to spend every possible minute more with him. He finally let me come back. He looked and seemed to have regained much of his energy and enthusiasm on my return, so I was hopeful that I could reduce enough of his stress so that he could emerge victorious from his 10 year battle with prostate cancer.
He laughed a little at my attempts to coax away "bad foods" and keep him hydrated. In hindsight, he knew his time was close at hand. He called last Tuesday to have the last conversation we would ever have, where he told me it was pneumonia, and to go through his emails and pull out the garbage so he could tackle the important stuff when he was back in the office. Up until the day before he passed, he honestly believed he would be in on Monday handling business as usual. And I willingly believed as well.
At end of business the day before he passed, there were 447 unread emails waiting for his return.
Yesterday we had a funeral for this event that still feels unreal. 500+ in attendance - a sold out show. I think he enjoyed that. The number of mourners around the world far exceeds that. Whether known only briefly or for years, this is a dearly beloved man. Everyone has extraodinary experiences and private moments where he changed the course of their lives forever. I know that he has shaped mine and every decision will run by the age old test of "what would Peter say?".
Thank you, Peter for everything. Most especially for knowing how deeply I needed to be here for the last 27 days of your life here on earth. Thank you for your unselfish love and your example of loyalty, of family, and unwaivering passion for everything you did. I love you forever. ~Maggie The Mormon
