Our Last Vacation

In 2019, you let me crash your Marco Island trip with Mom. I was short on vacation days so I left with you Friday and returned early Monday morning. Those 72 hours together keep playing in my mind. On Sunday, we went in the pool while Mom read her book. We chatted with two other pool-goers about Brooklyn, Long Island, growing up, travel, and who knows what else. We saw Mom coming towards us and we pretended to hide like little kids. When she caught us, we laughed so hard. 

Over the past few years, you frequently mentioned going somewhere with us for a week because you had all of those Marriott points. But I always went to Aruba with Mom for a week. Sung and I were chipping away at a travel roadmap. You said you wanted to spend an entire week at a resort in Southern California, but having been there many times, it was not making the cut for my precious vacation days.  

Of course I wish we had gone on any of those trips you dreamed of taking with me. If I had known our time was limited, I would have said poo poo to Iceland and gone anywhere with you instead. We did have a trip to Phoenix on the books, but I canceled because of Coronavirus. You had left earlier in the week, so you were already there, but I decided to stay behind. Maybe I should have gone to have this magical last weekend with you. But maybe I would have gotten sick. Who knows? 

So our last trip together was Marco Island. I keep picturing us in that pool laughing together. We shared so many moments together as a family unit. But we also shared so many moments together as Phil & Kerry. And those are the moments that play in my head over and over again. No one else can claim them but us. I think they keep replaying because with you gone, I am the only one who can keep that memory alive. If I don’t remember us hiding in the pool, drinking beers at the counter, working at your office over the summer, I won’t be reminded of these memories. Luckily, you captured so much in our Hoffman Family Calendar that I can still cherish your version of the memory in Microsoft Word. 

Dad, I am so scared I’ll forget. I don’t want to forget going in the pool with you in Marco Island. And that’s why I write these letters. They are addressed to you, but I send myself a copy too. And I’ll keep writing because Dad, so much we did and so much I hope to do will be worth writing home about. And you are still part of my home.