Love and loss strengthen the Steinberg sibling bond

Mickey and Peggy Steinberg brought their first child home on their wedding night. Mickey was 21, Peggy was 19, and little Dolores — the biological daughter of a relative — was 3 ½ and needed a loving home.

Mickey became a Philadelphia firefighter and rose to the rank of captain. Peggy had been a secretary, but left her job to care for their little girl. A few years later, son Michael was born, followed by daughter Gail, and sons Kevin and David.

The Steinberg kids were always together — in part because they lived in smallish rowhouses, the first in East Falls, the second in the Far Northeast’s Our Lady of Calvary Parish. In both places, the boys shared one bedroom and the girls shared another.

“Mommy was very loving and would play games with us kids,” said Dolores, who is also known as Dee. “Daddy was kind of crazy and would keep us laughing,” said Gail.

Barbecues, family reunions, and trips down the Shore filled summer weekends. Christmas was the most fun of all. The tree was always gorgeous and their mother’s festive decorations went beyond the living room to the bedrooms, kitchen, and even bathroom. Dad rigged the doorbell to play a Christmas tune and set up a speaker on the porch to share Christmas songs with the neighborhood. Along with socks and shoes, every child got one thing they really wanted.

Dolores, an author and inspirational speaker who is now 71, was the first to leave home when she married Larry Miller in 1973. Michael, a roofer who is 65, married Peggy. Gail, 63, a now-retired social worker and preschool teacher, married Rick Kurowski. Kevin, an IBM computer technician who is 59, married Michele. And David, who is 54 and works in construction sales, was last to leave when he married Gina in 1991.

No one landed that far away — the siblings now live in either Philadelphia or Bucks County — so Mickey and Peggy Steinberg’s home remained the favored gathering spot for their children and their children’s children, too.

“It was always crowded, loud, and fun,” Kevin said.

Their mother, Peggy, was 50 when the diagnosis came: breast cancer. Mickey could not handle the emotion and the logistics of his wife’s care, too. It was July 1986, and for the first time, the five Steinberg children, with the help of their spouses, became the caregivers.

Gail went to doctor’s appointments, wrote everything down, and shared the information with her siblings, who developed a schedule for shopping, rides, and visits. “We took turns,” Dolores said.

Their mother needed a mastectomy, chemo, and radiation. An opportunistic infection almost killed her, but then the treatments began to work. As she grew stronger, their father did, too.

For the 15 years of their mother’s remission, their parents enjoyed their growing family, time with their many friends, and ocean cruises. In the early 2000s, they moved once more, to a 65+ community in Langhorne a mile from Kevin’s home. Peggy became friends with Lillian, Kevin’s mother-in-law, who then lived with him and Michele. “My parents used to come to my house every Monday night for dinner,” he said.

Not long after the move, in 2002, Peggy’s cancer returned and metastasized. Treatments bought some time, but other things began to fail. She died in June 2005.

For many months, their father made daily visits to Our Lady of Grace Cemetery. The siblings kept him close — he had dinner nightly with one of their families. And they remained in close contact with one another so that whoever was able could provide what was needed.

After Mickey was through the most debilitating stage of his grief, he spent more time with old friends and even began traveling again. After one Florida trip, he discovered he was unable to hold a pen to write his name. Gail noticed his walking gait was off. With some prodding, she got him to the hospital where he was diagnosed with a subdural hematoma. Mickey recovered, but his children say he was never quite the same.

David, Kevin, and Michael began having breakfast with their father almost every day. When he started to struggle with driving, his children took him for a driving evaluation. When he failed, they tried to soften the blow by telling him that one of his beloved grandchildren needed the car. When Mickey’s worsening memory issues were no longer solved by gentle reminders and decision-making faltered, the brothers and sisters held an important and difficult family meeting.

In 2014, they moved their father to a memory care facility. Family holiday celebrations were held in the facility’s community room. The Steinberg children made sure their father saw at least one family member every day.

Gail’s son Nicholas is a Philadelphia firefighter. “Early on, when Nicholas would visit him, Dad knew that he was a firefighter and he would ask him about the fire department,” Gail said. Nicholas is now a captain, just like his Pop was.

Toward the end of Mickey’s life, he forgot nearly everything. “But he never really forgot who we were,” said Michael. “He knew that we belonged to him.”

“Our parents raised us to know that family is very important, and that we could rely on each other,” said Gail. “When we were hit with mom going through cancer and dad going through dementia, we pulled in the ranks and said, ‘Ok, how are we going to do this?’ ”

“We always knew that we could lean on each other,” David said. “We learned how to lean on each other a little more.”

In recent years, most Steinberg sibling mobilizations have centered on joyous events. Between them, the five siblings have 13 children and 16 grandchildren, and a family that size generates a lot of celebrations — small ones, like weekly summer barbecues down the Shore, and large ones, like the upcoming wedding of Kevin’s daughter Kara.

But when life gets tough the siblings still rely on Team Steinberg. In 2018, the oldest was diagnosed with breast cancer. “Everyone was right there to support me,” said Dolores, who is now cancer free.

Dolores used her writing to express what she feels for her siblings.

From her poem, “All the Tender Things:”

… It has all made us stronger

And wiser and more than that

Knowing whatever we face

Again — any more tender things, we will always know we have each other …