Author Mitch Albom has written many delightful books, my favorite being “The Five People You Meet In Heaven.” After I’d read the book for the second time and watched the movie (equally wonderful), I started thinking about the five people I’d really, really like to meet in my afterlife, and I found that five weren’t enough. Perhaps I’m greedy, or maybe I’ve just lost too many wonderful people; that’s what happens as you grow older. So I allowed myself an extra five to include some people I never actually knew but would like to, and I made a list. Then I gave myself explanations as to why I had chosen those particular people. It was an exercise that offered me an entirely new perspective on the people who have had the greatest effect on my life — and, in some cases, how I affected theirs.

Obviously, no living person knows where or what Heaven actually is, or whether it exists at all; but the general consensus seems to be that, if there is a Heaven, it’s up. Probably because that’s where there’s the most room for all of those dead souls, or angels, or whatever we become in the next life. In my imagination, it would look something like Cape Cod, or maybe a never-ending English garden — someplace pretty and smelling like flowers or the sea. And all of the people there would be good, and happy, and healthy, even if they hadn’t been exactly like that on Earth.

So here are my ten choices, from last to first, and my reasons for wanting to meet up with them when I take my final trip.

No. 10: Mikhail Sergeevich Gorbachev. It should be no surprise to anyone who knows me that I would wish for a chance to talk to one or two dead Russians — not people I knew personally, but a couple of individuals of great historical importance, not the least of whom would be Mikhail Gorbachev. I would like to start my conversation with Gorby by asking him what on earth he was thinking when he dismantled his country’s political and economic structure (communism) before he’d had a chance to create something viable to take its place (presumably, democracy and capitalism). By doing so, he left the door wide open for every opportunist, every charlatan, every criminal in Russia to jump in and create total chaos — which is exactly what happened. He thus also created the foundation for his own political demise.

My second question to him would be, “If you had it to do over again, what would you do differently?” Not that it’s possible to rewrite history, but I’d love to know the answer to that one. I often wonder: what would Russia — and the entire world order — be like today if things had not played out for him as they did? Sadly, he was a good man, with good intentions, who just didn’t get it quite right.

No. 9: Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov (Lenin). Vladimir Lenin may seem an odd choice for my list, since it’s not clear to me that a mass-murdering despot would ever have made it into Heaven in the first place. But he’s the guy who started it all, so I’d really like to chat with him. Therefore, on the off-chance that he may at the last moment have repented his sins, and that his repentance was sufficient to have earned him admittance through the Pearly Gates, I imagine asking him this: Why — since his initial aim was allegedly to rescue the Russian people by ridding them of the tyrannical rule of the Tsars — did he then feel compelled to become the worst possible version of himself . . . far worse than Nicholas II, the Tsar he had so cruelly overthrown? Or was he simply an inherently evil individual with a good sales pitch?

And while I was at it, I would like to ask him to autograph the portrait of him that has been hanging above the desk in my den since 1993 — the one I smuggled out of Moscow in my suitcase after buying it from a Russian government official who had undoubtedly stolen it from some government facility specifically to sell it to me for $50 U.S. money. This, of course, is on the assumption that I will have been allowed to bring that prized possession into Heaven with me — along with (I would hope) some family photos, a couple of favorite books, my iPad, and a big bag of M&Ms.

No. 8: Abraham Lincoln. Talk about a 180-degree turn-around — from Lenin to Lincoln! There would be so much to discuss with this remarkable man, whose portrait looks for all the world as though he was envisioning his own demise. Or perhaps he was just unbearably sad at the state of the world. If so, it’s a good thing he can’t see it as it is today . . . or perhaps he can.

I would first ask him whether he regrets, or ever regretted, issuing the Emancipation Proclamation, in view of the turmoil that followed . . . and which, to a different degree, continues to this day. And I would like to know whether he issued that Proclamation as a result of his firm belief in the inherent equality of all people, or for the more pragmatic purpose of hopefully bringing an end to the Civil War and preventing a permanent dissolution of the Union. Or, more likely, both.

The one question I would not ask is the one that has become a meme of sorts — and a sick one at that: “Other than that, Mr. Lincoln, how was the show?” Not cool. Not cool at all.

No. 7: Marilyn Lewis. One of the Golden Girls — my Golden Girls, not the ones on TV. We were five women who worked together and became BFFs, then brought my sister into the fold making it an even half dozen. Marilyn was the mother to all of us; not because she was the oldest (she wasn’t), but because she was by nature an Earth Mother — loving, nurturing, at once a tower of strength and an incurable softie — caring for her own family, her friends, and everyone she met who needed a hug or a helping hand. She exuded warmth and a joy of living that was contagious. I would have no questions to ask of her; I would simply tell her how happy I was to see her again, and then move in for one of those huge, heavenly hugs.

No. 6: Dora Lipson. My mother. At once a smart, attractive, honest, hard-working, practical, sometimes funny woman; but also an insecure, jealous, controlling, possessive, manipulative one. I would first want to determine whether she had shed the negative traits and retained the positive ones, as I would hope we all have a chance to do in Heaven. And then I would want to ask whether she had been aware of the effect those negative qualities had on her family and friends. And I would wait for an apology.

Then I would forgive her — because that’s what you do in Heaven — and I would begin making up for lost time, perhaps by mixing up a pitcher of her favorite whiskey sours and sitting down at the piano with her to play one of her favorite duets. She loved the “Poet and Peasant Overture” — but, as always, she would want to play the melody while I got stuck with the rhythm part. Oh, well . . . baby steps, even in Heaven.

No. 5: Rose Swartz. My maternal grandmother: my Bubbe. Always there, always ready with a bit of old-world wisdom, a lecture, a word of encouragement, something to eat . . . or all of the above. A steady, loving, non-judgmental presence in my early life, she brought comfort when it was needed and gentle discipline when it was called for. And the best food I have ever eaten, even to this day. Of her I would ask for stories of what her life had been like in the old country (Ukraine), and how she and my Zaide (grandfather) had managed to come to the United States and make new lives for themselves here.

I would also like to know what her maiden name (Goldman) and married name (Swartz) were originally, back in Ukraine, before the Immigration folks in America mangled them into something more pronounceable here.

And then I would ask: “What’s for dinner?” Given a choice, it would be her rolled cabbages (golubtsi), or pot roast with potato latki, and maybe some blueberry varenniki for dessert, and later a midnight snack of rugelach filled with raisins and walnuts and cinnamon, and a cup of tea. I’ll bring the Pepto Bismol, since my digestive system isn’t what it used to be; but it will be well worth it. Or maybe indigestion doesn’t exist in Heaven. That would be really nice!

No. 4: Emily Ross Taggart. My beloved granddaughter. In my imaginary Heaven, Emily has cast off her physical challenges and become whole, enabling her finally to be the beautiful, healthy, active, happy-go-lucky girl she should have been on Earth. Her brilliant mind and huge heart led her to do so much good for so many during her short time in this world; hopefully, she has been able to carry that over into her second life.

I would have only one question for my Emily: “Are you happy?”

I love you and miss you, my sweet girl.

No. 3: Merna Lipson. I’ve already devoted an entire chapter to my sister, so you know that she was my best friend and stalwart confidante. But I would first tell her that I’m sorry about so many things: about the years we spent arguing instead of fully enjoying one another; about tarnishing her perfect school reputation with my mischief and misbehavior; and mostly about not being able to ease the suffering of her last illness.

As for all the times I embarrassed her in public by fainting, or shooting off my big mouth, I have only this to say: Sorry, not sorry. Had to do it.

And then I would ask her if she’s made our reservations at the spa, and reserved our tickets to Les Miz. This is, after all, Heaven . . . right?

No. 2: Walter Sterling Surrey. Where do I begin with this man who had unquestionably the greatest influence on the second half of my life? His accomplishments were legion: brilliant attorney; former member of the OSS during World War II; principal draftsman of the Marshall Plan and the NATO Treaty; advisor and confidant to heads of state and corporate leaders; and father figure to so many, myself included. For me, he opened up a whole new world of international relations, history, and intrigue.

I would have so many questions for him — far too many to list here. But there are three that are foremost in my mind:

1) How would you fix the current problems with Russia, China, North Korea, Iran, India . . . ? Okay, that’s a multitude of questions, but you can’t fix one without the others.

2) Do you think I did the right thing in 1993 when I agreed to help the two KGB officers defect to the United States? and

3) What was the origin of your nickname “Dink”? You trusted me with everything else, but never that.

See you later, Walter.

*. *. *

And finally . . .

No. 1: Robin Williams. Because I just want to exit this life, and enter the next one, laughing my ass off. And this is the guy who could do it for me.

That’s all.

TTFN,
Brendochka
5/27/24