In June, 1983, Greg received for the year the Harvey School's Decemvir (Decem=Ten/Vir=Man) award for academic performance, given to the top ten students in the entire school. We were very proud of him.

In June, 1983 at age 13, Greg receives from The Harvey School his Decemvir award, the academic award for achieving grades among the top ten students (Decem - Vir) in the entire school. He had come a long way in the past few years, and we were very proud of him.

Bruce has posted many pictures of our trip to Williamsburg and I will remember the beauty of Greg from that wonderful time.  He was a young, handsome man in his 20's and my daughters were still little girls.  Yet he was kind and caring to these two young ones who were not at the same place in life with the same issues.  
It has been a year since we lost him and yet his approach to life and his sense of self remain with me always.  How very, very fortunate we were to have spent time with him. I think of Greg every day and know that he is in a very good place, looking over all who knew and cared for him.  How I wish he could share his new-found wisdom with all of us . . . but then again he does.

On this day, your birthday, we remember you with so much love. We planted a tree for you today...a lovely Japanese maple... in a garden by the water. It is a beautiful day for your birthday. Sailboats in the soft light....on a quiet sea... I have spent the day filled with your spirit, my beautiful boy. You will be forever missed, forever loved...  your courage and great heart live on. Love, Barbara

We took Greg for a walk on the Great Meadow on the mountaintop towering over the Valdarno with a young American couple.  The fragrance of wild lavender was everywhere, and the sound of cowbells rose from the valley floor far below.  Greg was excited, constantly on the lookout for snakes—somehow he'd got the idea that here might be snakes up there.  He was about to turn four.  Happy Birthday, Greg.  I'll remember that walk forever.  This picture comforted me for the two long years we were—per forza—apart.  Buon Compleanno!
Love,
Papa 

Greg, Samantha, Dad, Ariane

(Clockwise) Grandad, Diane, Helen, Greg, Samantha, Ariane

Greg's Grandad, Helen, Greg, Diane, Cindy, (front) Ariane, Samantha

Greg and I on our summer trip to Maynard's-in-Maine, Moosehead Lake, when we rented a boat to motor to the Mt. Kineo Island and back (the return trip was a hair-raiser since a storm had sprung up and we had to keep the bow straight into the white caps, banging away, to avoid capsizing).  We had a Samuel Adams or two (or more) when we got back to our cabin to celebrate making it back alive.

Greg at Robin Hood Camp in Sargentville, Maine, showing off his table tennis prowess as one of the top players in the camp—a very steady, error-free game.

It was a very, very hot day in July and Greg (w/ Dad) was vastly relieved to be home and hop into the pool in Cross River to swim a few laps.  The Canada Geese eggs had not yet hatched—whereupon the parents would invade the pool from the nearby reservoir—so that Barbara, Greg and his Dad had the pool to themselves.

Greg's first year at The Harvey School, a Third Former (Sixth Grade), he won the coveted academic honor of Decemvir, one of the top 10 scholars in the entire school.
He was justly proud. 

I met Greg when I moved in across the hall from him in the fall of 2005. He was fun, charming, smart, and a great drinking companion. We spend countless days and nights hanging out while watching movies, talking, playing board games, going to shows, bars, and so on. He was understanding and trustworthy, we could talk about anything. Snow days were the best, we would huddle up in either of our apartments drinking vodka and watching the world unfold outside. We both came from similar backgrounds, having international childhoods and psychology degrees. One of my favorite memories of him was the day we decided to go to the Westword Music festival. We started off at Charlie Browns and made our way down to the shows. We met up with a mutual friend and caught a couple of the acts before going back to our apartment complex for a quick break. We climbed to the top of a high rise and watched the sun set before returning to the concert series to see the headliner, Dinosaur Jr. Then we finished the summer night off hanging out on the balcony of my apartment. It was such a magical experience, one that I will never forget. When I moved from Capitol Hill, I lost touch with Greg. When I finally found out he was sick, I immediately tried to find him. I went to his old apartment, the one I lived across the hall from so many years earlier and left a note under his door, inviting him to meet me for a drink at one of our old watering holes, Charlie Browns, not knowing that it was too late. While at the pub, I did a google search and came across this page. I never got to say goodbye to Greg, which breaks my heart. Goodbye Greg Moss, memories of our times together will always be precious in my mind. Love you, Babe.

Is it possible to convey in a few words what was so special about Greg? To give a sense of his laughter, his humor or his remarkable thoughtfulness? The timbre of his beautiful voice (no one ever said your name the way he said it - almost with a sense of wonder).

I'll never forget seeing Greg for the first time. He was six years old and arrived alone on a flight from Rome to JFK to visit his father (whom he hadn't seen since he was four). I saw a courageous young boy. Strength and focus in those brilliant blue eyes. He marched through the doors of the international arrivals terminal and searched the crowd for his father's face.  I will always remember his joy when he saw his father walk toward him. "Papa," he repeated again and again. Bruce often described that moment as the happiest moment of his life.

I am so grateful to have been a part of Greg's life. I had the chance to be a friend, an ally and his stepmother. As you raise a child and teach them what you know of the world, the wonderful part is what the child teaches you. I learned many things from Greg. He was incredibly bright. He was also a very sensitive child. And he had an astonishing memory.  Greg worked hard to find his way through a few difficult years. He knew he was strong and he was proud of what he achieved through hard work. Greg loved spending time with my parents. He was especially close to my mother and valued her gentle nature.

Greg was confronted with enormous challenges as he battled his illness. But he was truly courageous. He faced adversity with humor, honor and grace. As much as one might want to look beyond the struggle and suffering of the last year of Greg's life, it was precisely that effort and courage that defined Greg's life more than anything. It was a true test of one's character. Greg never gave up. The grace he maintained, the complete lack of self-pity, inspired everyone. When Greg was unable to speak he would gesture with his hands, holding them to his heart to show his gratitude. These are the things we will never forget. His complete effort. His great heart.

Greg's father spent much of the past year with him. He rarely left his side during the last six months of Greg's life. Greg was so thankful for his father's support. When you walked into Greg's hospital room you heard Bach, Chopin or lute music. Bruce chose this music with great care. The nurses always said how peaceful it felt when they walked into Greg's room. Bruce and Greg would speak to each other in Italian, the language of his childhood. I was always struck by how Greg thanked each person who came in to help him. Whether it was to quiet the insistent beeping of a machine or check his medications.  Or a doctor on his rounds. There was always a "thank you." And he meant it.

Greg was also grateful for the support of his friend Michelle. I can't imagine how he would have managed without her. It was as if she had known him since childhood. She understood him. He shared his secrets and his fears. Michelle was a good listener.

I often talked to Greg about the bluebird houses I have in Katonah and my joy when the bluebirds built their nests in the spring. I would hold the phone up to the box so he could hear the young bluebirds calling for food. But I told Greg that the one moment I have missed is when the young bluebirds actually fly from the nest. I always find the empty box. I have never witnessed the extraordinary moment of their first flight.

The day after Greg died I returned to New York on a red eye flight. I was exhausted and thought I would try to sleep at last. But I heard the bluebird calling outside my window. It was the father. He flew from the ridge of the barn, to the lilac trees, to the bluebird box, calling and summoning, without a pause. The young bird sat in the opening of the box. Hesitating. Peering out into the world and then retreating back to the safety of his home. I walked outside and sat nearby. I watched them for more than an hour. The father calling. The fledgling sitting in the opening of the box. Finally, with his father at his side, the young bluebird took his first flight. Beautifully. With confidence. I felt Greg watching with me. The perfect moment I had always hoped to see one day.

Greg was surrounded by love when he finally left this life. We continue to feel his love for us as well.

   
  


     

 

When the multi-chemo agent PAME was administered after Greg's initial lymphoma/leukemia relapse, and the PAME killed millions of blasts, he had to have dialysis to save his kidneys after the dying blasts released huge amounts of toxic phosphorous into his bloodstream.  Greg had to have a huge-lumen "line"—Greg called it a "spear"—inserted into his jugular to begin dialysis (this had to be done with each subsequent relapse dialysis), an extremely painful process made more traumatic by the fact that his platelet level was low and the bleeding around the "line" just wouldn't stop.  Brought back to his ICU room from the OR, Greg, bleeding from the neck, staggering toward his bathroom, turned and asked me, "Are we having fun yet?"


On April 16th I mentioned to Greg that dermatologists now have a cream called Fluororicil that you can apply over a few weeks to remove cancerous lesions on the face or body…wouldn't it be great if you could apply that instead of going through chemo after chemo of this medieval torture?  He answered—the right side of his face drooping from the cancer or the chemo, the tilt giving his words a deadpan quality— "Yeah, I do the scenic route."

Such was his incredibly brave humor.

by Bruce Moss


 

 

Little Shanghai will always be a very special place for me. It was Greg's favorite place to go whenever he was feeling well enough to go out. We would go out to eat or walk around Whole Foods. When he was in the hospital I would go visit him and we would share stories. He told me that I was so expressive. His laughter could fill a room. He was always so happy talking about his Dad, Bruce, and his (step-) Mom, Barbara. I put it in parenthesis because Greg truly considered her his Mom, that she was meant to be in his life as exactly that. He told me how much his Dad meant to him and through us talking I learned how grateful he was to his Dad for going through such great lengths for him. They would speak to each other in Italian with so much love and I would listen fascinated.  His eyes lit up whenever he talked about Barbara. He would tell me how she called every day making sure he was okay while he was in the hospital and how concerned she was. I could tell that he definitely loved every second of how she cared for him. I saw how unconditional love was shared freely between Greg and his parents. Having somewhere I can go to remember all of the good days is very special to me. It will comfort me and remind me of the amazing person and best friend I lost. That restaurant is now one of my favorites. His laughter fills that place. ~ Michelle S