SHE survived the death of her husband and all three of her children – includ ing Stacy Moskowitz, the last person gunned down by David “Son of Sam” Berkowitz.

Neysa Moskowitz, who remained fiery and funny in the face of unspeakable tragedy, was sustained by the belief that, one day, she would join her family in the afterlife.

Now she will. Neysa died Tuesday at home in Miami Beach. She was 73.

A friend told me she suffered from breast cancer. The Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office will perform an autopsy because of a suspicious amount of drugs in her system – although foul play is not suspected.

She has no close survivors – except, incredibly, Berkowitz. The killer lives, fat and happy, in an upstate New York prison.

When Berkowitz struck in 1977, Neysa had already buried the first of her three daughters, Jody, a decade before. Friends said she evidently committed suicide.

Then came the event that would define the rest of Neysa’s life. Her daughter Stacy, just 20 years old, was murdered as she sat in a car with her date, Robert Violante, watching the moon over Bath Beach, Brooklyn. Violante, who was shot and blinded, survived.

Neysa used to talk about her last conversation with Stacy, as the flaxen-haired beauty prepared to go out.

“She told her, ‘Stacy, be careful,’ ” Neysa told friend Vincent DiMino.

“And Stacy said, ‘Don’t worry, mom. He’s not after blondes.’ ”

In the mid-1990s, Neysa moved with her husband, Jerry, to Florida. Jerry died of a heart ailment. Her youngest daughter, Ricki, developed scleroderma, a fatal disease of the immune system. Ricki died about seven years ago.

Alone in the world, Neysa never lost her spark, despite failing health that cut her weight down to some 90 pounds. She had already developed into an unofficial spokeswoman for murder survivors. In fact, 29 years ago, over a drink with The Post’s Steve Dunleavy, she vowed vengeance on Berkowitz.

“I don’t believe in turning the other cheek when you take a child from a mother,” she said at the time.

Years later, that changed.

“She would say things like, ‘This kind of anger can make you sick. Don’t let anger eat you up,’ ” said her close friend and neighbor, Sharon Denaro.

For a while, she seemed to make peace with Berkowitz. He sent her letters and a Mother’s Day card. But she did not support his bid to be let out of prison on parole.

Neysa lived her final days in a Miami co-op, surrounded by pictures of her girls, whom she talked about constantly.

“But she said she did forgive everyone,” Denaro said. “She needed to relieve herself of anger to be able to move forward with her life.”

Her friends are gathering for a memorial service in Miami Beach on Tuesday.

Neysa would have liked that.

SHARE THIS ARTICLE: