Remembering Leonard Nimoy

Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Rocket ships are exciting, but so are roses on a birthday.

Computers are exciting, but so is a sunset.

And logic will never replace love.

Happy birthday... It was his 83rd birthday.

At the time, we didn't know it would be the last birthday that we would be celebrating for my dad, Leonard Nimoy.

[ Siren wails ] Paramedics are on the way.

Let's just keep him comfortable.

Right.

We'll be there shortly.

I got a call very early in the morning from my stepmother, Susan, saying that they're rushing Dad to the hospital.

They are not sure if he was having a heart attack.

I didn't know if he was gonna make it.

[ Monitor beeping ] Sometimes, I wonder where I belong -- in the future or in the past.

I guess I'm just an old-fashioned spaceman.

[ Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer" plays ] I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told I have squandered my resistance For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises All lies and jest Still, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest [ Humming ] Let us join the ages.

The tides flow.

The sun rises and sets.

The seasons come and go.

The moon and the stars light the night way.

Let us plant a seed.

Love and protect it.

Feed and warm it.

Surely, a tree will rise to take its place in the sun.

Let us plant, today, the seed which will be the tree of us.

I was a Jewish kid living in an ethnic neighborhood in the heart of Boston called the West End.

The West End was a very close-knit, mixed neighborhood, was really a village in a way.

The people on the floor below us were Italian.

The people on the floor below that were Irish.

Three generations living in one apartment -- my grandparents and my parents and my brother and I. My parents had both escaped from Russia, and they were grateful to be living in a country where they couldn't be killed in the street.

At the same time, they were very fearful of becoming a financial burden.

Hard work, for them, was a moral obligation.

Max and Dora were the last generation of the Old World that came out here.

My grandmother was a homemaker.

My grandfather was a barber.

I was working from 8: 00 in the morning till 8:00 at night.

Saturdays, from 8:00 till 12:00.

My father's barber shop was within, I would say, 75 yards of where we lived.

Haircuts, I think, were 25 cents, and a shave was a dime.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, High Holiday services with my family, there comes a point in the service where the Kohanim, who were the members of the priestly tribe of the Hebrew people, get up to bless the congregation.

My father said to me "Don't look."

But I was -- You know, I'm 8 years old and something really strange going on, so I peeked.

And I saw them doing that with their hands as they were blessing the congregation and they were shouting this prayer.

I grew up during the Depression, a very tough time, financially, for most people.

He was always hustling, 'cause this is a kid from the West End of Boston.

My uncle is fond of saying, "You can take the boy out of the West End, but you cannot take the West End out of the boy."

I mean, this is a street kid who hustled, you know, for a dime, for a dollar.

Dad was very interested in a lot of different hobbies.

He was a photographer from very early on.

My neighborhood friend in the West End showed me how to develop a roll of film and make a print, in their own darkroom.

I could take the family camera and go out and shoot some pictures and come home and start developing them and making prints immediately in the bathroom, which was very exciting.

One Saturday, when I was 8 years old, I saw "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

And I remember being touched by the humanity trapped inside Quasimodo, the Hunchback, the seemingly inhuman title character.

I saw that, beneath his different exterior, was a heart that yearned for love and acceptance.

Why was I not made of stone, like thee?

The humanity trapped inside this seemingly inhuman creature profoundly touched me.

And that alienation was something that I had learned in Boston.

I knew what it meant to be a member of a minority and, in some cases, an outcast minority.

The seed that would become Spock was planted.

When I was about 17, I acted in an adult in drama for the first time, a play called "Awake and Sing," by Clifford Odets, a great play writer in the '30s.

It was a social drama about a family so much like my own.

And I was playing a kid, a 17-year-old kid, who was having the same issues in his life that I was having.

I thought, "Wow.

This is really interesting.

This is about people like me."

I came to love acting.

I was a shy kid, easily embarrassed, but I found comfort in playing other characters, because I was protected behind the performer's mask.

I was determined to become an actor.

When I told my dad, "I want to be an actor," he said, "Oh, you're going to be hanging around with gypsies and vagabonds."

And then he said to me, "Learn to play the accordion.

You can always make a living with an accordion."

Being stubborn, I saved some money by selling vacuum cleaners, I bought a train ticket, and I headed west to California.

[ Train whistle blows ] My folks came to the U.S.

as immigrants, aliens who became citizens.

I was born a citizen who was going to Hollywood to become an alien.

Pasadena Playhouse was considered to be a well-known acting facility.

I'm not sure how my dad had heard about it, but that's where he wanted to go.

A lot of very well-known actors have come out of the Pasadena Playhouse.

Dad really had very little money in his pocket.

It was the early '50s in Los Angeles.

He was living in a boarding house, doing odd jobs.

He worked at an ice-cream parlor as a soda jerk.

He did what he could to make money.

At the same time, looked for acting work.

He started off in small roles, in these sort of offbeat "B" films.

There was "Zombies of the Stratosphere"... I think they're all dead.

Nothing like that.

The carnival leaves tomorrow.

..."Queen for a Day."

He played little cameo parts.

Dad tried to emulate Marlon Brando, 'cause he was very cool -- white T-shirt and the cigarette.

Dad wanted that look, the cool look.

In his early years in L.A., when he was trying to get into the entertainment business, he was heavily smoking.

Dad started smoking in his late teens.

It could have been two packs a day.

Everybody was smoking back then.

That was the lifestyle.

Yes, surveys show more doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.

Smoke Camels... Being that doctors were promoting smoking as a healthy thing, Dad lived a healthy life as a smoker.

It was kind of cool, okay.

You know, doctors say it's okay.

What's wrong with it?

Today, we know that it's not okay.

Exposure to cigarette smoke contributes greatly to the burden of COPD.

COPD is chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.

It's an umbrella term that includes both chronic bronchitis and emphysema.

Symptoms includes coughing, wheezing, tightness in the chest, and especially breathlessness.

About 30 million people in the United States have it.

It's the third-leading cause of death, behind heart disease and cancer.

It'll be the third-leading cause of deaths worldwide very soon.

We haven't put enough attention onto this disease, partly because it's a smoking-related disease, and there was a lot of shame and blame and people didn't really report the symptoms.

Back in the '40s and the '50s, they didn't know the dangers of it.

I guess maybe you can smoke that last cigarette.

My first tremendous break in Hollywood came in 1951, when I was only 20, and I was cast as the lead in a modest film called "Kid Monk Baroni."

I told you, I want to go to sleep.

Came over here all of a sudden, huh?

The Monk was an Italian boy from New York's East Side, who became a boxer.

And the role was especially interesting, because he had a disfigured face that made him an outsider, an alien in his own world.

Nobody can look at me straight.

No girl even comes near me.

The day that filming began on "Kid Monk," my mouth, my nose, my forehead became no longer Leonard Nimoy's, but The Monk's.

I looked like an outsider, a person who didn't belong.

I could identify with the feelings evoked by being different.

Yet, like the Hunchback, he, too, had a heart which yearned for understanding and compassion.

Dad was very excited that he finally got a starring role.

At a theater on La Cienega, Dad met my mother, Sandy.

He was in a play called "It's Hard to be a Jew," and my mom was auditioning for that play.

U.S.

government leaders confer with President Truman on the hostilities in Korea.

In 1953, with the Korean War, he decided he was going to enlist.

He spent time in Atlanta, Georgia, at Fort McPherson.

And Sandy went off to Georgia with him.

They got married February 1954.

And while he was in the Army, he ran the acting studio, producing, directing plays.

Since my mom was an aspiring actress, they were in a play together, "A Streetcar Named Desire."

My Dad played Stanley, and Mom played Stella.

And she was pregnant at the time, with me.

I was born in March of 1955, while my Dad was still in the service.

Towards the end of 1955, Dad was discharged from the Army.

He and my mother and I moved back to Los Angeles.

A year later, my brother, Adam, was born.

When Adam and I were infants, even toddlers, Dad was very proactive, helping my mom with us.

He was still struggling to find work.

He did have a lot of time at home.

Dad was still looking for work as an actor, but to take care of the family, he did a lot of odd jobs.

He serviced vending machines.

He worked in a tropical fish store.

He managed an apartment building in Venice.

He drove a taxi.

And he got a call to pick someone up from the Bel-Air hotel.

He went there, and JFK got into his car.

And it was before JFK was the president.

And, so, they started talking, and JFK said, "What do you want to do?"

And my grandpa said, "Well, I want to be an actor."

And he said, "Really, what your job is, is very similar to mine.

Give you tough skin and take a lot of criticism and persistence.

Without persistence, you can't do anything."

That story always stuck with me.

He was just hustling.

Like, he just never stopped hustling.

The people who have the most successful careers don't stop hustling till you're retired.

No one else could have taught me that except for him.

Even after "Kid Monk Baroni," he was still doing guest roles on different TV series.

And we had this little black-and-white television.

[ Click ] The show would come on.

All of a sudden, we'd see Dad, and he's an Indian.

"Oh, my God.

That's my dad!"

It was exciting when we saw Dad on TV.

When he had time in between jobs, he'd just putter around.

He could fix almost anything.

And not only could he fix things, he built things.

He built a brick wall.

He built stairs in the front yard.

He was extremely handy.

I always saw him puttering around the house and holding a cigarette in his hand.

Dad smoked all the time.

He smoked in bed.

He smoked in the car with the windows rolled up.

He smoked all over.

Wherever we would go, he had a cigarette in his hand.

Leonard was at a Cub Scout meeting with one of his children, and he had to do a little bit of running at that Cub Scout meeting and he was much more short of breath than his fellow peers.

So he had a significant amount of short of breath, even back then.

He's your classic case of an undiagnosed COPD patient.

He probably had mild-to-moderate COPD.

Dad opened up his own acting studio in the Valley, and he taught acting.

My parents didn't have the money for full-time help or a babysitter.

So they would take my brother and I with them.

I found it very interesting.

I really enjoyed watching the actors onstage, playing these parts.

In a very short time, very short time, my work changed dramatically.

And, in a very short time, my career changed dramatically.

Oh, man.

In the early '60s, around '64, Dad was guest-starring in a series called "The Lieutenant," produced by Gene Roddenberry.

His performance was very memorable, because Gene called Dad in to discuss an idea he had for a TV series.

I tried very hard just to listen carefully while Gene Roddenberry told me all about this role I was to play, Spock, in a science-fiction series called "Star Trek."

It was kind of surreal seeing my dad in his costume with the pointed ears and the arched eyebrows.

Unfortunately, at that time, we still did not have a color TV.

We had very close friends that invited us over, and they had a nice, big color TV.

And it was an incredible evening.

My parents let Adam and I stay up to watch "Star Trek" every week.

Live long and prosper.

He pretty much lived this character five days a week, and then, on the weekend, he had to, like, come back to being Leonard, Dad, husband.

I went to a brand-new junior high, where I didn't know anyone.

Everyone knew who I was, the daughter of Mr.

Spock.

I didn't quite know how to work it, having a famous father and being a normal 13-year-old.

A lot of the kids -- they really wanted to meet Mr.

Spock.

Victor Hugo said, "Popularity?

Why, it is the very crumbs of greatness."

In the beginning, it was very novel, it was fun, it was new, was exciting.

We were starting to get fan mail.

Photographers want to take pictures of the family.

There are no classes in celebrity to help you cope with its impact on your life and the lives of your co-workers, family, and friends.

Dad was being approached all the time -- interviews for magazines, publicity, photograph sessions with the whole family.

He went on the road a lot, doing speaking engagements, doing signings.

He was busy all the time.

At a "Star Trek" convention, a teenaged girl asked the question, "How did you prepare for what happened to you when you became famous?"

My answer?

"I didn't."

I had no inkling how it would change my life, outside of getting a regular paycheck.

One of the magazines printed our home address.

Not only did the mailman come with mailbags full of fan mail, but fans were starting to come by our house.

[ Knock on door, doorbell rings ] They'd come and knock on our door.

So we had to move to another house.

Dad was still smoking throughout the '60s.

I tell people that I was an Olympic championship smoker.

If there had been a championship in the addiction, I could have qualified.

We know that the major cause of COPD is cigarette smoking.

Exposure to cigarette smoke is not the only reason that individuals get COPD.

In fact, right now, we know that 1-in-6 individuals with COPD have never smoked.

There's a growing number of patients who are surprised to learn they have COPD, because they never smoked a cigarette.

Some people can be affected by the pollutants from traffic.

Exposure to irritants in the workplace.

There's passive smoke.

There's a genetic version of COPD.

It really is the combination of your genes that determines whether you're going to get COPD, versus someone who has exactly the same exposures and exactly the same risk factors and remains perfectly healthy all their lives.

I didn't really notice if he had any lung issues or coughing back then.

The smoking didn't seem to affect him as greatly as it did later on in his life.

We were all aware that "Star Trek" would be canceled, and on the last day of shooting, we all stepped onto the sound stage with a sense of finality.

After the final scene was shot, we drifted off the "Star Trek" sound stage for what we were sure would be the last time and we went our separate ways.

I signed on with "Mission: Impossible."

He went from "Star Trek" to "Mission."

He did that for a couple of years.

He finally left that show and went on to do other things.

After "Mission: Impossible," I played Tevye in "Fiddler on the Roof."

It was only the first experience in my extremely enjoyable theatrical career.

It was thrilling every night.

My folks came.

I was a good Tevye, and I think I surprised a lot of people.

'Cause I had a sense of what it was.

I really understood the material.

It was pretty much the story of my own family.

The culture was the same as what I grew up with.

Dad really immersed himself into this role, because he could relate his past history to what was happening in this play.

His parents coming from Eastern Europe.

He was amazing as Tevye.

[ Applause ] He started acting in plays pretty consistently throughout the country.

I went on to appear as Fagin in "Oliver," Arthur in "Camelot."

In addition to the musicals, I also appeared in numerous dramas, including "The Man in the Glass Booth."

He was in "Equus" in New York, on Broadway, "Visit to a Small Planet" in Chicago.

I went with him a lot.

I usually drove him to the theater and I picked him up.

He wrote and produced and directed his one-man show called "Vincent," told through Vincent's brother, Theo Van Gogh.

He created this play.

It was his own one-man show he was finally doing.

...do my best to tell you some things about my brother, Vincent.

It was during my theatrical experiences that I became increasingly aware of a surge of interest in the defunct "Star Trek" series.

It was in syndication.

People would come together and watch it in colleges, living rooms.

It grew into a culture.

Dad became extremely well-known all over the world.

[ Cheers and applause ] Again, happy to see you here.

Thank you.

I soon began to realize that it wasn't a question of whether "Star Trek" would return.

It was a question of how and when.

Science Officer Spock reporting as ordered, Captain.

Paramount, which had bought "Star Trek" rights from Desilu, finally determined to bring the series back to life.

The "Star Trek" movie so longed for and so greatly anticipated was done.

I immersed myself in other projects.

Dad was very busy.

He got involved in movies and he had to go to Europe a few times.

He was in Israel.

He was in China.

He was in France.

When I landed in Los Angeles, the studio driver took me directly to Paramount, where filming on "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" was already under way.

I would spend the weekend trying to step back into the psyche of a death-bound Vulcan.

Dad said, "You'll come on to "Star Trek II" and you can assist the directors."

We drove together every day to work.

It came the day where the character Spock was going to die.

This particular morning, he was very quiet.

I asked him if he was okay, and he said, "I just have a lot of things to think about right now."

Came time on set for my dad to do the scene.

The set was eerily quiet.

Dad and Bill, Kirk and Spock, did their scene together.

Spock passes away.

Sooner than I realized, it was over.

Never before had any character I'd played had such a profound impact on my life.

I was sitting there watching the whole thing.

When they cut, Dad had this really sad look on his face.

We're all just, like, looking at him.

As he walked off to the doors, everyone just started clapping.

That was a pretty intense and emotional day for my dad.

I got married in '84 and had my first child in '85.

When my son was born, Dad was directing "Star Trek IV."

I took my son, Alex, on the set.

And I told my Dad, "You can't smoke in front of the baby or near the baby.

It's dangerous."

Dad had been trying to quit.

He had gone to Smokenders.

He had packs of gum and Life Savers.

It was not easy for him.

It took quite a while for him to quit altogether.

But he did.

It was in 1985 that things between my parents were really feeling like really going down.

When my Dad told me he was leaving my Mom, I was not shocked at all, but I was a little surprised he waited as long as he did.

He seemed to have this calmness about him, like he realized it was time.

He left and he met up again with Susan Bay, who he had known years before.

When you meet someone at age 42 and see each other for a few years, you know when you've hit the jackpot.

And he was just the perfect man for me in every way.

We hated being separated from one another.

We simply fit.

When Dad married Susan, we had a new family.

Susan had a son, Aaron.

I think I probably, at that point, had totally accepted that this was gonna be a father figure in my life.

He was the calm parent, the wise parent, the diffuser of drama between me and my mom.

He was the guy that would be there for advice.

Dad and Susan had a lot of common interests.

Their philanthropy was one.

They gave money to a lot of different organizations to help children.

They donated money to open up a beautiful theater at the Griffith Observatory.

They were art collectors and they supported artists.

As the years went by, the family was expanding.

I had three kids -- Alex, Danny and Spencer.

my brother, Adam, had Maddy, Jonah, and Morgan.

Family became more important to him.

My life has become much, much more about family.

I used to major in career and minor in family.

And now I've turned it around.

Susan really made it important for him to spend time with everyone.

Family dinners started happening more frequently, and we'd celebrate holidays together.

We'd go together to Lake Tahoe.

Lake Tahoe was a place that Dad really loved.

He loved the mountains.

He loved the beauty.

And then he bought a home.

This was his sanctuary.

We all loved going there as a family.

He had a boat there that he loved, and he'd take everyone out.

The kids loved going on the boat.

We all have so many memories being on his boat in Lake Tahoe every summer.

Be, like, full captain of the boat.

He would let us take turns and drive the boat.

He just always made it really fun for us.

He was a great family man, the real patriarch of the family the last years of his life.

He was like Don Corleone.

He really devoted his life to family events and what was going on with the grandkids and being available to all of us.

Being head of the family.

And it really was his greatest role.

He really lived that third act of his life.

He had a way of making me feel really important to him.

He was really present with me, always very, very present and interested.

Just wanted to know who I was and what was going on in my life at the time.

My son, Charlie, is my grandfather's only great-grandchild.

What was so remarkable about the two of them is their uncanny physical resemblance.

Two boys, born in Massachusetts, exactly 75 years apart, who look exactly alike.

He was an incredible grandfather.

Just very real, very tough -- tough love -- but very supportive and playful.

He was always there.

He was just an all-around great man.

I was going through a rough patch with my parents.

I was 16, 17 and being rebellious and I was smoking cigarettes.

My grandpa pulled me outside and he's like, "Listen, I can't even breathe that well because I smoked so much, so you've got to stop right now."

That was the first time I was like, "Oh, wow.

Like, my grandpa actually was affected by cigarettes."

I had no idea.

He started showing symptoms of breathing difficulties when he was 55.

There was a lingering bronchitis.

He did cough.

He had some trouble walking.

He said it was allergies or maybe he had a cold or something.

They're short of breath when they're exercising and they're just like, "Oh, I'm just getting older."

And it actually isn't that they're just getting older.

It's from the cigarette smoking, and now they have COPD.

No one ever told him, at that time, that he had COPD.

Even though Dad had these breathing problems, it did not stop him.

He loved going to "Star Trek" conventions.

He and Susan traveled all over the world.

He was very, very active.

He was always busy.

He directed me to the new Oldsmobile Silhouette.

In 1990, Dad asked me if I was interested in being in a commercial with him for Oldsmobile.

It was a series of commercials -- dad and their kid.

He was directing it.

Compared to other forms of space travel, Silhouette is the logical choice.

Right, Dad?

Eminently logical.

Good.

Very good.

Keep that pace going and don't turn the -- Don't steer so much.

I know.

Don't oversteer.

There you go.

Are you ready?

Are you ready?

[ Laughing ] Are you ready?

Are you ready?

Are you ready?

I had never done anything like this before.

I just didn't know how to actually say the words, and Dad's like, "No.

Just be yourself."

Compared to other forms of space travel, Silhouette is the logical choice.

Right, Dad?

Eminently logical.

We're all over the road, Julie.

I can't help it.

It was quite an experience.

[ Laughter ] I signed an artist at Atlantic Records named Bruno Mars.

Bruno was a huge fan of Leonard's.

Bruno had a song on his first album called "The Lazy Song," and when it came time to make that a single and talk about a video concept, Bruno came up with the idea of having Leonard play a character in this video.

And, to my surprise, he jumped at the chance.

Today, I don't feel like doing anything I just wanna lay in my bed He would hit me up and say, "Hey, I'm looking at the view counts going up on YouTube.

How cool is that?"

Nothin' at all I created a Twitter for him, which he just kept getting followers up until like over a million.

"These are beautiful days.

Folks ask what I'm doing.

I tell them, 'I'm doing family.'

Live long and prosper."

As Dad got older, his breathing got considerably worse and he really couldn't keep up.

The first time I really became aware of my dad's health issues was in 2012.

He was the commencement speaker at Boston University, at the graduation ceremony.

And he had to walk around the track.

It's a huge school.

He was really worried about actually making it up to the podium, because he was running out of breath.

And I thought, "God, if he can't walk that far, then this is becoming a serious issue for him."

He gave up smoking 30 years.

He had just dodged a bullet for that long.

He was afraid he'd die of lung cancer.

He never thought it would be COPD.

By the time I met Leonard, he had pretty severe COPD.

He was working, even at rest, to breathe.

He was living in stress at the time I met him.

It turns out, on exam, he had very little air movement.

He also had dilated, injured airways, and we call that bronchiectasis, meaning "big airways."

The problem with COPD diagnosis is that most people don't get diagnosed until they're really, really sick.

They're often embarrassed to be seen in public with oxygen on their nose and going down to a tank or a machine that they're carrying along with them.

COPD patients tend to become invisible when they're sick.

That invisibility leads to the impression that it's a minor disease that no one's ever heard of.

It was a relief to have a name put to what he had.

I wasn't scared, 'cause I still had this hope.

I have always felt that Dad would always be here with us.

I knew that this was gonna be progressive and he wasn't gonna get better.

This was his sanctuary, where he could find peaceful moments in time.

Dad couldn't go to Lake Tahoe without having oxygen.

It was very debilitating.

He couldn't go there and enjoy Lake Tahoe without feeling like he couldn't breathe well.

When he couldn't go up to Lake Tahoe anymore because of the altitude, we all started to realize, "Something is really wrong."

My mom and Leonard came to the family and said, "We're gonna sell the home in Tahoe."

And that was extremely heartbreaking for him.

It sort of nailed it that Dad is not doing well at all and it's getting worse.

I got a phone call from Dad saying, "Don't be alarmed.

Don't be scared."

I said "What do you mean?"

He said paparazzi were at the airport, and they took photos of him when he came off the plane.

I saw the photos and I thought, "Oh, my God.

He really looks terrible."

That exposure by a paparazzi taking his picture in a wheelchair, with his oxygen -- Leonard was outed and he was very upset about it.

After a photo had surfaced of him at the airport, people started calling me, going, "Oh, I'm so sorry, you know, to hear about your grandfather."

They were just saying some things that I was confused about, so I e-mailed him.

He just e-mailed me and said, "Everything's fine.

I have COPD."

That's the first time I ever heard those letters.

Once that picture showed up, he was being bombarded with phone calls to appear on these talk shows.

Leonard was a very private person.

There was the Leonard Nimoy, father, husband, grandfather, and there was the Leonard Nimoy, actor, celebrity, director.

He kept the two very separate.

So for him to make his private life public was hard.

The CNN show "Piers Morgan" reached out to Dad and asked him if he'd be willing to come on and talk about his condition.

And he thought about it for a bit.

I said, "You know something?

This is a golden opportunity.

You have to own it.

You can't be ashamed when you have physical challenges.

You're still alive.

You're still functioning.

If you have the bravery to be out there with oxygen, you'll encourage other people not to run and hide."

Leonard Nimoy created one of the best-loved characters in TV history, Mr.

Spock.

He's been diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, even though he quit smoking 30 years ago.

It's a lesson that I had to learn.

I damaged lung cells many years ago.

He was open about his smoking problem and that he had kicked his habit... It's not too early to quit.

Young people think... ...trying to be a model to others to not go down that path.

It takes a lot of courage to go up and admit that you're sick and talk about the real intimacy of what it's like to live, day in, day out with a serious condition like that.

It helps to give people courage to face it.

It extracts oxygen out of the atmosphere, and I get it up my nose when I need it.

I was proud of him.

And it was a relief, 'cause then he could go anywhere he wanted to go, and it was no big deal anymore.

And it was after that interview that he started tweeting daily about his condition.

He tweeted about lung disease, COPD, smoking, quitting smoking.

[ Indistinct conversations ] We had a family gathering, celebrating Dad's 83rd birthday and how happy he was to be with everyone.

We're having a great life.

We love every one of you so deeply.

It means so much to us to have you here.

He was expressing how much he appreciated his family.

You can't imagine how much we care about each and every one of you.

Thank you so much for coming.

Yeah!

We did not know that this would be the last time we'd be celebrating Dad's birthday.

All: Hi!

On Thanksgiving, in 2014, I realized that, "I don't know how much longer he has."

He was sick, at the time, with pneumonia, and I started, like, tearing up.

And he just looked at me with this smile.

He was just like, "It's gonna be okay."

He had an oxygen tank and he was really just not looking well.

And I was just like, "Oh, this is not my Poppi.

Like, something's up."

I thought he was basically a superhero for the family and I never thought anything could really hurt the guy.

I was in shock.

I remember asking him if he was okay, and he said, "Yeah, it's not a good day."

I felt like he was too young to be going through that.

But he was still there, our rock.

The worst thing that can happen to a COPD patient is -- as they get weaker, they do less.

They spend more time sitting and then they get weaker and so then they don't get out of bed and then they get weaker.

So we need to break that cycle with the pulmonary rehab.

We need to get our COPD patients off the couch and exercising.

So, Leonard, specifically, would take like maybe 50 feet to 100 feet and he just really was gasping for air.

Everything had to stop.

He had to stop walking.

He just had to stop talking.

And he would just kind of put his hands up and, like, you just knew he had to wait.

If you're breathing fast and not able to have the breaths that you're breathing in come out, you're just stacking each breath on top of each other, which is pretty much your lungs fill up with all those breaths that you're taking in, and it's not able to come out.

A COPD patient will experience what we call flare-ups, things that actually make it even worse.

So, you get an infection, a lot of things can then trigger off these what we call exacerbations.

The lung is very compromised, to the point where it may fail, and that's why we see many deaths from this disease.

[ Siren wails ] Dad had had an exacerbation and he could not breathe.

I had to admit him to the hospital to use higher levels of antibiotics, higher levels of bronchodilators, higher levels of steroids.

Dad was in the hospital for quite a while and moved to a regular room.

Susan was there all the time, all day long, and I was going every day to see him.

He couldn't clear bacteria.

That led to another infection, another hospitalization.

After the third hospitalization, he had some acceptance to this disease and what his life was going to be like, despite the highest therapy you can give for a COPD patient.

He knew that this was not going to get better.

He had maximal therapy and was not getting better.

Leonard was recusing himself from all walking activities.

He became more and more weak and more and more oxygen-dependent.

He wasn't in panic mode.

He was an excellent patient.

He did exactly what he was told, but his body ruled.

Then we started to talk about death and dying, making end-of-life choices.

Leonard and I agreed that, "If you are going to die from this and so it is written, there's a moment when you say, 'No more.

I'm done.'"

And Leonard was able to say, "No more.

I'm done."

It was the late afternoon.

I was sitting next to him, and he took my hands and he just looked at me and he said, "I've had enough of this.

I can't do this anymore.

You and Susie -- you need to let me go."

I just never thought I'd hear him say that.

I'm devastated.

We just looked at each other, Susan and I, and she said "You go call your kids and get them over here right now.

I'm gonna call Aaron and Adam."

I think he just got very tired of living the way that he was living.

At that point, we no longer are treating Leonard.

We're focusing more on, like, comfort.

We transitioned into hospice.

You know, when you love someone, you don't want them to die, but we loved each other and we stayed.

It didn't matter whether we did anything.

We just were together.

We did a lot of hand-holding.

We did a lot of saying goodbye.

That evening, we all came together as a family with my dad in the hospital room.

The kids came over and they surrounded his bed, and he told stories.

He sang songs.

His favorite song was "The Boxer" by Paul Simon.

[ Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer" plays ] I happened to have it on my phone, so we played it.

I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told I have squandered... I remember him moving his shoulders, kind of dancing like this in bed, That was really beautiful.

Everybody had a moment with him.

He told a special thing to each of them.

I remember thanking him for just an absolutely wonderful life.

Turned to me and he said that, "Your mom saved my life" and that he would have died a long time before had it not been for her love.

She reinvigorated his passion for life.

I'll never forget that.

Lie-la-lie My last memory of him -- talking about his experiences and the things about his professional life, the high points of his professional life, directing the film "Three Men And a Baby," because it was such a great film and everything went right.

That was the thing that he was talking about before I left him for the last time.

He helped me sum up what I was going to be for the rest of my life.

He shook my hand and said, "You're an artist."

And he basically told me not to smoke.

You really got the feel of how he cared for his family and essentially said his goodbyes to every one of them.

He looked radiant and deeply happy.

That was our last time together with Dad while he was still awake.

Dr.

Belperio said, "Leonard, you should be in your own home."

He got home and he never woke up.

He was very peaceful, and we all, as a family, were with him.

When he came back home, we first initially gave him the oxygen and then we slowly weaned that off.

We were continuing the morphine therapy for comfort.

If we found that he was having trouble breathing, we would give a little bit of morphine to help him.

The morphine slows the urge to breathe.

The nurse said, "He can hear us talking."

So we all talked.

We talked and talked.

I know he knows that we were all there.

Just knowing that we were with him -- it was time.

At 8: 04 a.m., on February 27th, the nurse said, "His heartbeat has slowed," so everybody gathered around his bed.

And then she said, "He's gone."

When he passed away, he actually had a smile on his face.

He had done everything that he wanted to do in his life.

He was very happy and satisfied with how his life went and the love that he had for his family.

Is there anything left behind when the sun disappears?

Is there anything left behind when the morning dew dries?

Is there anything left behind when words lead to tears?

Is there anything left behind when a love dies?

Leonard finished his business creatively, familially, as a husband.

The only really hard part is that he died.

I miss his humor.

I miss his hugs.

I'm going to miss just having him around.

He was awesome.

He was just the wisest person you'll ever meet.

He couldn't have been a more loving figure for me.

And I'll never forget him.

The greatest impression that my dad made on me throughout my life was this idea of being passionate about whatever it was I was going to do.

You have to have passion for what you do.

Otherwise, it can be just drudgery.

It's just too difficult, and life is too short.

I miss him greatly and I think about him all the time.

I know that he is in a better place right now and he's not feeling the pain or the stress that he felt when he was sick.

But he left quite a legacy.

On June 2, 2015, a 6-mile-wide asteroid was named 4864 Nimoy.

The asteroid travels between Mars and Jupiter and orbits the sun every 3.9 years.

The legacy of Leonard Nimoy has reached the Final Frontier.

Life is like a garden.

Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory.

Live long and prosper.

[ Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer" plays ] I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told I have squandered my resistance For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises All lies and jest Still, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest [ Humming ] When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers In the quiet of the railway station, running scared Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go Looking for the places only they would know Lie-la-lie Lie-la-la-la-lie-lie-lie Lie-la-lie Lie-la-la-la-la, lie-la-la-la-la-lie Asking only workman's wages, I come looking for a job, but I get no offers Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome, I took some comfort there La, la, la, la, la, la Lie-la-lie Lie-la-la-la-lie-lie-lie Lie-la-lie Lie-la-la-la-la, lie-la-la-la-la-lie