Elizabeth When I tell people about Zoe’s death, I do not use the word suicide. To me that word conjures up a more impetuous and maybe violent act, and that is not her story. I tell people that Zoe chose to take her life, on her terms, and did so in the most mindful, thoughtful, peaceful way possible. She thought of every detail and every person who would be impacted by this decision. As a child, when Zoe began to talk, it became evident that she was a very sensitive person and had very distinct likes and dislikes because of this extreme sensitivity. In middle school, her body began to betray her in many painful ways, physically and emotionally. This began her journey, and ours, going to many, many doctors, traditional and holistic, to try to find a way for her to deal with what was becoming a chronic situation. Her solace was her friends, many of whom are here today.  This continued into her high school years. Somehow, she managed through it with the help of many teachers at Montclair High, her parents, and her devoted friends. During this time, she also had Karen Merchant, her beloved singing teacher, whom she took lessons with starting in sixth grade. Zoë’s singing voice, which you’ll be hearing later, is truly beautiful. Singing seemed to soothe her. Two weeks before she was to leave for college, she finally got a diagnosis of Interstitial Cystitis, which is an incurable, painful bladder condition. The test to find this out, made her pain even worse. College was out of the question for the time being. I’m sure that witnessing her friends leaving home to start this new chapter in their lives must have been very difficult for her. Her therapist suggested she might want to start dating, and like many people these days, she went online to explore this process. This is where she met Chris, her beloved partner, these past five years. As we have told Chris, these past five years have been the best ones of her life, because of him. Chris drove down from Westchester to see Zoe during that first year, then was by her side, and ours, as she struggled through about two years of school at Manhattanville College. Chris’s parents, David and Carol opened their home and their hearts to Zoe, providing a respite from her tiny dorm room.  During her second year at Manhattanville, she bonded with many of her suitemates, some of who are here today as well. When the opportunity arose for Zoe and Chris to move into the New York City apartment, which has now housed three generations of Peter’s family, they took this leap together. During all this time, Zoe was struggling with pain, physical and emotional, trying every solution possible, with our love and support. Chris stayed by her side, providing many moments of joy, humor, and true love. She tried taking classes at CUNY and learning stenography at Plaza College in Queens, but it was too hard for her tired brain to manage this. She also interned at an organization called Gems, which helped girls and young women trying to escape the sex trafficking industry. Zoë was always extremely empathetic to those who were in dire situations beyond their control.  She had a few hostess jobs in the city, then ended up working at a restaurant called Johnny Utah’s, where she met many of you. These friendships expanded her world… I think she probably learned more about life from all of you in one year, than those two years in college. She also cultivated many online friendships which sprouted through various Facebook groups, where she found a way to connect to others with similar health issues and senses of humor. I know this really helped her to realize that she was not alone. Some of you are here today as well.  As many of you know, Zoe had strong opinions and convictions in regards to many things, and shared them in her irreverent, empathetic, somewhat cynical way, with all those that knew her well. Her unique sense of humor helped her deal with the life she was given. But nothing gave her more unconditional love than her cats, starting with Fritz, then Pebble, then Loaf and Sam. They soothed her in ways that none of us were able to. I can see in Sam’s eyes how much he misses her… As Zoe said in her final letter to us, she had come to the decision six months ago, that she could no longer endure the pain and suffering in this body, one she had not chosen to occupy. We got the news that Zoe was missing via text from Chris when we touched down at Newark airport, from our week away in Iceland. A few hours later, we discovered that she was gone. Her story unfolded over the next few days, as we got access to her writings. These words allowed us to understand the journey she had been on these last six months. In her 16 page dissertation she lays out a very convincing argument about choice. She believed that it should be a human right for each of us to decide how we want to die. She articulately explained how unfair it is that our culture does not allow one to choose to end their pain and suffering because this would cause those left behind, to have to grieve. She was adamant that it was her choice not to have to live a long life of pain and suffering in this body that had consistently betrayed her. As usual, she presented a very logical argument. But her logic does not override the deep sadness that we all feel in this moment. She methodically researched and implemented a plan to leave her body in the most peaceful, pain-free way possible. She sought out the medications needed that would provide her the most gentle, peaceful way to end her life. She considered every aspect of the impact this decision would have. She created a will and had a healthcare directive. She left letters for her family and close friends. She even left a note and money for the person who would find her in the fancy hotel room in Hoboken, which overlooked the Hudson river. She even thought about the timing, not wanting to disrupt our trip. She made three new incredible voice recordings a few months ago. She also wrote down her final thoughts while she was actively dying. We will share both of these with you later. We will grieve, we will remember her, but I wanted you all to hear her story, her truth, and for you all to know that she got what she needed, to finally be in control, and free of pain…

 

Peter I am going to read something I wrote to Zoe 8 years ago when she was having a particularly hard time. What I love about Zoe                          6/10/2011 I love your sense of humor. I love it when we laugh together. Your singing brings peace to my heart. Your affection for Fritz and pebble. (our cats) The strong opinions you have and stand up for. Watching sister wives together. Going to IHOP. Eating Chinese food with you. Going to Wellfleet with you. Going to Mohonk at Christmas with you. Skating at Mohonk. I trust your judgement of people, even though at times it’s extreme. I love watching Ben with you. You are a sweet person. You make me laugh. I love the picture of you wrapped in a towel when you were 5. I love the pictures of you and Ian on the Beach. I respect your discipline in doing your homework. I am proud of how well you do in school. I love watching you with Isabelle. I love watching you with Ian. I love playing badmitten and Ping Pong with you. I love your writing. I love playing word games with you. I love hearing you laugh with your friends. I love it when you sing around the house. I love it when you make up songs. I love it when you make up names for people. I love being called Pange and Aphid. I admire how perceptive you are. Your are smart. You are expressive. You are loving. You say what is on your mind. Your strength of conviction of your dislike of olives. When you sing Samson, it gives me chills. I love your goldfish dance. I love it when you would chase me around the house. Or when we played hide and seek. I love lying by the pool with you. I love your honesty.Your doodlejump expertise. When you would dress up for Halloween. Your taste in clothes. Your talent for finding bargins shopping. Your love of Thai lettuce wraps. Watching the Daily Show and Corbert with you. Your astute comments. I admire your discipline in sticking to a no sugar and gluten free diet. Your inner strength. Your sweet smile. I love you.

 

Ian I can’t possibly sum up Zoë’s short but extraordinary life in a 5 or 10 or 15 minute speech, so that won’t be my goal today. Instead, I will give you a few of my favorite memories of her, and will tell you what she has taught me, both in her life and in her death. One memory I won’t ever forget took place in a house my family rented on Lieutenant Island in Cape Cod. The house had this moldy and frankly disgusting basement with one redeeming quality—it had a ping-pong table. And Zoë and I did not waste it. We played all day and all night, at least until my parents called us for dinner. I’m not gonna lie: I went easy on her, which I think is totally fair because she was about 7 years old and I was 6 years her senior, but I saw the determination on her face to beat her older brother. She looked up to me, and to beat me in ping-pong would be an incredible feat. Whether she actually defeated me, I do not recall; but I’m sure she would tell you she beat my ass several times. I do remember that we played hours upon hours without stopping and it was some of the best, most memorable times of my life. I took her to a Jonas Brothers concert when she was around that age to take one to a Jonas Brothers concert. I withstood frequencies of screaming I never thought were possible. At the end, I remember she told me something like: “I wasn’t sure if I totally liked them, but I can say now I am a fan.”  I felt like the best brother in the universe at that moment. Several years later, she told me she never liked the Jonas Brothers and that the concert didn’t change her mind too much, but she didn’t have it in her heart to tell me at the time. She was so touched that her brother would do something like this for his sister. That was the kind of person that Zoë was. One more story: I was in a relationship many years back that Zoë did not approve of.  And one day she decided to express it to me and it changed my life. She was so perceptive. She knew that if she didn’t say anything, I might have ended up marrying this person and settling down with them. One night, she broke down in tears and told me how she felt. How this person didn’t value all my great qualities and how I deserve better. How she was afraid I would just “get comfortable” in the relationship and marry her. She was so so right, and I knew it. And she told me this because she loved me and she wanted to see me happy.  That was the kind of person that Zoë was. Zoë has taught me a lot and made me think about things in a way I never would think about them. But I think the biggest…or most important… lesson I learned from Zoë was about empathy. Empathy (according to Mirriam Webster) is “vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another without having the feelings, thoughts and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner.” We all like to think we have this, and many of us do… but do we have enough of it? Can we have enough of it? Is it possible to have the capacity to actually put oneself in another’s proverbial shoes? No. It is not. True empathy is impossible, unless you have some supernatural ability. What Zoë experienced is something not one of us can possibly fathom and it is important for us to recognize that. We’ve all been in pain and we can all identify with that, but the degree and type of pain Zoë experienced, we could not possibly identify with. And I don’t think it does her a service to pretend that I or any of us can. I can tell you that she was a rational person with rational views on the world. She was in a pain that I truthfully cannot empathize with, because I have no idea. Here’s what I know: She was a loving person, who cared deeply for her family, boyfriend, and friends. We will all miss her dearly. Her humor. Her totally uniquely Zoë view of the world. Her enigmatic feelings about Marianne Williamson and Jeb Bush. Her strange and amazing nicknames for every member of her family.  I can go on and on. Although Zoë’s death is a part of her story and an important one, it is not the MOST important one. Zoë was a complex person and faced many physical and psychological challenges. But I KNOW she would not like to be defined by any of that. She would like to be remembered as one that made a difference in people’s lives. Who made people change or consider changing their views on their firmly held beliefs. One who stuck to her beliefs, no matter the repercussions. One who expressed her feelings in an articulate and profound way. I certainly remember her this way and I’m sure everyone here that knew her does too. I still cannot believe I will never see Zoë or hear her distinctive laugh, probably playfully ridiculing one of my mom’s idiosyncrasies. However, we are left with her beautiful singing voice, which all of you have heard and will hear more of today. Her singing voice, I believe, provides us an intimate glimpse into her exquisite soul. And I hope when you are all listening, you will close your eyes and appreciate the life of Zoë. I’m not sure how to end this but I suppose I must. So I will end with a quote I know she would be proud of… by the comedian, Jim Gaffigan, who Zoë and I saw perform several times:  “Pie can’t compete with cake. Put candles in a cake. It’s a birthday cake. Put candles in a pie, someone’s drunk in the kitchen.”

 

Chris Thank you all for being here for Zoë. It feels very strange to call Zoë “Zoë” because we almost never referred to each other by our actual first names. It was always some weird nickname that only the two of us knew about. In fact, I always thought that Zoë sounded more like a little kid’s name than something you should call an adult. And she always lamented the fact that it was a popular name for people’s pets. One time she was taking one of our cats to the vet and the lady called “Zoë?”, and when Zoë approached the front desk the woman looked past her and made eye contact with a cocker spaniel. The human to dog ratio of Zoës in the world has been shifted in favor of the dogs, something that I’m sure she was reluctant to allow.  Zoë was many things. Jewish, supposedly, but on her dad’s side which does not actually count according to the *serious* Jews. She had perfect vision and bragged about it constantly, despite having done nothing to earn that. She had terrible posture, refused to learn how to drive, and she used a foot grater to chisel large dustings of callouses from her feet. She was a “lateral quadrupod,” which refers to a strange and ridiculous way of holding a pencil. She was obsessed with doppelgangers and living in a simulation. She hated olives, Catholicism, and the elderly. But now she’s gone forever, which is very sad. And I think if she were here with us now, I think she’d just have one question - “why the fuck are there so many goddamn baby boomers in this room. Chris, will you please lock the doors and burn this fuckin’ church to the ground because if you don’t, I promise you that Joe Biden WILL get the nomination.”  I’m kidding because Zoë truly loved some of the people in this room. Others, frankly, she she could take ‘em or leave ‘em. Truthfully, Zoë is someone who would want me to be making tasteless jokes right now. In one of our last conversations, she called me an “assmunch.” That same week she was talking about a friend who survived leukemia as a child, and I said “I wish I had bullshit leukemia so I could leave work whenever I want.” And I’d like to really hone in on one detail, which is that in her final letter to me, Zoë made a 9/11 joke. That’s right, she made a 9/11 joke in her suicide note. This is the type of person we’re dealing with here. I didn’t really mean to date Zoë at first, but decided to meet her in New Jersey on a whim. She introduced herself as Zoë with or without the umlaut, which I took as an opportunity to always use the umlaut. I remember sitting down next to her and feeling very much at ease almost immediately — she cursed a lot right off the bat, which I liked. I wore a pair of dusty ASICS sneakers, which she then dubbed the “basic” sneakers and would say that they looked like something Larry David would wear. But truthfully, every time I saw her, I’d be a little more impressed.  Zoë was always the one to push our relationship forward. If I have goodness in me, it’s because Zoë built that up, month after month and year after year. Early in our relationship, when I would say terrible and thoughtless things to her, she forced me to become more sensitive. She taught me to treat people the way *they* want to be treated, and would skewer me when I exhibited qualities of what the kids refer to today as a “fuckboys.”I never tried to make our relationship into a good relationship. It was good because she wanted it to be. She was always willing to be vulnerable, and she was brave enough to reveal herself to me before I’d offered to do the same. She wanted to celebrate every anniversary, birthday, and even half anniversary, with funny little gifts and thoughtful letters she would make by hand. Zoë made me feel proud of myself. There’s a line from Peep Show, which we watched endlessly together, where a character begins a relationship and says “now I’m just a normal functioning member of the human race and there’s no way anyone can prove otherwise”. And that’s how Zoë made me feel. Zoë looked at me like I was the king of the her entire world. I always saw her as more of a sidekick type. Sort of like my own personal Scrappy Doo. For the past five years, Zoë and I were completely symbiotic — almost to the point of telepathy. It felt more like we were two heads that belonged to the same creature, rather than possessing separate selves. And so when she died it truly felt like at least half of me died with her. We would always look at fictional couples on Netflix shows who were written and idealized by professional writers, and talk about how boring and shitty their banter was compared to our own. Our partnership really did bring out the best in us both, because I’m not nearly as funny and fun to be around now that she’s gone. The best friendships and relationships elevate a person’s better qualities, and no one elevated me like she did.  Zoë knew exactly who I am. She was always able to see the weird gears turning in my head, and she always got a kick out of them. She laughed her ass off when I’d be getting a haircut and I would pretend to care about sports teams in order to make small talk with the barber. When  I asked the showrunner of The Handmaid’s Tale a question during a Q&A we had gone to, I said to Zoë afterwards I thought I sounded pretty natural and asked a pretty smart question. She said that may be true, but she knew me so well she could tell that I was using every muscle in my body not to *appear* nervous. Only she could notice such a thing. Our combined sense of humor was dense and layered, with running jokes that almost formed a second language. The average conversation between us in our apartment would be indecipherable by the outside world. So much so, that going back to having ordinary conversations in English feels bland and empty. I could explain a few of our jokes, but doing so would not do justice to the world we shared so exclusively for so many years — I’m sure anyone here who has experienced a deep love with another person knows what I’m talking about. I don’t say these things to sanctify Zoë. The two of us would always mock the way people respond to death, and she rolled her eyes at the thought of being included in trite Facebook posts about suicide and mental health. And while there’s wisdom to be gleaned from Zoë’s choices and circumstances, I think it would be a mistake to mythologize her or see her primarily as a life lesson. Zoë laughed her ass off, all the way to her grave, and I think that was her greatest strength of all. During our final text conversation, only a few hours before her death, she reminded me about the time Marco Rubio chipped his tooth on a frozen Twix bar. An hour before she died, she ridiculed me for wearing socks with holes in them. And, like I said, she also reminded me of what an “assmunch” I am.  When I think of Zoe going forward, I won’t think of the dates we went on and the trips we took, but how much better the mundanity of daily life was when she was a part of it.  Six months into our relationship, Zoe asked “what does love mean to you,” and I think now I have a pretty good answer: To me, it means slapping our cat Loaf in the face with slices of American cheese while we watch movies and eat fruit roll ups. Or watching her sneak prosciutt into movie theaters, and then nibble it in back like a giant rodent. Or the time she roly-polied into the guacamole late one night. I’ll remember late nights at CVSes in many different states, and how I’d always buy her a CVS rose if they were in stock (and only from CVS — never from an actual flower store). I’ll remember the way she left the lights on in our apartment every single night, no matter how many times I told her not to, and all the bowls of cheerios she would leave sitting out for days. I’ll think about how I beat her at Monopoly every single time and rubbed it in her face, even though it’s a purely luck based game. And how she kicked my ass with Ruzzle, which did actually take skill. I’ll remember how we’d ridicule her brother Ian’s ex girlfriend Gemma, before he finally found happiness with Astrid. I’ll remember how I’d yell at Zoë for ordering veal marsala every night, especially since she always made me get the door and the delivery guy thought I was the one constantly ordering veal to our apartment. And all the times she made me watch terrible Christian movies, the best of which was The Unexpected Bar Mitzvah. And the way we would walk through the Columbia campus and loudly refer to it as CoDUMBia, because they couldn’t get into Harvard and Yale. I’ll remember the time a man’s body odor hit us like a brick while we waited in line to go to a haunted house before halloween, and how outraged she was that it came from a smelly middle aged man surrounded by family members who lacked the collective decency to tell him how bad he smelled. And of course, I’ll think about what a sore winner she was when Sam, our cat, would come over to us and choose to sit in her lap over mine, every single time. Zoë once told me that she wanted to give me the world, which she did. She also said that “it’s hard to say goodnight when I enjoy being with you so much”, and I think that’s how she felt about leaving us. Because even though she experienced chronic pain 24 hours a day and almost never got a full night’s sleep, she adored our company. Misery was never her salient quality. She was a thousand times more empathetic, sensitive, funny, and irreverent, than she was depressed. I’ll think of Zoë many times as I live out the rest of my life. I’ll feel close to her when I approach death myself, if I’m fortunate enough to know that it’s coming. If I’m diagnosed with some painful and terminal disease, maybe I’ll choose a similar exit and take comfort knowing I’m following in her footsteps. And even if I don’t see death coming, when my life flashes before my eyes, I’ll be grateful to see some truly happy images from my youth thanks to Zoë. One of my letters to Zoë said, “I have always believed that life is pretty meaningless, but I will be grateful for as long as I live that I got to spend some of it with you”. And I have no doubt that for the rest of my life, I will want nothing more than to spend one more night of rolling around in filth with Zoë in our apartment…even when I’m a decrepit old man, when most of the people in this room are dead and I’m surrounded by young people who annoy me.  Zoë’s distant relative Ralph Waldo Emerson said that “it is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them”. Well, Zoë and I were stupid together nearly 24 hours a day. And the time we spent doing insignificant things was the best time of my entire life. I’m going to transition now to a short video I cut together, mostly consisting of insignificant moments, set to one of Zoë’s favorite Elliott Smith songs. But before I do I’d like to leave you with the final sentence from Zoë’s final letter to me. She wrote, “I didn’t get to have a happy ending, so have one for me please.” And while endings are not really happy in a chronological sense — ultimately we die and often with a great deal of suffering — I hope we can all do our best to embrace and savor the moments of true happiness that are within our grasp, just as she did. Thank you, and I hope I’ve successfully upstaged Zoë by giving a good speech. Jeb for President!

 

Ora Hi I’m Ora. I met Zoe in pre-k, and if Zoe hadn’t been a part of my life, my childhood would have been very different. I wouldn’t have known how to illegally download music or how to set up an AIM account. I would have at least 10 less nicknames, and so would many of you. I would have never created a parody of “Fergalicious” called “Turkeylicious,” which was about baking a turkey. I wouldn’t have made a shoe out of cardboard or spent an entire weekend creating maps of imaginary places. I wouldn’t have spent so many hours prank-calling random phone numbers, or playing the Sims and Dance Dance Revolution, and I wouldn’t have had a friend to share my obsession with cats. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have created the countless, uniquely weird, home-made, iMovie videos under “Orzo Productions.” An average weekend was never complete without a sleepover at Zoe’s, and a decade of my life would not have been complete without her friendship. Zoe made the world a lot funnier, and life wouldn’t have been the same without her unparalleled sense of humor, creativity, and strong opinions.

 

Devon Hi my name is Devin I met Zoe in Elementary School through our friend Ora. One spring Saturday in 7th grade Ora and I came over to Zoe’s house. As we approached the door we heard a muffled commotion from inside the entryway. Elizabeth answered the door and Zoe came into view sliding down the stairs laughing on a pillow. She came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and said with perfect comedic timing “you guys gotta try this!” We spent the next three hours sliding down those stairs on that pillow. The pillow I rested my head on during so many sleepovers at Zoe’s house. Sleepovers at which we read aloud to each other from the house of night series and then proceeded to draw moons on each other’s foreheads with Zoe’s blue eyeliner, sleepovers at which we worked each other up dancing and singing to spinners wheel and stool pigeon and coming up with endless what we’ll call “niche” inside jokes, sleepovers at which we inevitably found it difficult to wind down especially since one of us - usually Ora - didn’t want to acknowledge that the joke had run its course and it was time to go to sleep. We shared a love for Ben Folds and Regina Spector and a hatred for Tyson Ritter (who for those of you who are not familiar is the lead singer of the all American rejects google image search him for Zoe the results are chilling). We were also tolerant of each other’s differences largely Zoe was tolerant of the fact that I am a dog person although she frequently mentioned it was a less than favorable aspect of my personality. I believe she used the word repulsive to describe my fondness for them. Time spent with Zoé was indisputably the most fun, creative, bizarrely hilarious hours of my life during which we created memories that have become stories I will cherish and share forever.

 

Sophia Zoe was one of the funniest and most creative people I’ve ever known. Starting from such a young age, Zoe was able to find humor in dark and absurd situations. Zoe made the Montclair public school experience not only bearable, but also hilarious. Riding the smelly, loud bus home from Glenfield became material for two musicals (included in the zine we assembled). Every teacher got a nickname: Schwartzy Tortsy, the Treatmeister, and the Hubsand. When we both started using the Herbal Essences hair mousse called Tousle Me Softly, she innovated the song “Tousle me, tousle me softly, when we say goodnight.” To be friends with Zoe was to experience the world as a private joke, designed only to amuse us. Zoe was also an incredibly loyal and supportive friend. I could always count on her saying, “Nobody messes with my Falf.” She was there for me when I ran to her house in the middle of the night in search of glue for a school project, and when I was bored in finance class, and Zoe told my teacher that her (of course fictional) dog had died so I had an excuse to leave class and hang out with her. Earlier this year, I called Zoe, panicked and in the midst of a roommate crisis. Within minutes, she had me laughing hysterically about how absurdly awful my roommate was, while also saying, “Soph, you can’t live like that anymore.” Zoe was confident in her stances, hilarious in her takes on the world, and endlessly supportive. Being friends with Zoe since 3rd grade has shaped the way I see the world, and taught me to find humor in surprising places.  And for that, I am extremely grateful.

 

Lauren When I am talking about Zoë, it is rare that I’m not keeled over in laughter during a dramatic re-telling of a hilarious story of us during middle school or high school. She was always one of the most genuine, caring and funny people I knew, and she always had this beautiful ability to bring out the silly side of whoever was in a room with her. I very literally peed myself one time from laughing so hard at the gag-gift she and Libby mutually gave Sophia for her birthday one year. One day I walked into middle school wearing cowboy boots, and Zoe dubbed me, “Sheriff Baby Mouth” on account of my tiny mouth and pointy boots. She made up a song dedicated to my mouth, in the tune of spider-man, “baby mouth, baby mouth, does whatever a regular mouth can’t”, and i still sing it to this day. Zoe and I could be making home-made music videos to pop songs in my room in the 4th grade or spending a night sending chat messages to online shopping help rooms, it didn’t matter we were always always laughing. She was constantly poking fun at the world in a way that was full of compassion and bright-ness, and in a way that made people feel loved. Often I felt like Zoe knew me so well and was looking out for me, when I couldn’t/didn’t know how to look out for myself. She was always one of the first people to smell the bullshit in my life, and be like, this isn’t right, this isn’t gonna happen on my watch! It often felt like she was the protector of me and some of our friends, before I became conscious of the fact that I things weren’t sitting right. I always trusted Zoe’s intentions, I knew she held my happiness at her heart, and that her friends were family. Zoe is a once-in a lifetime friend, I will always hold her laugh, her kindness, her joy, her silliness in my heart.

 

Karen Zoe came to me a little over 12 years ago when she was just 11.  A small, shy, sweet young girl who wanted singing lessons.  I remember very clearly my first impression when I first heard her sing.  She didn’t sound like a typical 11 year old girl with a ‘little girl’ voice.  There was something in the tone -- a richness and maturity that were unique -- I knew right away that this girl’s talent was special.  It was a pleasure to work with her from the beginning and I loved watching her grow and develop as both a singer and artist but also as a human being over the ensuing 8 or 9 years. We became quite close and I grew to know her and love her like a daughter -- not just as my student.  She often confided in me and I knew of her struggles with her health which often got her down.  There were many cancelled lessons at the last minute when she just couldn’t bring herself to come and sing.  I understood how difficult it was for her and it was often heart-breaking to know how much she suffered.  However, there were many times when she came for a lesson not feeling great, but once we got started and she began singing, her face would light up and her demeanor would change.  I often said to her “well, I know you have all this awful health stuff going on but always remember you can sing! That’s a rare gift!”  She would leave the lesson feeling so much better -- so much happier.  It was such a transformation. I feel so privileged to have known her as I did and to have shared this unique relationship with her in music.  I was always so enormously proud of her -- especially knowing what physical challenges she was constantly dealing with -- when she performed on my yearly recitals.  She was uniformly wonderful and always got so many compliments afterwards.  She was a highlight of the show!  I will never forget her beautiful smile and the light in her eyes when she would turn to me after performing, knowing she ‘nailed it’...seeing that glow on her face was priceless.  I will miss her and there will always be a place in my heart where she resides.

 

Elizabeth: Zoë's Final Thoughts I’m sitting here looking at the full moon and the New York skyline. There are still some people in the office building next-door even though it’s 9 o’clock. Fox News is mad about the Democratic debates in the background. I feel calm. Steady. I feel like I am almost going into death in luxury… The peaceful nembutal, the fancy hotel with the beautiful view. There have not been any tears yet today. I am happy to soon be free of all responsibilities… All stresses… And all the tragedies of the world. OK, I have to turn Sean Hannity off. What a bedbug of a person… I have so many wonderful memories with wonderful people – I have been very, very loved- but my baseline from the day I was born was sensitive, fragile, melancholic, empty, lonely, and uncomfortable. It’s where I always return. It’s fear. I’m more scared of life then death.  So, am I “psychotically depressed?” At this current moment, no. And I don’t see this- what’s about to happen (and it doesn’t matter if I fail or succeed, it will still be regarded as such) – as a tragedy. I see tragedy woven into many of my life circumstances. And I think it’s tragic how negatively this will affect people I love. But dying a peaceful death in my sleep in a lovely hotel after being able to express my final thought is more “bittersweet” in my mind. Death comes for us all of us, and is usually preceded by unspeakable suffering.  So, I will say this: I feel free. And I feel in control, for the first time in a very, very, long time (maybe ever?) I’m done being a slave to my sensitivities. There are no tears. Maybe I’m numb, I don’t know. But I am calm. I am as ready as one can reasonably be for what comes next.

 

Peter's Final Thoughts In much of life, we don’t hear the music until it stops. Jolted by the silence, it awakens our mind’s memory of what existed before. That enlightened moment teaches us to listen more carefully to what is present and to be more present. In an essay written by Zoë in 2011 , she writes, “Changing implies sacrifice, every new opportunity, tragedy, or situation turns a new chapter in one’s life. Although, they may carry with them past knowledge, skills, and memories, one cannot expect to take on a new challenge without embracing a new idea, and potentially discarding an old one.” Zoë’s choice has shaken us into a wakefulness to look deeper within ourselves.  To question pre-conceived ideas, and with this changed perception, form new ones. It is a bittersweet awareness that makes me realize that the greater the pain, the greater the love.  One cannot exist without the other and our love for our children is unconditional. Zoë has taught me much throughout her life, and with her passing, I have a deeper understanding of her world and has forever changed mine. Zoë never hesitated to express her intolerance of bullshit, superficiality and disingenuous people. She mixed irony and irreverence to make a point and punctuated it with humor. Her ability to debate heavy topics with so much knowledge and passion, usually left her with the last word. I am proud of the compassion she shared with her friends and with others who were marginalized, abused and suffering, while enduring much of her own pain. Her courage to sustain this for so many years and still show a sunnier disposition toward the people she loved, was a testament of Zoë’s strength of character. Sadly, Zoë suffered for too long and with no expectation that it would stop, but probably get worse.  In the tragically beautiful words from the letter Zoë left us, she wrote, “You worked tirelessly- sometimes around the clock – to out-nurture my nature.   When you dad, used to say my happiness is the best gift I could give to you… that was so hard because I did really try to be happy for many years….but in the end I didn’t want happy.  I wanted relief, peace.” “My journey here has reached its natural end – and yes, I say natural, because all death is natural, even if it is not “normal” – and I am ready to see what, if anything, comes after this.” “Mourn for my absence, but do not mourn for “what might have been”, - please believe me, when I tell you this was my only path to deliverance, and I do not see it as a tragedy, but an act of self love” It is true that Elizabeth and I did try to out-nurture her nature for many years, but all the love, all the doctors, and all the money could not help change the DNA that Zoë was born with. In her final act, Zoë had incredible grace, dignity, composure and truth. This gives me some solace, as I now stand at the crossroads of disbelief, understanding, and sadness. I am sure Zoë will find a peaceful corner in my soul to rest and continue to reveal new truths and inform my choices.

 

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