Alan Kantor

Alan Kantor

After about four months of intensive planning and exactly four days before Jascha died, I ordered an engagement ring for my now-fiancé, Becky. The ring was being shipped to my work from New York and would take a few days to arrive.

As I waited for the ring, I mulled over some different scenarios for how to ask Becky to marry me. Should I make a game out of it? Should take her out somewhere? Should I buy some flowers? And, most importantly, "When would be the right time?"

I finally decided that I would ask Becky to marry me on the following Saturday. She would be away all day at a seminar, so I would have the opportunity to put my plan into action. I planned on having Becky come home to find notes around the house that would lead her on a little scavenger hunt, culminating in her coming to the bedroom to find me in my tuxedo on one knee with the ring in one hand and a dozen roses in the other. Pretty good, eh?

Well, the night before the day the ring was to arrive, we received our terrible, middle-of-the-night phone call from Paul Wolf, telling us the awful news. I had been on such an anxious high up until then thinking about my impending proposal, I just felt like my heart had been suddenly pulled from my chest. Becky and I cried for hours that night until we finally fell asleep.

The next day was a total blur. I didn't feel like I could go to work and function, but I had to go because I knew that the ring would be arriving. I just kind of walked around in a daze all day, still finding it difficult to believe that it all wasn't just a bad dream. And once the ring arrived and I had it in my hands, I didn't really know what to do. I had all these grandiose plans about how to make my proposal special for Becky...so, now what? To make a long story short, on the weekend that I had planned on asking Becky to marry me, instead we buried Jascha.

At that point, I just figured that I would have to hold on to the ring and wait for a while, which is not an easy task for me. Becky has always had the knack for knowing when I'm trying to hide something from her, and sure enough, it wasn't long before she knew that something was up. I just kept making up excuses and telling her that I wasn't thinking straight, and she would, eventually, let it drop. But I kept on thinking to myself, "When should I do it? When should I do it? It's too soon now. So how long should I wait? When is the right time?"

Finally, on the Sunday following the funeral, October 10th (my birthday as a matter of fact), during an intermission between two of my hockey games, I had a very strange sensation come over me. I'm still not sure exactly why, but after what seemed like an eternity of asking myself the same question-- "When is it the right time?"-- I found myself interrupting our Sloppy Joe dinner to retrieve the ring from its hiding spot in the basement.

I took the ring out and just stared at it for a while. Then, I heard Becky ask me, "What are you doing down there?" I gave some lame excuse, but she knew I was lying, so I went up the stairs, grabbed Becky by the shoulders, looked into her eyes, and said something to the effect of, "Losing Jascha has made me realize that when you want to do something, you don't wait until later. You never know what the future holds." Then I pulled out the ring, asked Becky to be my wife, and thank God, she said yes.

I never thought that I would propose to my future wife just after a friend's funeral. When you first think about it, it just doesn't seem to make much sense. Nonetheless, that's how it happened, and I feel like, because of the role Jascha played in our lives and our engagement, he will continue to be a part of our lives and our marriage. It seems like virtually every day, there is an opportunity where thinking about Jascha reminds me that, whatever I want to do in life, the "right time" is right now. I can't wait for tomorrow, because you never know what tomorrow may bring.

With love,

Alan Kantor

Alan Kantor