Emily Glaser

Each person has a role in a family, and we often talked about the roles my sisters and I had within ours. Emily was the first born, the big sister, the dancer, but overall, she was something. She was OUR something.

Her sarcasm and wit were unparalleled to anyone else I have ever known – the perfect combination of sweet and sour. Following brain surgery, I was helping her to the bathroom and she said to me, “Don’t throw me down Clark” – a line from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. And this was Emily. She was always able to find the humor in a situation – the perfect one liner to cut the tension or a sarcastic observation to change the dynamics of a conversation. It is this quick wit that seems to permeate every story about her.

I should note that I did drop her — she didn’t let me forget it. She could hold a grudge like no one else.

Seriously, though, Emily was courageous. In her work and in her life. We only heard a small fraction of what she did at work—the story about the woman’s eye falling out, chest compressions on a woman seemingly saran-wrapped together. Once, she drove over two mailboxes and through a bush and had the courage to call Mom and tell her. Emily was brave with unknowns and courageously she went through every aspect of her life.

Or maybe that was because she was so stubborn. Once she got something into her head – watch out, you may be in for a wonderful adventure or a heated argument. She spoke her mind unapologetically. That was the thing with Emily, it was all or nothing. She gave of herself so fully and willingly to that which mattered to her—her family, her career, her friends. She was beyond generous, especially when it came to gifts. She always gave the most perfect gifts-just ask Steve (her husband) about those Amazon bills. But she also found happiness in the simple things, like sitting on the beach or a glass of wine or the camaraderie that came watching an Ohio State football game. She also filled any room she walked into; her personality was large and brilliant just like her smile.

Being a wife and mother were Emily’s two greatest loves and brought her the most joy. Emily and Steve were so perfectly compatible. They had a visible connection – you could tell that they were on the same team, understanding each other with a look, and gave that inexplicable warm happy feeling of being in love and together. And it was through her children that she found her life’s purpose. Even during those hard, dark nights of early motherhood, Emily felt blessed by her three little ones. And if we look hard and pay attention, we will continue to see Emily in the ordinary parts of life through the eyes and experiences of her children.

I promised Emily that her children will be raised on and know her stories. And I need you to make the same promise – let them know who their mother was, what she meant to you. Tell them those stories, let them ask questions and answer them with the honesty, wit and scattered with the cuss words she loved.

She is gone but we must allow joy to persist:

Death has not changed anything. Whatever you were to Emily and whatever Emily meant to you has not changed. So, call her by those old familiar names and speak of her easily; let it be spoken with no effort and no sorrow. Laugh as you have always laughed at the jokes you enjoyed together. Remember fondly those millions of moments that have passed between you and created this never failing, supportive relationship. Because it is the grief that remains unspoken that will not allow us to see the beauty and impact that Emily has made in all of our lives.