""Ted." Now that's a title,' said my editor, and "I think you should start with Julie's story. You know, the last time she saw Ted."
      Well, I think I'll finish with that story.

My father used to tell a story about how, on the several occasions when he was close to death, his Grandfather would appear at the foot of his bed and say, "No yet," which was very reassuring. Though Ted's Grandfather had died when Ted was only four years old, Ted credited his Zedda's love, care and attention with his own emotional survival. His Zedda was the most important positive influence in his young life.
     My father was not particularly nurturing to my sister and I when we were children, but later he became a good friend, my best friend, and he was even closer to my sister. Julie and he would spend a half hour every day on the phone together (their professions overlapped and they talked about their work, and sometimes worked together).
     Now, some years after my father died, my sister was flying on an airplane that ran into serious turbulence. The plane fell a thousand feet. Everyone on board thought they were going to die. My sister recalled Ted's story about his Grandfather's reassuring 'not-yets'. "I wonder if Ted will appear for me?" she thought and looked up the aisle in the panic stricken airplane and, sure enough, there he was standing by the bulkhead. Only he didn't say, "Not yet." He stood there and he beckoned - he communicated - he told her that it was fine on the other side and that there was nothing to fear.

As Julie told the story to me over the phone she spoke with some chagrin about the incident; but I burst out laughing and she followed into laughter. With that she remembered that she had indeed laughed at the time. It was a joke, and it was just like my father. Ted was not going to comply with the expected when there was the opportunity to teach a deep lesson with humour.