Like others who have contributed to this journal, I have thought almost daily about Ed, since we lost him this past February. What I want to impart is, what it was like to walk into a room with Ed, as a team, taking care of families who are hoping for answers, help, and guidance. To backtrack, my first encounter with Ed was during my maternity leave in early 1994. I was asked to return to Children's Hospital, Oakland in a supervisory capacity, and Ed called me to introduce himself as the incoming director, and to become acquainted before my return. I thought to myself, “what a stand up guy, to take the effort and have a substantive conversation regarding working as a team.” Going “where no boss had gone before.” That was the beginning of my 8 years working alongside Ed; leading a large medical genetics and prenatal diagnosis division in an urban pediatric hospital, with seven other genetic counselors, cytogenetics and molecular genetics staff. There was virtually no learning curve with Ed. The co-counseling relationship in genetics is somewhat unique-a dyad, each with a similar agenda, who delivering a service in partnership, often while seeing families in crisis. And what a team we were; me a fast talking New Yorker, standing under five feet tall, him a slow talking Iowan standing considerably over six feet tall, both sometimes referred to by our sizes at the ends of the spectrum. However, we never missed a beat, sometimes me, the driver and him the passenger, sometimes him the driver and me riding shotgun. He was one of the best listeners I ever worked with, picking up on the words between the lines, and even between the silences. Ed was humbly honest and courageous when delivering very difficult news. It seemed the more serious or devastating the information, the more patient, caring and calm he was. There was one family with a child with severe disabilities, who we cared for for many years. Her disabilities rendered her a very limited quality of life, devastating her parents and siblings. With Ed's gentle and caring demeanor he supported them in making the difficult decision to place her in a home; more importantly, he gave them permission they needed to move forward. They stayed in touch with us for years after that, as Ed was the provider who impacted their lives in the way they needed most. This is the heart of what I loved about working with Ed. He gave you the permission to be present, honest and confident in your abilities. He gave patients permission to feel the pain of a serious diagnosis or loss. He was able to say the hard words, there was no sugar coating but there as always a cloak of kindness. Because of this ethos of permission, Ed allowed me and many others to grow and express ourselves in our work; I can say my years working with Ed were some of the most fulfilling and engaging of my career. He knew the real meaning of co-counseling and co-leading; sharing roles so we could each give to our patients and our department in our own, and best, way. Ed and my last year together was one of the most tumultuous of my career. The medical center chose to drastically shrink the department, forcing us to lay off the majority of our colleagues one by one; to say goodbye to the people we worked alongside with for 10 or more years. It was during this most difficult time that Ed was most supportive, again giving me and the rest of the staff permission to grieve the loss of our jobs, our connections to patients, to each other and to move on. So now I say, Ed, once again, just like 14 years ago, it will take quite some time to say goodbye. I thank you, from me and the other genetic counselors who were privileged to work with you, for the gift of learning alongside you, and for teaching us all the meaning of giving permission. Thank you to Robert Resta, MS, LCGC, for his help in preparing this memorial.