New York
His Death Was Interrupted, Just as He Had Planned
The family of Brendan Costello gathered in the hospital half-light. He had overcome so much in life, but the profound damage to his brain meant he would never again be Brendan. It was time.
Brendan had spent four months enduring three surgeries and a lengthy rehab after infections further destabilized his damaged spine. He had returned to his apartment on the Upper West Side in late December to begin reclaiming the life he had put on hold — only to go into cardiac arrest three weeks later and lose consciousness forever.
His younger sister, Darlene, stayed by him in the intensive care unit at Mount Sinai Morningside hospital. She made sure that his favorite music streamed nonstop from the portable speaker propped near his bed. The gravelly revelations of Tom Waits. The “ah um” cool of Charles Mingus. The knowing chuckle of New Orleans jazz.
The music captured Brendan: the dark-humored Irish fatalism flecked with hope and wonder. And yes, he used a wheelchair, but woe to anyone who suggested this somehow defined the man.
After tests confirmed no chance of regaining consciousness, a wrenching decision was made. Brendan’s ventilator would be removed at 1 p.m. on Sunday, Jan. 19, five days after his collapse. He was 55.
Now it was Sunday, heavy and gray with dread. Several of Brendan’s closest relatives ringed his bed, including his sister and the aunt and uncle who had raised him. Waits growled, Mingus aahed, the clock ticked.
Then, just two minutes before the appointed hour, as tears dampened cheeks and hands reached for one last squeeze, a nurse stepped into the moment to say that Ms. Costello had a phone call.
What?
A phone call. You have to take it. You HAVE to take it.
The flustered sister left her brother’s room and took the call. Family members watching from a short distance saw her listening, saw her arguing, saw her face contort in disbelief.
Time paused, as all the emotional and spiritual girding to say goodbye gave way to a realization: Of course. Their beloved Brendan — witty, contrarian, compassionate and not-yet-dead Brendan — had other plans.
Of course.
BRENDAN CAME BY his gallows humor honestly. Finding the comedy in tragedy was a coping mechanism, a way of owning the pain, that he shared with his sister.
Their parents were deaf and ultimately incompatible. After their father left the family, their mother — their devoted, hilarious, troubled mother — took her life in the basement of their Brooklyn apartment building. Brendan was 8, Darlene 6.
They went to live with Uncle Marty and Aunt Cathy Costello and their two young daughters in northern Westchester. The couple resolved to raise the four children the same, doing their best to ease the trauma shadowing their nephew and niece.
Young Brendan amused the family with his sardonic asides, did well in class and established a Students for Peace group at Yorktown High School. After college, he took a job writing Wall Street-related news releases that did not suit his talents or interests. He found ways to numb himself.
Late one night in August 1996, a very drunk Brendan fell onto the subway tracks at the Broadway-Lafayette station. The oncoming D train cut his tie just below the knot, in sartorial measure of how close he came to death, and took away his ability to walk. Devastating.
But while rehabbing in a spinal-cord-injury program, he met a man in a wheelchair named Boris, who counseled others about this new chapter in their lives. “Boris told him that when you have an accident like this, you don’t withdraw from the world, you lean into the world,” Marty Costello recalled. “You go out there. And that’s what Brendan did.”
He did so with Brendanesque humor, sometimes wearing a blue Metropolitan Transportation Authority hat or a black T-shirt emblazoned with the orange D train symbol. Just to show there’s no hard feelings, he’d explain.
“If you’ve watched your parents die, or you’ve been run over by a train, you’re at a deeper depth of what’s funny,” his sister said.
Among the many things that bound the two siblings together was the 1986 Jim Jarmusch movie “Down by Law.” Its tragicomic sensibility resonated, as did a line uttered by Roberto Benigni, who played an Italian immigrant struggling to learn English:
“It’s a sad and beautiful world.”
Brendan drove a car, and refused any help getting in or out. Went skydiving. Co-hosted a radio show focused on disability rights and culture. Taught creative writing at the City College of New York. Published pieces in Harper’s, The Village Voice and elsewhere. Became president of the Irish American Writers and Artists organization. Belonged to the St. Pat’s for All group that arranges an annual everybody-welcome parade in Queens. Talked about storytelling with the elementary school students of his cousin Katie Odell, sometimes even letting them sit in his wheelchair.
And he dominated on trivia nights at the Dive 106 bar on the Upper West Side, often helping his team to beat all comers, including, most deliciously, squads of Columbia University students. “He was definitely the MVP of our team,” recalled Leland Elliott, his longtime friend and trivia teammate.
Brendan liked the saxophonic improvisations of Pharoah Sanders, the literary riffs of James Joyce and the Japanese art of Kintsugi, in which a broken thing, such as a shattered piece of pottery, is reassembled with gold or silver lacquer to create something new and wondrous.
He disliked Disney, Apple and, especially, any suggestion that his disability somehow made him inspiring. “He was not somebody who wanted to be seen as a guy in a wheelchair,” his cousin Maryanne Canavan said. “He wanted to be identified by what he brought to the table.”
And what he brought was considerable, she said. “His brain was his superpower.”
THE TELEPHONE CALL that interrupted Brendan’s death was about extending lives, though not his. Just as he had planned.
The caller was from LiveOnNY, the nonprofit organization federally designated to coordinate organ donations in the New York metropolitan area. When a patient who meets specific clinical criteria seems on the cusp of death at a donor hospital, the hospital is required to contact LiveOnNY, which then checks for the person’s name in the database of registered donors.
Years earlier, Brendan had registered while renewing his driver’s license. The caller, a family-support advocate for LiveOnNY, gently explained that this meant he could not be taken off the ventilator. At least not yet.
The news was almost too much to process. Darlene Costello, who moments earlier had been steeling herself to say goodbye to her dear and only sibling, erupted in anger. Why was she only now hearing about this?
Gradually, though, she came to embrace the import, the beauty, of what was unfolding. By late that afternoon, the LiveOnNY representative was at Mount Sinai Morningside, patiently going over the next steps with Ms. Costello and her cousin, Ms. Canavan, both nurse practitioners.
When Ms. Costello learned of the “directed donation” option, in which a family can direct an organ to a specific recipient for a possible match, she felt the gravitational pull of fate. Here was a chance to use a piece from one broken body to make another whole: her mentor and friend, Dr. Sylvio Burcescu.
Dr. Burcescu was a psychiatrist and head of the Mensana Center, the clinic in Westchester where Ms. Costello worked; several of his patients had told her that his counsel had saved their lives. Now a rare and debilitating kidney disease had upended his own life, and he was on the registry for a transplant.
“I was completely incapacitated by dialysis,” Dr. Burcescu, 62, said, recalling the exhaustion, the pain and the extreme limitations on his liquid intake. “A very bad situation.”
When Ms. Costello called, he braced for bad news about her brother. Instead, he said, she sounded excited, even upbeat, and asked a question that took his breath: Do you want one of Brendan’s kidneys?
As she explained what had unfolded, the doctor struggled to corral his many emotions: sadness, embarrassment, humility, gratitude. Finally, he said: It would be an honor.
So much had suddenly changed, and so much still had to fall into place. The chance of a match between Brendan and Dr. Burcescu was slim; of the 2,052 kidney transplants that LiveOnNY has facilitated over the last three years, only about 50 resulted from directed donations.
“The sun, moon and stars have to line up,” said Leonard Achan, the president and chief executive officer of LiveOnNY. And if they didn’t, he said, the organ would instead be offered to the most compatible person at the top of the national waiting list.
A battery of testing and measuring and analyzing determined that here was a rare, against-the-odds match. “A miracle, really,” Mr. Achan said. “A case of somebody saying, ‘I know someone.’ And it actually works out.”
THE NURSE AT Mount Sinai Morningside hospital has never seen so many visitors. A few dozen, easily, with some crammed in a certain patient’s room and the rest spilling into the seventh-floor hall of the intensive care unit.
But after several years of nursing experience, Cornelius Sublette knows to keep his “ICU mind.” Pay close attention to his patient’s oxygenation, blood pressure and comfort, and be ready to meet every possible need of the grieving family.
His mantra: “To offer self.”
It is Wednesday, Jan. 22, three days after the revelation of Brendan’s last wish had postponed his death. He lies in Room 24, as music triumphs over the mechanical beep of reality. Fiona Apple sings of seeing not just the crescent but the whole of the moon, while Sting summons a haunting Irish air, hundreds of years old, about a gallant darling hero.
People take turns donning masks, gloves and yellow isolation gowns before entering the small room to say a word, a prayer, a goodbye. Hospital guidelines allow for only two visitors at a time, but accommodations have been made for the crush of love.
The air changes when the operating room on the third floor calls to say that everything is set; it is time, once again. Mr. Sublette kicks the red lever at the base of Brendan’s bed, releasing the brake.
With the help of another nurse, he guides the bed out of Room 24 and into the hall. Along the walls, family members, friends and hospital workers stand at attention, in somber respect for someone who, in his imminent death, is about to give life. It is a ritual called the honor walk.
Steering the bed, the two nurses in their teal scrubs take care to walk at a slow, even pace. Brendan’s relatives fall in behind, one by one, as his music washes over them.
The procession turns left at the intensive care unit’s small command center and moves toward the glowing-red exit sign above the automatic doors. Beyond is a steel-silver elevator that will take Brendan four floors down to the operating room.
There, in a little while, his ventilator will be disconnected, and his breathing will end. His left kidney will go to his sister’s friend, Dr. Burcescu, who will soon drink as much water as he wants. His right kidney will go to a man in Pennsylvania, his lungs to a woman in Tennessee. He will donate, too, his ever-searching eyes.
In a couple of weeks, there will be a funeral Mass at the Roman Catholic Church of the Ascension, his old parish on the Upper West Side. Hundreds will attend. A holy jazz will play.
All that will come in the days ahead. But for now, Louis Armstrong is singing full-throated about the march of saints as Brendan Thomas Costello Jr. leads a procession, sacred and slow, through this sad and beautiful world.
Audio produced by Parin Behrooz.
New York
How a Parks Worker Lives on $37,500 in Tompkinsville, Staten Island
How can people possibly afford to live in one of the most expensive cities on the planet? It’s a question New Yorkers hear a lot, often delivered with a mix of awe, pity and confusion.
We surveyed hundreds of New Yorkers about how they spend, splurge and save. We found that many people — rich, poor or somewhere in between — live life as a series of small calculations that add up to one big question: What makes living in New York worth it?
Sara Robinson boarded a Greyhound bus from Oregon to New York City to attend Hunter College in the early 2000s, bright-eyed and eager to pick up odd jobs to fuel her dream of living there.
For a long time, she made it work. But recently, that has been more challenging than ever.
Right around her 40th birthday, Ms. Robinson began to feel financially squeezed in Brooklyn, where she had lived for years. Ms. Robinson (no relation to this reporter) was also feeling too grown to live with roommates.
“As a child,” she said, “you don’t think you’re going to have a roommate at 40.” She decided to move into a place of her own: a one-bedroom apartment in the Tompkinsville neighborhood of Staten Island.
After she moved, the preschool where she’d worked for over a decade closed. Now, she works two jobs. She is a seasonal employee for the state Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation, working from Tuesday to Saturday. And on Monday nights, she sells concessions at the West Village movie theater Film Forum, which pays $25 an hour plus tips.
Ms. Robinson, now 45, loves her job as an environmental educator at a state park on Staten Island. Her team runs the park’s social media accounts and comes up with event programming, like a recent project tapping maple trees to make syrup.
But the role is temporary. Her last stint was from June 2024 to January 2025. Then she was unemployed until August 2025. Ms. Robinson’s current contract will be up in April, unless she gets an extension or a different parks job opens up.
Ms. Robinson’s biweekly pay stubs from the parks department amount to about $1,300 before taxes. She barely felt a difference, she said, while she was out of work and pocketing around $880 every two weeks from her unemployment checks. (Her previous parks gig paid $1,100 a check.)
Living in New York’s Greenest Borough
“It used to be, ‘There’s no way I’m moving to Staten Island,’” Ms. Robinson said. “But the place is close to the water. I’m three minutes from the ferry. The rest is history.” She lives on the third floor of a multifamily house, above an art studio and another tenant. Her rent is $1,600 a month, plus $125 in utilities, including her phone bill.
“If my situation changes, I don’t know if I could find something similar,” she said. “So much of my New York life has been feeling trapped to an apartment. You get a place for a good price, and you’re like, ‘I can’t leave now.’”
Staten Island is convenient for Ms. Robinson’s parks job, but it’s become harder to justify living in a borough where she knows few people. It takes more than an hour to get to friends in Brooklyn, an especially hard trek during the winter. After four years of living on Staten Island, Ms. Robinson feels somewhat isolated.
“All my friends on Staten Island are senior citizens,” she said. “It’s great. I love it. But I do want friends closer to my age.”
One of Ms. Robinson’s friends, Ray, took her on nature walks and taught her about tree identification, sparking an interest in mycology, the study of mushrooms. This led to a productive — and free — fungi foraging hobby during unemployment. She has found all sorts of mushrooms, including, after a month of searching, the elusive morel.
The Budgeting Game
Ms. Robinson doesn’t update her furniture often, but when she does, she shops stoop sales in Park Slope or other parts of Brooklyn.
“It’s like a treasure hunt,” she said. “You could make a whole apartment off the street, off the stuff that people throw away.”
She also makes a game out of grocery shopping, biking to Sunset Park in Brooklyn or Manhattan’s Chinatown to go to stores where there are better deals. She budgets about $300 for groceries each month.
Ms. Robinson bikes almost everywhere, sometimes traveling a little farther to enter the Staten Island Railway at one of the stations that don’t charge a fare. She spends $80 a month on subway and ferry fares, and $5 a month for a discounted Citi Bike membership she gets through a credit union, though she usually uses her own bike. She is handy and does repairs herself.
There are certain splurges — Ms. Robinson drops $400 once or twice a year on round-trip airfare to Seattle, where her family lives. She also spent $100 last year to see a concert at Forest Hills Stadium in Queens.
She said she has many financial saving graces. She has no student loans and no car to make payments on. She doesn’t get health insurance from her jobs, but she qualifies for Medicaid.
She mostly eats at home, though sometimes friends will treat her to dinner. She repays them with tickets to Film Forum movies.
Nothing Beats the Twinkling Lights
Ms. Robinson’s friends often talk about leaving the city — and the country.
Two friends have their eyes set on Sweden, where they hope to get the affordable child care and social safety net they are struggling to access in New York.
Ms. Robinson can’t see herself moving elsewhere in the United States, but she is entertaining the idea of an international move if she can’t hack it on Staten Island.
Yet the pull of the city is hard for her to resist.
“I just get a rush when I’m riding the Staten Island Ferry across the bay,” she said. “You see all the little twinkling lights. It’s this feeling of, ‘everything is possible here.’”
That feeling, plus the many friendly faces Ms. Robinson sees every day — the ferry operators, the conductors on the Staten Island Railway, her co-workers at Film Forum — are what tie her to New York.
“My savings are not increasing, so there’s that,” she said. “But I’ve been OK so far. I think I’m going to figure it out.”
New York
How the Editor in Chief of Marie Claire Gets Styled for a Trip to Italy
Nikki Ogunnaike, the editor in chief of Marie Claire magazine, did not grow up the scion of an Anna Wintour or a Marc Jacobs.
But, she said, “my mom and dad are both very stylish people.”
They got dressed up to go to church every week in her hometown Springfield, Va. Her mother managed a Staples; her father, a CVS. “Presentation is important to them,” she said.
Since landing her first internship with Glamour magazine in college, Ms. Ogunnaike, 40, has held editorial roles there and at Elle magazine and GQ. She has been in the top post at Marie Claire since 2023.
She recently spent a Saturday with The New York Times as she prepared for Milan Fashion Week.
New York
How a Physical Therapist and a Retiree Live on $208,000 in Harlem
How can people possibly afford to live in one of the most expensive cities on the planet? It’s a question New Yorkers hear a lot, often delivered with a mix of awe, pity and confusion.
We surveyed hundreds of New Yorkers about how they spend, splurge and save. We found that many people — rich, poor or somewhere in between — live life as a series of small calculations that add up to one big question: What makes living in New York worth it?
It has never really occurred to Marian or Charles Wade to live anywhere but the city where they were born and where they raised their children.
New York is in their bones. “We have our roots here, and our families enjoyed life here before us,” Ms. Wade said.
And they feel lucky. Between Mr. Wade’s pension, earned after more than 40 years as an analyst at the Manhattan district attorney’s office, and his Social Security benefits, along with Ms. Wade’s work as a physical therapist at a psychiatric center, they bring in about $208,000 a year.
Still, it’s hard for the couple not to notice how much the city has changed as it has become wealthier.
About 10 years ago, Ms. Wade, 65, and Mr. Wade, 69, sold the Morningside Heights apartment they had lived in for decades. The Manhattan neighborhood had become more affluent, and tensions over how their building should be managed and how much residents should be expected to pay for upkeep boiled over between people who had lived there for years and newer neighbors.
They found a new home in Harlem, large enough to fit their two children, who are now adults struggling to afford the city’s housing market.
All in the Family
Ms. Wade knew it was time to leave Morningside Heights when she spotted her husband hiding behind a bush outside their building, hoping to avoid an unpleasant new neighbor. They had bought their apartment in 1994 for $206,000, using some money they had inherited from their families, and sold it in 2015 for $1.13 million.
The couple found a new apartment in the Sugar Hill section of Harlem for $811,000, and put most of the money down upfront. They took out a loan with a good rate for the remaining cost, and had a $947 monthly payment. They recently finished paying off the mortgage, but they have monthly maintenance payments of $1,555, as well as two temporary assessments to help improve the building, totaling $415 a month.
Their two children each moved home shortly after graduating from college.
The couple’s son, Jacob Wade, 28, split an apartment with three roommates nearby for a while, but spent down his savings and moved back in with his parents. He is searching for an affordable one bedroom nearby and plans to move out later in the year. Their daughter, Elka Wade, 27, came home after college but recently moved to an apartment in Astoria, Queens, with roommates.
Until their daughter moved out a few weeks ago, she and her brother each took a bedroom, and Mr. and Ms. Wade slept in the dining room, which they had converted into their bedroom with the help of a Murphy bed and a new set of curtains for privacy.
There is very little storage space. A piano occupies an entire closet in their son’s bedroom, because the family has no other place to fit it.
The setup is cramped, but close quarters have their benefits: When their daughter, a classically trained cellist, was living there, she often practiced at home in the evenings. “I love listening to her play,” Ms. Wade said.
Three Foodtowns and a Thrift Shop
The Wades do what they can to keep their costs low. They’ve decided against installing new, better insulated windows in their drafty apartment. They don’t go on vacations, instead visiting their small weekend home in rural upstate New York. And they’ve pulled back on takeout food and retail shopping.
Instead, Mr. Wade surveys the three Foodtown supermarkets near their home for the best deals, preferring one for produce and another for meat. The weekly grocery bill has been around $500 with both kids living at home, and the family usually orders delivery twice a week, rotating between Chinese and Indian food, which typically costs $70, including leftovers.
For an occasional splurge, they love Pisticci, a nearby restaurant where the penne with homemade mozzarella costs $21.
The couple owns a car, which they park on the street for free. But they often use public transportation to avoid paying the $9 congestion pricing fee to drive downtown, or when they have a good parking spot they don’t want to give up. They have a senior discount for their transit cards, which allows them to pay $1.50 per subway or bus ride, rather than $3.
Ms. Wade stopped shopping at the stores she used to frequent, like Eileen Fisher and Banana Republic, years ago. Instead, she visits a thrift store called Unique Boutique on the Upper West Side. She was browsing the aisles a few months ago, before a big Thanksgiving dinner, and spotted the perfect dress for the occasion for just $20.
But she has one nonnegotiable weekly expense: a private yoga lesson in an instructor’s apartment nearby, for $150 a session.
Swapping Mortgage Payments for Singing Lessons
For every member of the Wade family, life in New York is all about the arts.
The children each attended the Special Music School, a public school focused on the arts. Their son, an actor, teacher and director, works part time at the Metropolitan Opera and the Kaufman Music Center, a performing arts complex in Manhattan. His sister works in administration at the Kaufman Center.
Mr. Wade is still close with friends from high school who are now professional musicians, and the couple often goes to see them play at venues like the Bitter End in Greenwich Village, where shows typically have a $12 cover and a two-drink minimum.
The couple has cut back on going to expensive concerts — they used to try to see Elvis Costello every time he came to New York, for example — but have timeworn strategies for getting affordable theater tickets.
They recently splurged on tickets to “Oedipus” on Broadway for themselves and their daughter, who they treated to a ticket as a birthday gift. The seats were in the nosebleed section, but still cost $80 apiece.
The couple has a $75 annual membership to the Film Forum, which gives them reduced price tickets to movies. They occasionally get discounted tickets to the opera through their son’s work, and when they don’t, they pay for family circle passes, which are usually $47 a head, plus a $10 fee.
Ms. Wade, who grew up commuting from Flushing, Queens, to Manhattan to take dance lessons, sometimes takes $20 drop-in ballet classes during the week at the Dance Theater of Harlem, just a few blocks away from the apartment.
Recently, when the couple paid off their mortgage, Ms. Wade celebrated by giving herself a treat: weekly private singing lessons, for $125 a session.
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