Dad, I have some questions
“What would he say if he were here? What would he have written in this book if he’d had more time? There are still things I need to know; there is still advice I need to get from him. There is more to do together.”
- Carrie Soto is Back, Taylor Jenkins Reid
I was swimming in my Aunt’s pool in Peoria, Arizona on a beautiful October day. The Arizonians feared that the temperature being in the 80s would render the pool too cold to swim in. As a native New Yorker, my desire to swim outside in October would surely mask any chills from the water. Once settled into my pool tube, I knew I would float through the day with ease, sharing conversation with my Dad’s sister, her husband, my husband, and my Mom.
Conversation turned to my Dad’s mom, Lucille. Did you know they both died on the day of March 31st? Isn’t that bizarre? And should I steer clear of danger on that date each year? I was wondering if Lucille ever visited me in NY when I was a child or if my first meeting with her was in Arizona when I was 12. Carolyn & Eileen were pretty sure she never visited NY after I was born. For some reason though, I have an image in my head of a picture of us sitting out in the driveway at my house in Eastchester. But maybe that picture is with my other Grandma?
My Dad kept a database of everything we’ve ever done called the Hoffman Family Calendar. I did some control-find to track down Lucille entries, but there was no mention of a visit. I could also flip through some photo albums to find this alleged picture. But all I want is to ask my Dad because he’ll now the answer right away. He won’t need to reference the calendar or a picture to remember. He’ll just know.
The reality is that the answer to this question is relatively inconsequential. Whether my Grandma visited me as a child or met me at the age of 12 really doesn’t matter to me now. The challenge though is that when someone dies, they take their knowledge with them. And you look to journal entries, photos, and the memory of others to fill in the gaps where you can, but sometimes the answer lies only with the one who is deceased.
Dad, did Grandma come visit me as a kid? Dad, did you know that Galliano makes an espresso liqueur? Dad, did you ever go see an airshow as a kid, maybe with your Dad? I saw one last summer and it was pretty cool. Dad, can I have a binder you aren’t using to put all of my travel confirmations in? One of the thin binders, maybe 1 inch or less? Dad, are they still doing the NY Times Book Fair? Can you invite me again, just so I can watch you buy CDs like it is 1997? Dad, did you know they make Pepto Bismol in cherry flavor? Did you ever try that?!
Dad, there are still things I want to know. There is still advice I want to get from you. There are still things we need to do together. I am using all of my resources to get the answers I want. I channel everything I have ever learned from you to arrive at the advice you might give. I try to do things that I know we would enjoy together (Let’s Go Rangers) but none of it comes close to just having you here, available to answer my questions, give me advice, and have fun.
