– by mom
Although Rizzo’s name is Italian, and by family tradition, his heritage is Chinese and Jewish, we have always thought of him as somewhat Irish. Maybe it was the red hair. Or the big temper. Or the larger than life adventures that only Rizzo could handle.
So we celebrate his life by remembering how much he enriched ours. We raise a glass of 1969 Chateau Margaux to him, smoke a victory cigar and will remember him when the Eagles win the Superbowl (says dad) and miss having him as a wingman (says brother Bing).
Some imagine him romping in a lush park or gliding peacefully on a serene lake. But I think Rizzo has always been a fighter, not a lover. I see him in Valhalla or Sto’Vo’Kor, in the halls of his forefather spaniels, regaling others with tales of his valiant battles, while slurping from endless bowls of chilled water.
Cheers to you, Rizzo. We miss you terribly.