Max Fitzig

Max passed away yesterday morning. We only found out because my mother called Melva to ask how he was.

It was sleep apnea. Exactly what my mother had been saying he has for at least 3 years now. His daughters refused treatment. They are the most evil people I have ever met in my entire life. I think they've taken the cake from my mother's sister, at least the root of her evil is psychological.


Max was the closest thing I had to a grandfather. I never met my real grandfather, Henry, and Papa Jack died when I was nearly 3. I only remember him from the photographs I see of him. Opa passed away when I was 10. I rarely saw him, owing to our being in the states in his being in Holland. Max came into the picture when I was 5. I knew him for 18 years, which, considering my short lifetime so far, is a long time. And he would have married my grandmother, he would have, but my grandmother wouldn't allow it because she recognized the evil in his daughters, that they would think of her as a money-grubbing concubine rather then the last love of his life. They loved each other so much. He loved her. He romanced her. He took her around the world and held her hand. He was one of the kindest, gentlest, most loving and mediating men I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I think it skips a generation. His daughters are none of those. Oh Max, sweet Max, I hope you are loving my grandmother, and dancing with her still.