Bernard Robert Reilly added the last song to his spiral notebook - decorated with all his favorite music by memory - on Tuesday, October 1, 2024. He was 74 years young. Bernard left the same way he came into the world, too early. He was born prematurely on May 10, 1950, in Queens, New York, the son of Bernard and Mildred Reilly and brother of Patrick. He often joked of looking like a chicken and being so small that his mother had him sleep in an underwhelming bassinet called the dresser drawer. He may have been the youngest child, but you wouldn't have known it by how scrappy he was. He acted as his family's protector and Lord help anyone who crossed the ones he loved most. You'd get "iced " and boy, could that be chilly. Bernard grew up small in stature but big in energy. There was no telling him what he can and can't do. He set his own limits. And those limits reached the sky – but more realistically, the top of the basketball rim. Yes, witnesses confirm this 5' 6 man could jump that high. Sports were his passion. He never met one he disliked or wasn't naturally good at . And when I say passion, I mean it. The concrete jungle didn't have many grassy ball fields and this man's body took a beating because of it. What kind of lunatic slides to a base with shattered glass on the concrete? Bernard Reilly, that's who. Sooner or later, that rough and tumble dedication would land him in his own personal hell - the doctor's office. One night after getting a cast on his broken arm, his dinner knife curiously ventured from his plate to under the table where he was attempting to saw it off to no avail. Bernard's jovial energy was not restricted to his age. It was something he always carried with him. It showed in how he dressed. If you caught him walking a round the streets of Manhattan in the 1970's, you may have mistaken him for a pimp. He was notorious for sporting pastel - colored outfits with a fur collar and his tough guy strut on full display. Eventually, he retired to funny Dad t - shirts, basketball shorts and his chanclas – which were just sneakers he stubbornly forced into becoming sandals. His color dimmed when he was drafted into the U.S. Army for the Vietnam War. He returned with stories he'd rather forget and a newly inherited short temper. But at his core, he was still the generous and loyal man he'd always been. After his service, he began working for the New York City Department of Sanitation. It might sound like a messy job, but he never minded getting his hands dirty. Over the years, he collected treasures of toys for his children and stories of encounters with celebrities like Regis Philbin. When he left, he was remembered as a champion for his fellow union workers but also a giant thorn in his bosses' side. In 2001, he made the difficult decision to leave the only place he's ever called home and move his family to Arizona. There were no friends, no family members waiting for him in the Grand Canyon state, just triple digit weather and a shot at a better life for his wife and kids. This man, who grew up in the projects of New York City, completely shifted the trajectory of life for his family with this move. He worked overnights and two jobs without a whisper of a complaint - all in service to his loved ones. To him, it was his family that was his greatest accomplishment. Bernard shared his generosity with everyone he met. If you were lucky enough to cross paths with him, he likely ran to open a door for you or offered to do a back - bending favor that, for him, was no big deal. His moral compass and pure heart were the rarest of gems. If a cashier gave him too much money, he'd drive back to the store to give them the correct change. He didn't need the extra cash - his preferred currency was laughter. He brought lightness to any room he was in . Mostly, because he was telling an inappropriate joke. But t hat was how he connected. He wasn't an emotion al person – he showed his love by making jokes at your expense. The more relentless, the more he cared. And it was all done with that mischievous smirk on his face. The words "I love you" were enough to make him squirm. So, let's make him squirm a bit. He's loved dearly by his wife and best friend of more than 44 years, Evelyn Reilly, and sorely missed by his son Shaun and daughters Alyssa and Sarah. The amount of gratitude we all have for him could fill the entire universe. He left all four of us with the most fitting parting gift – an individual list of songs he made that remind him of us. The final one scribbled on the list in his notebook was "One More Day " by Diamond Rio – surely, a song we'll have on repeat until we meet again