“We got the results back from the doctor today. It’s pancreatic cancer. There’s no cure… It’s terminal.”
My heart stopped and tears welled up in my eyes.
Even though he and my mom never decided to make it official and tie the knot, he was, for all intents and purposes, my step dad. That’s what we referred to him as, and Edward Liebman was the greatest father figure I had ever known.
“Whattaya mean? Are they sure?!” I asked as cold sweat started to roll down my back.
“Yes.”
I couldn’t speak and began to weep like a baby. I felt like someone had sucker punched me in the stomach and I dropped to one knee.
“Now, look, this doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere anytime soon. I’m gonna fight this thing ‘til the end,” he told me.
I struggled to compose myself enough to get a few words out.
“I know you will. And I know I don’t have to say this now because it’s not going to be goodbye anytime soon, but I just wanted to say how much I love you. I hope you know that. And I want to thank you for everything from the bottom of my heart. No one has ever done more for me and I can never possibly repay you. But you have to promise me that you’ll stay around long enough to give me a chance to try.”
“I will” he assured me as his voice cracked and he started to cry. “And everything I did was out of love. I love you guys so much. And we’re gonna have a lot more fun times together. The doctors are gonna get me healthy enough to stay around for another year or two, or maybe even more. I won’t be around forever but I promise you I won’t be going away any time soon.”
That was the end of May, 2009. Ed passed away this Sunday, August 23rd, only three months after that phone call and two days after his 63rd birthday. It was the only promise I had ever known him to break and one that no one could ever blame him for. He was one of the greatest people I ever knew and by far the most generous. If Ed loved you there was no favor too great and nothing he wouldn’t do for you.
I only wish I could have done more for him.
In and out of the hospital and rehab all summer, Ed never got to enjoy another healthy, pain free day again. And it broke my heart. When I wasn’t with him I was working ‘til the wee hours of the night so that I’d be able to afford to take Ed anywhere he wanted when he got better. It was the only way I could get motivated to work at all. I had plans of taking an extended leave whenever he got better and doing all that I could to help him enjoy the time he had left.
But we never got the chance. Instead we sat together in his hospital room and watched sports and talked about him getting back home. It seemed a horrible way to spend a summer, but I’d give anything this morning to be able do drive back to that hospital and sit with him all day, watching SportsCenter on repeat, cracking jokes and keeping him motivated to fight.
Born and raised in Philadelphia, Ed was a diehard Eagles fan; something that didn’t go over too well in a household where we bleed Giants blue. But we always had fun with it, constantly chiding each other throughout every football season. And we kept it up ‘til the end as I joked about Michael Vick being a perfect fit for the city of Philly while he remarked about what a fine, upstanding citizen ex-Giant, Plaxico Buress was.
With each passing season I grew to hate the Eagles less and less, only because I loved Ed so much and knew how happy it made him when they won. Even though it’s sacrilegious for a Giants fan to say, I will be secretly rooting for the Eagles this year in every game they play that doesn’t affect the G-Men. And if Big Blue falters I will be behind the Eagles to go all the way… for Ed.
When the doctors told Ed that it was over last Thursday and that there was nothing else that could be done to save him he finally accepted it. We had been told that before but Ed continued to battle back and seemingly prove them wrong. But this time was different. They knew, he knew it, we all knew it.
He was no longer nervous or scared bur rather calm and composed. He apologized to everyone for letting us down and told us he fought as hard as he could. But we assured him that he never let anyone down.
He had a long talk with his son Justin who had been flying back and forth from California all summer, and they each got one last chance to say everything that they had never said to each other and iron out whatever issues they may have had. I was so happy for the both of them and knew how much that meant to Ed.
He then told my mom how much he loved her and had one last meaningful conversation with her.
A few minutes later Ed sat up and asked, “Where’s Jenny?” My future wife ran over while he extended his hand and told her, “I love you. I’m just so sorry I don’t have more time to spend in your life. You guys take care of each other.”
When he reached out for me I was broken down in tears and unable to speak. He grabbed my hand and hugged me and told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too and thanked him for everything. There was so much more I wanted to say but I couldn’t get the words out.
Ed went to sleep shortly afterwards and we never got the chance to speak again.
On Tuesday we brought Ed back home to Philly and buried him beside his parents. It was the worst day of my life.
There are no words that can begin to describe the sadness I feel right now, struggling to come to grips with the fact that someone who meant so much to me is really gone. It doesn’t seem real or fair and I’d give anything to make this pain go away and to bring Ed back. He was the first person I called for advice and the one who was constantly looking out for me and helping me in any way he could. He didn’t have to do that and I knew it. It’s just the way he was. He never placed himself first in any equation. Ed only thought of others and how he could help them or make them happy.
When I found a new space for my gym at the beginning of 2009 Ed was the first one I brought over to take a look at it and get an opinion from. He told me he loved it and that was all I needed to hear.
He was always there when I needed him.
I will forever regret not being able to compose myself enough to say more to him during our final conversation, but if somewhere, some way he can hear me now this is what I would tell him…
Ed,
No matter how hard I try I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is real; that you’re really gone. We had so much left to do. There were so many places I wanted to take you and so much I wanted to do for you. You were supposed to dance with Jen at our wedding and play with our kids. The fact that none of that will ever happen is devastating to me.
We had a lot of good times, my friend, and I will miss them more than you know. I’ll miss our nights out in New York, pre football Sunday brunch at my house, movie nights, family dinners, and watching Entourage every Sunday together. I’ll miss the trips we took to the beach and the mountains. I’ll miss our secret handshake. I’ll miss the way you said “dee” instead of day (Mondee instead of Monday). I’ll miss you always being all over me about taking better care of my money and I’ll miss rushing into your office on April 14th to get my taxes done at the last minute every year.
I’ll miss your smile and your laugh and your constant barrage of corny jokes. I’ll miss always having a buddy who shared my need for quick service in a restaurant and snapped in kind when we went too long without eating. And I’ll miss your priceless reactions to comical situations.
I’ll miss celebrating Jewish holidays with you and every one of our birthdays together, our strategically planned eating schedule on Thanksgiving, putting up Christmas lights while reciting lines from “Christmas Vacation” and the frustration and hilarity that always ensued when at least one strand of lights would burn out every year. Come New Years I’ll miss seeing your text messages or picking up your phone calls at midnight.
I’ll miss the way you proudly revealed your new Eagles t-shirt every season followed by me reminding you of your favorite teams Super Bowl history. I’ll miss watching games with you and texting you during them when we weren’t together.
I’ll miss seeing you walk in the door and sit down in your favorite seat and the way it always took you ten minutes to say goodbye because you kept thinking of something else to say.

I’ll think of you and miss you every day for the rest of my life. Things will never be the same without you. No matter what I am doing or where I am going I will always wish you were there and that if you weren’t I could at least call to tell you about it.
If I could do it all over again I would have hugged you and told you I loved you more often. I hope that I always made you proud and never let you down or disappointed you in any way. And if I did, I’m sorry. Please know that it was never my intention.
I can never thank you enough for all you did for me and the impact you had on my life. It meant the world to me to have you around for as long as I did. I will cherish each and every one of the memories you left me with and will never, ever forget them.
So goodbye for now. Hopefully somewhere, some way we will be together again and it will be just like old times, watching the Eagles/ Giants games, laughing, joking and smiling.
As I continue my life without you I can only hope that I can be half as a good a man as you were and that I will make you proud in all that I do. I know you’ll be there watching over me and continuing to guide me like you always have.
Thanks for everything. I’ll miss you more than you could ever imagine and will never forget you.
Until we meet again, rest in peace my friend.
I love you.
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02. Oct, 2009
at 7:38 am #
Jason,
I am sorry to hear about your loss, it sounds like you lost a very special person. Try and focus on the great times you had together.
Take care of youself and your Mother.
Mike
02. Oct, 2009
at 8:42 am #
Dear Jason,
I am sorry to hear your loss, please accept my condolence on your beloved, Edward. I belived he is having long sweet sleep. The limitation of my English cannot support me to comfort your sorrow and make you feel better. Please take care of yourself and give my regards to your mother.
Peace to his soul
Alex
02. Oct, 2009
at 11:59 am #
Hey Jason,
You don’t know who I am, and you probably won’t ever get the chance to read this. Regardless of those facts I still wanted to say that losses like these are more than people care to handle, and you’re a strong individual for displaying your feelings so openly. Whether you said what you had to or didn’t trust me the bond you share with someone as close as Ed can’t be expressed in words. I never forgave myself for not telling my grandfather how much I loved him before he passed, but later I realized there is no need for “final words.” People will remain in your heart throughout your life and beyond and vice-versa. He is smiling down on everybody whether you believe it or not. It won’t be easy to cope with this loss, but you will be a better individual because of it. You’re training methods re-vamped my collegiate football career, so I felt this was the least I could do for you.
Relentless is a state of being not just a word, and you know that better than anybody.
Stay Blessed,
Kyle Leslie
02. Oct, 2009
at 1:47 pm #
Jason- very sorry for your loss. Even in loss you are eloquent, I’m sure Ed appreciates your thoughts. Don’t regret, instead remember.
Michael
03. Oct, 2009
at 7:36 pm #
i sorry about you lost bro .and god bless you familia and v strong
07. Oct, 2009
at 10:48 am #
Jason, your tribute to Ed is beautiful and obviously deeply heartfelt. You’ve touched everyone who has read it.
Please don’t hold on to any regrets for words not spoken near the end of a beautiful life.
Instead bask in memories of all the happiness you enjoyed together. How blessed you both were, to have such a deep friendship!
It is clear to Ed that you loved him. All the great moments and experiences you had together are enduring testaments of that love, that bond. Rejoice in that.
11. May, 2010
at 9:19 pm #
Hey Jason, I know this was posted a while ago so you may not even see this comment, but I just came across this article. I feel for you man, I lost my dad to leukemia just over 11 years ago (I was 15 at the time). He had coached all my sports teams, as well as my brother’s, in addition to working and travelling a shitload. Anybody who knew him would tell you I am damn near the same person. And to be honest, I still don’t know that I’ve come to grips with him being gone, even now, 11 years later. But I’m glad you got to tell your stepdad how you feel. I hope you have been able to cope and deal with your loss. I’m not real religious, so I don’t really pray, but my thoughts go out to you man.
22. Aug, 2010
at 8:06 am #
Jason,
Well done. What an brilliant tribute to a truly Full Strength man!
As I read your words, having lost my father in an all too familiar fashion, a few weeks after his 62nd b-day, I find myself thinking how Ed must have cherished having such a great man as you in his life.
What a powerful reminder that life is anything but fair, that every moment counts, that the only thing you really ever leave is your impact on those near you. So many lessons, so little time.
Thank you for sharing so boldly. I’m inspired and awake–which is what it’s all about. Now, as I sit here on a Sunday morning with my son and daughter, enjoying a cup of coffee and we build pillow forts (yeah, they’re still very young), I am reminded that it’s time to get off this machine and get back to the moment, to life.
Interesting, it was a year after my father’s passing that I was able to first share my thoughts… I share that post here. Not as rich or vibrant as yours in many ways, but certainly familiar…
http://www.fullstrengthlife.com/a-very-strange-year/
One thing I’ve come to know for sure in the years since my loss is that we never really lose them. We lose elements we cherish but the person Ed was to you lives inside you, clearly, and he’s always there to guide and support. You’ll feel it in amazing new ways every day.
To Your Life @ Full Strength,
Shawn
23. Aug, 2010
at 11:56 am #
Tat was so beautiful, made me cry. I don’t know you or Ed but you obviously loved him and he obviously was an amazing man! So sorry for your loss and will be praying for you and the whole family. That was an amazing eulogy for an amazing man. From one to another! Sending you love,
23. Aug, 2010
at 9:35 pm #
Thank you all so much for the kind words. I really appreciate it.
23. Aug, 2010
at 11:37 pm #
I’m so sorry for your loss. Live well and he can live through you. I don’t believe for a second that anyone really is gone, they’ve just moved on to bigger and better things.
24. Aug, 2010
at 9:29 pm #
Well said, heart felt, and timeless — I share you grief as I lost my dad about three years ago to cancer. I also wish that I had the composure and strength to say more to him during his final days — just couldn’t get all the words out. I always thought we had more time and then suddenly he was gone. Your thoughts and emotions will affect others and perhaps they will come closer to realizing a more lasting inner peace and closure with a loved one during their final days. Thanks for sharing yourself.
22. Aug, 2011
at 4:10 pm #
Jason,
You articulated yourself very well and I feel every single word that you said…I feel it deep within my soul. To say that I’m sorry doesn’t even attempt to convey how bad it feels. I know this. It is surreal and devastating.
It brought me back to last December when I lost my Mother to Cervical and Liver cancer. December 19, 2010.
She was only 56 years old and I am 29, and it’s been and continues to be insanely difficult everytime I think that she will not be hear for my wedding and my children. She raised me on her own and being her only child, I was her everything and in turn she was and is my everything.
She’s always been the motivation behind my entrepreneurial attitude. She’s the reason my I fought to build a very successful fitness business…and I just signed a lease on a 1600 sq ft facility in Montclair, NJ, to go along with an already established fitness business here in Essex County. I wish she could see it, as I know you wish Ed could see your wedding and life moments.
My Mom’s cancer took only 10 weeks to send her into eternal rest. I got a call on October 23, 2010 that she’d been rushed to the hospital with severe blood clots…and from then it was doctor after doctor and power of attorney for her medically and financially…all while being in that room trying to get her home. As you said, she was in pain every single day for 10 weeks and fought like a warrior, until eventually succumbing to the horrid nonsense that cancer is.
I would give anything to get on GSP south to go sit by her side, as I know you would with Ed.
I’ve written and constantly pushed myself to rid this negative energy build-up..then it starts building again. We just had a memorial for my Mom yesterday, and it was insanely emotional.
My prayers are with you and your family.
Best,
Mike Smith
here is a site that I had dedicated to my Mom, and it’s a small way that I continue to (try) to honor her: http://www.InHonorOfMyMom.com