They’re in Paris and that’s the Eiffel Tower (lit up) in the background.
Turning 80 gets your attention. There’s a now or never note that motivates. When my California-based sister presented the chance to join her on a grand European tour, I was in.
I’m just back from our whirlwind adventure. Three days in Prague. Five-day cruise from Vienna to Budapest and back with Santa Barbara Symphony supporters. Three days in Krakow. (A pilgrimage to Auschwitz/Birkenau—all the more chilling due to the current international rise in antisemitism.) Three days in Paris at the uber hip Costes Hotel with Anne’s charming publisher/social influencer daughter Jen. Five days in Sicily at a stunning private villa with my adult sons and their wives.
One helluva birthday celebration.
For five years, when Burton was ill, I didn’t travel often. When I did, it was with my sister and a heavy heart. While I miss my man and the fun we had together, while I honor the hard work we both did to save our marriage, I don’t miss the last five years. Brain cancer and a stroke dimmed Burton’s light. Though he never, ever complained, his last five years were rough. On him, for sure. A dynamo who created a company that fulfilled his wish to outlive him. An athlete who planned to spend his last years on the golf course.
His last years were hard on our family, as well. On our grandkids, for whom Grandpa Burt orchestrated so many adventures. On our sons, who adored their dad, listened to his advice, and spoke to him daily. And on me, whose heart broke to see my larger-than-life husband reduced to spending his last years in a wheelchair.
With my wings clipped for the past five years, I leaped at the chance to enjoy a nearly three-week travel adventure.
On my return, I spoke to a friend who, through business, knows and represents many families. When I raved about the fun I’d had with my sister, sons and daughters-in-law, he observed how lucky I was. He said, “You can’t imagine how many people I know who can barely speak to family members, no less travel with them.”
I know this, and I’m beyond grateful.
I think a big reason my sons grew into the good men/husbands/fathers they are is genetic. Burton’s and my strengths were so different. Another was a default on my part. When my kids had issues (the current term for problems), I honestly didn’t know how to advise them. So I’d say, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Miracle of miracles: they have and they do.
The blessing of such a joyful trip is tinged with sadness. I wish Burton had been around to enjoy our adventures with us. Sometimes I believe he is. On sunny days, I feel him beaming down on us.
I write these words on July 1, exactly one year after we lost our fun-loving, street smart, generous, spirited, unconventional patriarch.
The sun is shining brightly.
Anne and I clowning with a sculpture in Melk, Austria.
Last week I shared my thoughts on turning 80. This week I’m sharing my biggest celebration. (Yes, there’ve been more than one. I’m squeezing every drop out of the occasion.)
While in Florida, I was trying to plan a party in Michigan as well as a birthday summer family trip. I was stressing out from the details. And, yes, I realize these are good problems—but, at 80 it’s harder to keep multiple balls in the air. I’m blessed with two capable, connected and helpful daughters-in-law. Nadine suggested I talk to Melissa Vitale Feldman, who took over the Detroit party. Amy put me in touch with New York travel agent Michelle Boyarski, who steered the overseas aspects. Both resources were godsends.
A few months earlier, BFF Brenda Rosenberg had taken me to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Design Detroit (MMODD). I was delighted to see such creative displays and to meet director Leslie Pilling. I also met Chuck Duquet, on the first floor. Chuck’s an obsessive collector who runs what is supposed to be a gallery. In reality, it’s more of a warehouse for the fine art Chuck obsessively acquires, mostly by Detroit artists. Having a decent collection of Cass Corridor Art myself, I was delighted to meet a like-minded enthusiast.
Spending so much time away from Detroit, I’m eager, when I return, to see all the city has to offer. If I’d been unaware of these two venues, I thought, many friends must be as well. I decided to host my birthday celebration at MMODD. And to invite not only dear girlfriends, but others with whom I’d like to be dear friends if only I spent more than a nanosecond in my hometown each year.
Problem: MMODD is fairly small, sizewise, and contains displays around which one must tread carefully.
Solution: Melissa’s idea to for a “strolling brunch” in a limited time frame. That meant mostly high-top tables and less elaborate settings and food.
Quite a few invitees were still in Florida or California or in transit. But a good number were in the D. I loved seeing them. Rather than bring a gift, I requested friends donate to MMODD. Happily, most obliged.
Leslie recommended singer Kimmie Horne to provide background music. The grand-niece of famed singer/actress Lena Horne, Kimmie was perfect.
My adored sister came from California to spend the week with me. Anne’s a talented singer. (Sadly I didn’t inherit that gene, but I’m an enthusiastic listener.) At her wedding several decades ago, Anne sang Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” to her about to be husband, Bob Smith. That started a tradition; Anne has sung the song on every special occasion since. At my party, I requested it, and Kimmie joined Anne in a delightful impromptu duet.
Both my daughters-in-law attended and spoke beautifully about me. The highest compliment of all: even if we weren’t related, they’d want me for a friend. Ditto!
Currently in the D, I run into others I wish I’d invited. With Burton’s illness, I’ve been out of social commission for five years. The bad news is over time I’ve lost so many fabulous women friends I wish could have been there. The good news: I still have many wonderful ones, though most tend to be younger than I. That’s how the ginger snaps crumble when you’re lucky enough to hit 80.
So far, so good, thank God. I savor the cookies I can. And am grateful, dear friends and readers, for your birthday wishes and support over several decades.
At MMODD with director Leslie Pilling in front of painting by family friend Jamie Wineman, aka WolfgangGang
From left: Henrietta Fridholm, Beth Singer, Brenda Rosenberg, Suzy, Grace Serra
With my two daughters in law: Amy (left) and Nadine
With my sister Anne Towbes and singer Kimmie Horne
Suzy Farbman with her family at Timber Ridge farm.
We post war folks who’ve made it to our 80s have been through astounding changes.
We’ve lived through two different centuries and breathtaking shifts. Party lines to cell phones. Typewriters to iPads. Tricycles to Teslas. Life-changing Polio to life-changing gene therapy.
It’s been quite a ride.
Launching a new decade, as I did on May 6th, gets your attention. Especially when your new decade starts with an 8. Having been married on April 8 and borne a fabulous son on October 8, I’ve considered 8 my lucky number. I hope to thrive the next ten years in my 80s.
Meanwhile, this July marks my 20 year cancerversary. At 60, I feared I wouldn’t make 61. You bet I’m grateful.
Though my eyes, bladder and other organs aren’t fooled, my spirit still feels young. And so, I carry on with optimism. I take the eyedrops and blood pressure meds, relish friends, revel in family, travel when able and continue struggling with my golf game.
Jane Fonda, who’s reached the august age of 83, speaks of a new paradigm. “Philosophers, artists, doctors, scientists are taking a new look at ‘the third act,’ and asking: How do we use this time?” The new concept around aging, Fonda says, is seeing it as a period of “wisdom, wholeness and authenticity. Age as potential.”
According to studies, Fonda says, most people over 50 report being “less stressed and happier.” This change in attitude, she says, is deemed “the Longevity Revolution.”
In Nirvana in a Nutshell, author Scott Shaw, a practicing Buddhist, offers 157 Zen reflections. Number 85 is wise and succinct:
“You can be dominated by external circumstances, or you can BE.
“If you allow yourself to be dominated by things outside of your control, you will forever be locked into desiring that things were different.
“What is outside your control? Life.
“What is under your control? How you experience your life.
“Choose.”
Sebastian Junger, author of The Perfect Storm and other nonfiction best sellers, recently escaped dying from a burst aneurysm. The experience impacted him. A “lifelong atheist,” Junger, unconscious in the trauma ward, was visited by his dead father. And by an ICU nurse who visited him in the trauma ward. She’d suggested he view his situation as “sacred rather than scary.” Once recovered, Junger sought her out.
No one in the hospital reported knowing her.
The experience changed Junger’s attitude toward death. In a recent WSJ feature, he concludes, “Without death, life does not require focus or courage or choice.” Whether the experience affected his atheism, he doesn’t say.
As a newly minted octogenarian, I know death looms ever closer. Meanwhile, I choose to focus on life. To enjoy what I can and spread joy where I may in whatever time I have left. And to give thanks to a force I count on in good times and bad—a sacred force I call God.
Burton and Suzy at their anniversary dinner in 2023.
Cats may have nine lives, but nine’s not enough for Mary Jo Zaksas.
Mary Jo and Joe Zaksas. (Photos with this story courtesy of Mary Jo.)
Mary Jo, my Sarasota neighbor, grew up with field cats on a farm in Iowa. She’s always had a special bond with feline friends. Several cats have “just shown up” in her life. Her first “house cat” was Tuffer, a kitten found abandoned in the corn field of the farm.
Her next kitten came from Mary Jo’s beautician. Another was huddled in the window well of her and husband Joe’s house in Barrington, IL. Still another jumped into her car at a gas station near her Barrington home.
Mary Jo’s beloved Torti appeared at the Zaksas home at about six months of age.
“She was very lovable and special,” Mary Jo (MJ) says. When Torti died, MJ determined to find “a replacement friend” for her and Joe’s other cat, Spikey.
Joe insisted that Torti send his replacement. Mary Jo believes Torti did just that in the white kitten she found at a shelter in northern Illinois. Three times in a row, the kitten picked up a toy ball, raced around the room, jumped into MJ’s lap and gazed into her eyes.
She named him Caspurr for his white fur and continuous purr. She taught him tricks. Caspurr learned to sit, shake, roll over and jump through hoops.
Mary Jo had an active business career in Human Resources. She ran her own executive search firm in Chicago. Lacking human children, Mary Jo adored her feline offspring.
In recent years, when Caspurr and his pal Kaylee passed away a month apart, the Zaksases were devastated.
“I needed to find a replacement for our irreplaceable pets,” MJ says.
Joe insisted she look for a sign that Caspurr’s successor was sent by Caspurr. MJ checked out a cat adoption site online; no luck. She visited a few local shelters; nada.
Finally, she drove more than an hour to the SPCA shelter in Lakeland, FL. There she spotted Hugo—mostly white with unusual markings and a white tip on his tail. The kitten looked like a
cross between Caspurr and Kaylee.
Hugo was on meds and couldn’t travel that day. In another room, Sweetie, a tiger kitten, jumped into her lap and kneaded on her shoulder. “She wouldn’t let me get away,” MJ reports.
“She picked you out,” Joe said.
Soon after, both kittens became my new neighbors. Hugo already jumps through hoops, sits, shakes and rolls over. Sweetie, too, is learning some tricks.
Mary Jo’s “all in” on another passion as well. She’s a respected orchid grower. For her 70th birthday, she didn’t long for a necklace or diamond ring. Encouraged by Joe, she built her own climate-controlled growing room for exotic orchids.
MJ’s collection of around 100 Dracula orchids, which mainly grow in Ecuador and Colombia, are being studied by Sarasota’s Selby Gardens. The renowned botanical venue takes cuttings of Mary Jo’s plants for DNA research. A Selby photographer also shoots photos of the blooms.
At 76, though diagnosed with MS just two years ago, Mary Jo is faring well. Of her feline and floral children she says, “I hope I have many years to work with them.”
Suzy Farbman (second from left) and friends in Ascona, Switzerland. (Photo courtesy of Suzy Farbman)
I love to travel. But in recent years, my late husband’s health challenges, plus COVID, sidelined my passport.I’m happy to report my sea legs (air wings?) are back in action. I’ve just returned from a great trip to Europe with my sister.
While we were in Switzerland, Burton found an awesome way to let us know he’s still looking out for me.
Anne and I visited dear friends Eldean and Hubertus Hatlapa who have a vacation apartment in Ascona. I was delighted to see their cool new digs.
And even more delighted by a Godsign that occurred when the Hatlapas took us for a boat ride.
(Photo courtesy of Suzy Farbman)
We were cruising Lake Maggiore, a large body of fresh water surrounded by Alps, bordered by Switzerland on one side, Italy on the other. A single swan swam over to our boat and hovered beside us for more than a hour.
Eldean, who’s even more spiritually inclined than I am, said, “It’s Burt.”
“OMG,” I said, tears flooding my cheeks. “You’re right.”
Eldean brought out some wafers. We broke them in small pieces and fed them to the swan. He took each one precisely, biting the cracker, not our fingers.
We all know swans mate for life. They always appear in pairs. This graceful, white feathered animal was alone the whole time he circled the boat. He swam back and forth around the stern, as if looking for a way to climb up and join us.
I wondered why Burton chose to appear as a swan. I realized it was a perfect way to reconnect with the Hatlapas, whom we both adored and who love boats as much as Burton did.
I Googled swans. “If the swan is your spirit animal, you are a confident, determined, strong individual. You also have the potential to love deeply.”
Indeed he was and he did.
Later, I realized there was a second reason for greeting me as a swan:
Hunter and little Beau receive a rainbow GodSign from Grandpa Burt.
Soul: noun. The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal regarded as immortal. Emotional or intellectual energy or intensity.
I like to think my dear late husband Burt’s soul is Up There—Up Everywhere—hovering, protecting, sending loving vibes. He spent his living years as the family provider and protector. No doubt he’s spending his spiritual, immortal years with the same watchful attention.
We’ve had signs he’s watching over us.
The most dramatic GodSign happened during Burton’s funeral service. Burton adored being a grandpa. Five months before Burton died, our grandson River, at 12, was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia (ALL)—an illness that’s 90% curable but involves over two years of grueling treatment. River had bravely undergone several chemotherapy infusions, involving numerous hospital stays and lumbar punctures.
An early test had shown cancer cells in River’s bone marrow. Months later, after treatment, River received a second lumbar puncture. It was a few days before the funeral. Our family anxiously awaited the outcome.
River’s adored Grandpa Burt had been sick for over four years. Burton died on July 1; his funeral took place four days later. Minutes before David stood up to give a powerful eulogy about his dad, “the man, the myth, the legend,” he received a text: “River’s treatment is working. No more cancer cells in his bone marrow.”
“Baruch HaShem,” I said. “Dad’s already on the case.”
Other Godsigns occurred. A few days before Burton died, our sons took me out for lunch. As we got back into the car, a song I’d never heard played: Riley Green’s “I Wish Grandpas Never Died.” I used the song in a photo montage video we created for a celebration of Burton’s life.
At the cemetery our family plot is near a train track. When visiting, I’ve never seen a train pass by. In their eulogies, both David and Andy referenced the “train bound for nowhere” in Willie Nelson’s “The Gambler”—one of Burton’s favorite songs. As we shoveled dirt on Burton’s grave, a train rumbled by.
Burton’s spirit, on the move.
Another GodSign occurred in Traverse City, MI. David’s wife Nadine has an identical twin sister. Natalie Shirley was dining with her family at Sleder’s Tavern in Petoskey. Burton and I ate there once, several years ago. Photos of patrons hang on the walls. Connor Shirley, Natalie’s son, pointed to a photo hanging nearby. “There’s Grandpa Burt,” he said.
On July 8, three days after Burton’s funeral, the heavens smiled on grandsons Hunter and Beau. They went outside to practice baseball. Hunter’s a talented JV pitcher at Bloomfield Hills High School. After a brief rain shower, a double rainbow appeared. A celestial special effect, compliments of a recent heavenly arrival.
Lately I read the book Signs. Author Laura Lynne Jackson, a medium, recommends deciding on a symbol that represents your departed loved one and consciously looking for it. I decided upon a white horse. Burton loved horses, and I saw him as a good guy in a white hat. At an antiques show, I came upon three white toy horses.
In a life filled with high highs and low lows, as an Oprah-endorsed author and relationship expert, I’ve concluded one thing: relationships are complicated. Nobody gets through a long marriage without challenges.
Three weeks after Burton died, I took myself to a healing retreat, “Calm Your Nervous System,” at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, NY. Facilitator Priti Jane Ross gave attendees a handout on which participants rated our stress from 1 to 10.
Losing a spouse: 10.
The hundreds of notes, cards and donations our family has received mostly say the same thing: time heals.
A Farbman family dinner in 2008. From left to right at top: David and Nadine Farbman, Amy Farbman, Michael Towbes and Anne Smith Towbes (Anne is Suzy’s sister); and below, left to right: Burt, Suzy and Andy Farbman
The regular readers already know my husband Burton Farbman from countless columns over many years. On July 1, 2023, he died at age 80. This column is from the eulogy I shared for him:
Burton and I had the most romantic first date ever. We met on a blind date in January, 1966, my senior year at the University of Michigan. We were introduced by my roommate Vicki, then dating Burton’s best and oldest friend, Michael Kramer. Burton and I drove downtown to see the gloriously romantic movie, Dr. Zhivago. Then to Franklin Hills Country Club for ice skating on the frozen pond and—a first for my prudish self on a first date—our first kiss, initiated by moi.
We married in 1967. After renting a duplex across from Palmer Park, we lived in homes in Huntington Woods and Franklin. From our mid-50s on, we’ve spent winters at Laurel Oak, a great golf course community in Sarasota, FL. We spent summers in Charlevoix, MI—aka God’s Country. We’re blessed with dear friends wherever we’ve lived.
As with many long-term marriages, we’ve had our ups and downs. A major low point for me was being diagnosed with stage IV uterine cancer when I was 60. Burton was my incredible medical advocate. When I recovered, Burton—who always thought big and was generous to a fault—planned two surprise birthday parties for me on the same weekend. The first, at our home in Sarasota; the next night, in Detroit. For my Detroit surprise party, Burton included all the doctors and nurses who’d been part of my cancer treatment.
At my Detroit party, Burton did something else memorable.
A couple of months before my cancer diagnosis, I’d published a book about surviving a marriage crisis. I believed our story could help others. Burton was far from thrilled about the book, but he let me proceed. Our whole family appeared on Oprah in 2004. Maybe Burton agreed our story could help others. Maybe he just figured it was cheaper than a divorce. In any case, appearing on the Oprah Show was the media equivalent of Burton’s taking a bullet for me.
When my first book was endorsed by Oprah, I thought I’d receive dozens of calls congratulating me.
Wrong. Our phone went dead.
A few weeks later, when I was diagnosed with cancer, whoever didn’t call with our first crisis besieged us. We received so much support that Burton hired two college students just to answer phones, keep track of donations, and send thank you notes. God willing, in three weeks, I’ll celebrate 19 years cancer free.
At my second surprise party, Burton showed a video about me. In it, videographer Jeff Schoenberg asks about my first book, the one that deep-sixed our social standing. Burton says, “Well, Jeff, Suzy always wanted to write a memoir, but she thought her life wasn’t interesting enough.” Burton looks into the camera and deadpans, “I don’t expect you to thank me, Suzy. But I did it for you.”
Burton’s remark brought the house down. The ballroom erupted in laughter. For a subject that had caused whispers, eye rolls and radio silence, it broke the ice and helped everyone move on.
The way Burton handled my first book said so much about him. He was funny, gentle and loving when he could be; tough when he had to be. Many of you have seen him in action. He was a force in business and in activities he loved.
CNS lymphoma and brain surgery took away Burton’s adored golf game, his love of driving, his ability to cast a fly rod or shoot a gun or ride a horse. But it didn’t take away his love of our family or of gazing out at our beautiful farm fields up north. Or watching our grandkids jump on our in-ground trampolines or our sons’ bloody competitions at shuffleboard.
And it didn’t take away our love for each other. Burton was my husband, my protector, my provider, my best friend, my Jewish cowboy and my hero. In the last five years, supported by our adored aides Angela and Chris (and earlier, Fayez), Burton never once complained or moaned: why me? He worried more about family and friends than he did about himself.
I’m relieved this great patriot, patriarch, businessman, philanthropist, husband, family man and friend is no longer suffering. But I’ll miss him every day of my life.
Burton was a staunch supporter of Detroit and Detroit-made cars. He bought his first Cadillac at 29, and drove Cadillacs ever since. I’m glad the van that came to the farm to carry him to
eternity, by way of Ira Kaufman, was American made.
Burton David Farbman, I’ll always love you. You gave me the courage to go for it in my career and the genes to give birth to two terrific sons who married two terrific women who produced seven terrific grandkids.
You were the wind beneath all of our wings.
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When I concluded my eulogy, Temple Beth El Cantor Rachel Gottlieb Kalmowitz sang Wind Beneath My Wings.
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Burton with Detroit Mayor Coleman Young, when a third tower was announced for Detroit’s Riverfront Towers. The towers became home to many Detroit notables, including Young himself, Aretha Franklin and Rosa Parks.
With developers Max Fisher (at the microphone) and Al Taubman at the opening of the third tower of Riverfront Towers.
Burton and our son David.
Burton and our son Andy.
Celebrating with our son David (right) on his 30th birthday in Charlevoix in 2001.
Burt loved entertaining kids with activities including hay rides at Timber Ridge
Burt was an avid photographer. He mounted two shows of his work as fundraisers for a branch of the YMCA, where he served as the Y’s first Jewish chairman, and for the Detroit Zoo, where he served as commissioner for over 20 years. This show was in 2001.
Burt riding his favorite horse TR.
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The service can be viewed at the Ira Kaufman Funeral Home website.
