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Hermana, compartimos toda una vida. Desde la infancia hasta el final, siempre estuviste ahí. Me conocías mejor que nadie y sabías exactamente qué decir en cada momento. Perderte es perder una parte de mí. Pero me consuela saber que viviste con amor, que fuiste feliz, y que dejaste un legado hermoso en tus hijos y nietos. Cuídanos desde donde estés.

Abuela, en la escuela nos pidieron escribir sobre alguien admirable y yo escribí sobre ti. La maestra me preguntó qué hacías de especial y le dije: "Todo." No sabía cómo explicarlo mejor. Eras especial en las cosas grandes y en las pequeñas. Espero ser como tú cuando sea grande. Te quiero mucho y te voy a extrañar toda la vida.

Abuela Mariela, tus manos siempre tuvieron la respuesta para todo — un abrazo cuando lloraba, una caricia cuando tenía miedo, la comida favorita cuando estaba triste. Nunca imaginé un mundo sin ti, y aún me cuesta creerlo. Gracias por enseñarme que el amor verdadero se demuestra con hechos pequeños y constantes. Voy a extrañar nuestras tardes juntas, nuestras conversaciones largas y tu risa tan especial. Descansa, abuelita. Ya hiciste todo lo que tenías que hacer aquí.

Mamá, cada mañana me despierto esperando escuchar tu voz en la cocina, ese sonido que fue la banda sonora de toda mi infancia. La casa ya no huele igual sin ti. Gracias por cada sacrificio que hiciste en silencio, por cada noche que velaste sin que nadie lo supiera, por cada vez que pusiste nuestras necesidades antes que las tuyas. Eras la persona más fuerte y más amorosa que he conocido. Te llevo conmigo en cada paso.

He came to every one of his students' performances — even after they graduated, even years later. He was in the audience when I played my first professional gig. He stood up.

Mr. C took a shy twelve-year-old with absolutely no rhythm and turned him into a musician. He never gave up on me. Not once. Not ever.

Dad's trumpet is sitting on the kitchen table. None of us can bring ourselves to move it.

Ernest, you made music out of every Sunday we had together. The church won't sound the same. Nothing will.

I ran into Mr. Whitmore at the clinic fundraiser and thanked him. He said: I didn't do this. You and everyone here did. I just helped clear the way.

I was a Whitmore Scholar in 2004. I am now a physician. I never had the chance to thank him in person. This will have to do: thank you, Oscar. You changed my life without knowing my name.

My father said money was a tool and the only question worth asking was what you built with it. He built a lot.

Oscar gave quietly and constantly and never once made anyone feel indebted. That is an art form. He mastered it.

Literature crosses borders because of people like Renata Marchetti. We owe her so much that we don't even know how to count it.

She translated my grandmother's letters from Italian for me when I found them in a box after her death. She did it without charge and spent two hours explaining the context. I wept. Renata just handed me more tissues.

She gave a talk at my translation studies program and said: you are not a bridge. You are the river itself. I have carried that with me into every project.

I gave her my novel to translate. She returned it more itself than I had written it. That is the only way I can describe what she did.

Renata brought more Italian literature to English readers than any translator of her generation. She understood that translation is an act of love.

Mamma, you always said the hardest words to translate were the ones with no equivalent. I know one now: you.