I Got Married

So we got married on October 2, 2020. It became clear over the summer that an actual party was well over a year away. I remember at the end of March when Mom was worried that the pandemic would impact the wedding. Who knew that would be the least of our problems? 

Knowing that an actual party would have to wait until 2022 most likely, we decided to legally wed now. If we tied our marriage license to the time we could re-hire our DJ and photographer and find a venue for 130 of our greatest friends, we could be living in a sin a bit longer. 

We only invited Eileen and Young. We asked Joey, our Seamless recruiter, to officiant. He brought his husband Kevin to photograph it and sign as our witness. No one else was there Dad. If you were alive, I’m not sure this would have worked for you. Sometimes I think you would have pushed for 30 people in the backyard. But reading these COVID wedding outbreak stories might have also triggered “lawsuit” in your mind. I can only guess what you would have thought, but I can’t know. 

We considered having our mini ceremony in the courtyard behind Second. That area is all boarded up though. We landed on Madison Square Park, the site where Sung greeted me with Shake Shack fries on our second date. This is also right across from Eataly where Sung and I first hit it off. Remember when we had lunch on the Eataly rooftop? I got a beer because it was my birthday. I went back to work shortly thereafter and was slightly buzzed. Whoops. We had our wedding lunch there Dad.  

It rained a little in the morning, which made for an emptier park for us. I understand when people fret over the weather impacting their golf outing, their backyard BBQ, or their Jones Beach concerts, but I’ve always tried to let that fade into the background because it is something I can’t control. And the day had to be a little less than perfect because you weren’t there. 

We took some pictures and had our ceremony. Joey said the most thoughtful things. We did our own vows. The whole ceremony was 10 minutes maybe, and my only regret was not bringing a microphone. 

We signed our marriage license, which Joey carefully guided through as our minister and document expert. He had to put an address for our ceremony location and he chose 11 Madison Park, right across the street. You would have loved to tell people I got married at Eleven Madison Park. I am so lucky that we’ve dined there twice, both nights imprinted on my memory, sipping scotch the first time we went and battling the snow the second time around.

For a lot of our mini wedding moments, I didn’t feel you there. This was certainly not the wedding you planned. And I don’t think it was the makeshift wedding you would have wanted either. Aside from reading our own vows, there was no resemblance to our original wedding, where you would have walked me down the aside, made a speech, and danced the night away. 

We may still have a party one day, and that’s when I’ll see you lurking in every corner, asking me why the DJ is setting up on that side or why we didn’t spend more money for an extra bartender. You’ll encourage me to get whatever I want, so that I will be happy. But you’ll encourage me to get whatever the guests could possibly want, so they have the time of their lives.

For one minute, I can think of my little park wedding with Sung and genuinely smile for the extremely personal and intimate way we started our marriage. And the next minute, I’ll picture the aisle at Second, and I’ll cry hysterically. Someone else who lost their Dad told me that when he died, she was immediately sad that he would never go to her wedding, even though she didn’t even have her wedding on the horizon. And I saw her and heard her.

We had so much more in store for our lives together. But that’s the day I can visualize from start to finish. We were so close, yet so far. 

There is honestly so much shit right now that you are not missing. The election is a terrifying shitstorm. Subways can be dangerous. More people are getting sick. If you came back to me now, I would have told you you picked a good 6 months to be away. But I can’t believe you weren’t here for my wedding. I know that will be one of the bigger moments of my life that you’ll miss. Maybe everything else from here will pale in comparison. 

I’m so scared of how much more missing you I have to do. I know it will never end but it’s always like a Cape May wave I don't see coming. It's bigger than expected and I can’t run far enough, so I get caught in the undertow. 

I miss you Dad. And when I don’t feel you somewhere, it is not because I don’t miss you. It’s because it's taken a totally different shape without you. And these days, I appreciate the low tide to balance the crashing waves to come. And when I get hit with that wave, it knocks me down, but sometimes, being knocked down is what I need.

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. 

Our Last Day Together

I heard that the movie Onward was supposed to be good. It’s new on Disney+. I looked it up and read that it was about 2 boys who got to spend one last day with their late father. 

Dad, if I were to spend one more day with you, there is so much I would want to do. I know I would want to do the things that make you so happy, like seeing the Rangers, taking in a great show, or going to a Top Chef restaurant. I would also want to do the things that felt special to our relationship, like grab lunch during the workweek, talk about the next party we were both planning, or come up with rules for our Top Chef fantasy league. 

But I would also want to do the things we will never get to do together. I would want you to see my new apartment. I would ask you to walk me down the aisle. I would go on another trip with you and Mom and do our morning workouts in the gym. I would show you the new inflatable pool. I would flip through records with you to see which doubles you would let me take for my new apartment. 

Our actual last day together was kind of perfect though. We saw a great show, Madea, at the BAM Harvey Theater in Brooklyn. We rode the subway and you fretted  over leaving your phone at the theater, until we discovered it was in your bag. You did that a lot. We got coffee and chatted. We were treated to dinner at L’Amico, the restaurant responsible for the food at my wedding. We were thoroughly wined and dined. And then I threw you in a cab when we realized you could make the next train.

I could spend hours planning what our last day would look like. It would be a blend of your favorite things, our favorite things, and the things that will never be for us. It would be a jam packed day. This day won’t happen though. At least our last day together was 8 hours of fun. It was full of smiles and laughter. And nothing can ever take our last day away from us. 

Girl Scout Cookie Sales

Dear Dad,

I loved selling Girl Scout Cookies every year. The order form was so fun to read through each year, even though the cookies rarely changed. Thin Mints and Samoas became the showdown of the decade with everyone picking a side. I chose Thin Mints. Mom choses Samoas. And you, Phil, took the road less traveled and opted for a Chalet Creme or Tagalongs. You were just happy to have a cookie.

In order to maximize sales, you brought me to your law office so I could march door to door selling. You came with me to each lawyer’s office and each secretary’s cubicle. Forever the teacher, you stepped aside so I could make my pitch. If I got a no thank you, you pushed that person to buy at least one box. You were gentle with your persuasion, but also persistent. 

Whatever words you used to persuade them had an underlying message of “How could you say no to my little girl who is asking you so nicely to buy these cookies?” You wanted me to be a successful cookie seller and an even happier little girl. 

I came across an old order form in my scrapbook. As I scan the names of your colleagues, I recognize almost all of their names. Some hooked me up with great concert tickets when I was a teen. Some attended my wine tastings as an adult. To this day, so many of your colleagues tell me they remember my Girl Scout cookie days. 

Selling Girl Scout cookies at Pryor has always been a strong memory. But as I write you this letter, I realized that you had such a sense of pride that your daughter would Girl Scout suit up and work hard to complete a sale. You felt confident parading me around your entire office because you knew I would smile, be polite, and make you look good. Most of all Dad, you wanted me to have everything I wanted. And if I needed more cookie sales, you were going to get that for me. 

At some point, I’ll have to go to your office to collect your things, and to say goodbye to this huge part of your life. But because you shared that life with me, and you shared my life with your colleagues, I know I can go door to door and say hello to all the wonderful people you know. 

You always made sure every door was open to me Dad. I promise I’ll walk through as many as I can. 

Love,

Kerry

Working From Your Office

Dear Dad,

I work from your home office a lot. And most calls I’m on are video calls. Everyone can see your room. One man asked me if I was some sort of crazy hockey person. Another person asked me if I was using a Zoom background. 

Your office walls are not visible. Every inch of wall is covered with hockey autographs. Hockey was your passion. Every person who wrote us a condolence note mentioned your love of Rangers because to know you was to know all of you, and your love of hockey was a big part of you.

When I am in your office, I am surrounded by so many parts of you. Your commitment to your love of hockey screams from the walls. Your love of reading enormous hardcover books lines the shelves. Your love of music is represented in the 1000+ cds and 500+ records. Your commitment to working hard so you could buy a big house is represented in the enormity of this room over the garage that was all yours. 

It is comforting to be around your stuff because you loved your stuff. You owned everything with pride. I sometimes think that my tendency to declutter is an adverse reaction to your tendency to clutter. But nothing you owned was clutter to you. You have several records that have multiple copies. You had your own. You had Mom’s. You had ones you found on the street. You had records from my friends Ray & Brian.

I won’t work out of your office forever. I know you would love that I was sitting at your desk. It’s impossible not to think about you when I am in there. And I need that now. I won’t keep all of your things. But I’ll let myself get lost in your office a little bit longer, just enough to imprint everything in my mind. You had so many treasures. But you're the only treasure I want. 

Love,

Kerry

Home Movies

I watched some old home movies a few weekends ago. You kept these 40+ VHS tapes and obviously you still had a VCR to watch them on. Note that 40 is a rough reference number of videos you taped and does not include the VHS movies you recorded from TV or bought at the store. Sometimes looking at your old stuff is like stepping right into 1991. 

I can imagine that it was so much work taking out that big camcorder at our plays, on family vacations, and to record school projects. But you loved that camcorder so much, and you wanted to capture as many moments as you could. Maybe you loved it because it cost $1100, which I found out recently since you left it in your document of important family notes and accounts: Camcorder GE 9-9806 purchased 07/16/87 from 47 St. Photo for $1,143.12. You left that note for us in case you died. I am not sure what we are supposed to do with this information upon your death, but I found it hilarious and enlightening. 

These VHS tapes have all of our Cape Cod vacations, my dance recitals, Patrick’s hockey games, the school projects, birthday parties, and so much other random stuff. Some of them are really so boring Dad. I found one where you taped the 30 minute sea lion show in Cape Cod. I am not keeping that one. You once taped 30 minutes of Patrick’s ice hockey practice. It wasn’t even a game. Sorry Pat, but that video was not interesting to watch. 

There’s this one video that I just love though. Since we were not artistic children, we always did our school projects as videos. Remember that time we had to make an Iroquois longhouse? You and Mom made the whole thing yourselves because apparently I was getting in the way of my own school project. Oh and do you remember when Patrick had to make a traditional Native American lacrosse stick or something ridiculous? We asked our neighbor John to do it, and he definitely got an A+. That lacrosse stick was legit. 

One of my summer reading assignments was Shiloh, by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. In the video, I am a young boy who finds Shiloh and wants to save him from his abusive owner. Shiloh is played by my stuffed animal Scamp. And you play my Dad, who is skeptical about a household pet. When we filmed it, I brought Scamp to the door to ask if I could keep the dog. Your line was “No. Give the dog back to Judd Travers.” For the first take, you delivered the line perfectly, but then I forgot my line and kind of stomped away. So we did a second take. I walk up to the door of our house and asked if I could keep the dog. And you respond with “NOOOOO. GIVE THE DOG BACK TO JUDD TRAVERS” in the loudest voice I’ve ever heard. You yelled. And it was hilarious. I laughed so hard with my usual full body laugh. I remember watching that scene over and over again growing up. Also note how I called it a scene. It was that professional. 

We did a final take, which was perfect. John makes an appearance as a doctor and uses a German accent for some reason. I can’t believe we lost John, just one day before we lost you. And if you are together somewhere, I really hope you aren’t doing school projects anymore. Or maybe you are, and maybe it’s fun. You two made the video a great success. If the Hallmark channel could see it, we would all be hired.

Although I am glad you kept the VHS Dad, know that the memory was strong enough in my mind. The video has been playing it in my head for years. I don’t need the video to remember how much fun that day was, how hard you made me laugh, and how devoted you were to making these videos A+s for me and Patrick. 

Thanks Dad, for using your $1100 camcorder to film my life as a kid. My life felt like a million bucks, thanks to you and Mom. Trips to Disney and Hawaii, filming funny school projects, living in great houses, going to several Backstreet Boys & NSYNC concerts, seeing over 150 Broadway shows, and attending great schools, were all amazing parts of my childhood. I am fully aware of everything you both did to make my childhood great, and I want you to know that it really was great. Watching all of these videos again is fun, but living those moments was way better, and they were highly memorable, even without the $1100 camcorder. 

My, It’s Beautiful

My plan is to rewatch all of the home movies to decide which ones to keep. I know you are upset that we plan to even get rid of some. With over 80 hours of tapes at home, it would be impossible for me to dedicate that much time every year to rewatching them. But if we make a 3 hour highlight reel, I promise I will watch it on your birthday every year.

What is fun about rewatching these videos is the anticipation that the video will have one of my favorite clips, or scenes as I like to call them. One summer, we went to Provincetown for a couple of nights to visit some friends before heading to Chatham. You wanted to film a tour of the house on your $1100 camcorder. And you picked me as the tour guide.

We walked into each room and after you announced the room we were in, I would say “My, It’s Beautiful.” That was my line. So you would say “now this is the living room” and I would say “my! It’s beautiful!” I must have said it at least 12 times. I remember that Provincetown house so well. But I can’t be sure if the memory is strong or if it was strengthened over time by rewatching that video as a kid.

Dad, thank you for taking so many videos. Thank you for making them so funny to watch. I watched them over and over again as a kid. I hope after rewatching each one as an adult, I won’t need them to remember our great family moments. Instead, I’ll watch them because they will make me laugh, they will make me cry, and they will honor the effort you went through to film them, edit them, and save them. It will remind me of all of the great times we had and will break my heart that we won’t have any more great times together. 

Our life together Dad, my, it was beautiful.

Top Chef Winner Revealed

Melissa won Top Chef. You only saw 2 episodes of this season, but you saw every episode from all 16 sessions prior. You and Mom were always recommending shows for me. Top Chef was my recommendation for you two. Your welcome.

I watched Season 1, Episode 1, in March, 2006 after seeing countless commercials for it while watching Project Runway on a Jetblue flight back from Spring Break. I was fresh off a trip of trying every single food imaginable, determined to shed my picky eater exoskeleton. Watching Top Chef would be part of my journey to eating all of the things. 

As you know, I fell so hard for the show that I named my cat Perilla after Top Chef Season 1 Winner Harold Dieterle’s first restaurant. When the restaurant later closed, you said “well I guess you have to change Perilla’s name now.” Never missed a beat on those Dad jokes. 

The television show opened all of our eyes to the wonderful world of canapes and scallops two ways. We went to Momofuku Ko and you relished over how delicious an egg can be. We went to DeGustibus to watch Karen, a two-time Top Chef contestant, cook 5 courses. And we went to the iconic James Beard House so 5 contestants from Top Chef Season 16 could cook for us. Top Chef was never just about dishing over who would win. Top Chef was everywhere, from my job at Colicchio & Sons to one of your final meals  ever at a Carrie’s restaurant in Denver. 

We even did a Top Chef fantasy league, where we had a ridiculously elaborate point system. I found the Word document with the rules and calculations on your computer. Wow. It was 14 pages long. 

So Dad, Melissa won Season 17. Stephanie Cmar made it to the finals, which was shocking, but she did a great job towards the end. The finale was in Italy, which was so beautiful. The quality of cooking was so high this season. You would have loved it.

Top Chef will always be one of my favorite shows. I am so glad you hopped on board so we could share it together. We honored you by watching the finale together, me, Sung, and Mom, after a delicious dinner of scallops and asparagus. We went through all of the Top Chef restaurants we’ve been to over the years. I wish you had been there. You would have had a series of fun Top Chef questions to ask. 

I wish you didn’t pack your knives and go Phil. 

Compact Discs

Dear Dad,

We gave away most of your cds. Mom wrote these beautiful Facebook posts about you. She noted how you still played cds and your friend John Tormey said he still loved cds. And shortly thereafter, he made two trips to pick most of them up. We put aside a bunch for Karen, and Gary walked away with your Bach collection. 

You loved music in so many ways. You used to take me and Pat to Tower Records on Saturdays. You told us we could buy anything we wanted. I remember picking out my 5th or 6th cd of our shopping trip and saying, “can I get these too?”!” And you said “if you will listen to them, get them.” I was so blown away that you would let us buy as many as we wanted.

When I moved to the city, you took all of my CDs. I didn’t need them anymore. And you listened to every single one of them. You listened to 2gether, Aaliyah, Beastie Boys, Monica, Everclear. Every. Single. One. Then, you would call me and tell me what you thought of them. Every. Single. One. 

When Sung and I were moving in together, he found a book of about 200 CDs. I surprised you at your office one morning before work and handed you the book of CDs. I thought you would like them, say thank you, and bid me adieu so I could get to work. You opened the cd book and proceeded to flip through every page. Every. Single. Page. You offered several thoughts on the CDs, showing excitement for some, laughters for others, and curiosity into Sung’s varied music taste. I think it took about 30 minutes for you to finish flipping through the book. I was probably late for work, but it was worth it. Later that day, I told Sung that he would never be able to give my Dad as good a gift as that one. I was right.

At my 30th birthday party, you met my friends Ray & Brian. They mentioned how they still have CDs and records in a storage unit on 23rd street. They wanted to get rid of the unit. And 6 weeks later, you and Mom drove to Manhattan and we all met up at the storage unit so you could take all of their cds and records. And you took them all. Every. Single. One. 

When I moved to Manhattan, we rented an SUV. You went to pop a CD in, but a CD popped out. The renter before us left a CD in the player. And it was a MIX TAPE! We listened to the whole thing, waiting with bated breath as the song switched over. The 50 minute car ride brought us so much joy. I cannot think of a better way for you to take me into that next phase of adulthood but with a fun mix CD that wasn’t ours. 

What overwhelms me now is how many memories I have that are just related to CDs. I haven’t even talked about concerts. All of these memories are happy ones, but it means that every song that plays could be a moment to take me back to you.

So Dad, we gave away all of your CDs. We kept Broadway and Christmas for the holidays. And I kept the Capitol Records collection because I always asked you to play those at Christmas. Everything else is gone. I got SO MANY STEPS carrying them out to the driveway. Every time John Tormey has a great moment with one of your CDs, he reaches out to Mom to tell her a story. Dad, he’s doing exactly what you would have done. We knew you wanted those CDs to be loved the way you loved CDs. The joy it brings to John brings us an equal amount of joy. We paid it forward. 

Looking at your empty CD closet brings me to my knees sometimes. But if you magically reappeared and yelled at me because your CDs were gone, at least I could say “Don’t worry Dad. They are with your friend John. He loves them. I even gave him the CD racks they came in.”

Love,

Kerry

We Caught a Squirrel

Mom and I had to save a squirrel from drowning in our inflatable pool. I know what you are thinking. You are picturing Sean & Maddie’s pool that we put on the deck in the summer. Couldn’t a squirrel just jump out of that pool?

I (not so lightly) pushed Mom to get an inflatable pool for adults. I’m spending more time at home this summer and it gets hot out here! I thought it would be more enjoyable to read all of your hardcover books while floating in a pool. 

Mom blew up and filled up the pool for me. I finished the work day and joined her on the deck. I heard a lot of flapping and then some water, and thought, hmmmm something is in the pool. We stood up and sure enough, there was a squirrel swimming in the pool.

The rush of emotions made me both fearful that the squirrel would attack me and sad that the squirrel would die. I said “This is the saddest thing ever, you know, after Dad dying.” I am sorry Dad. It was supposed to be funny. 

We soon realized that it would not be able to get out on the side because it had no grip. We had to let water out. Mom yelled that we would have to scoop it out, but that she wasn’t doing that. With enough water drained, it finally crawled up the side, but he froze. We had to make loud noises to scoot him off the deck where he seemingly hyperventilated and shivered for over 20 minutes. He finally ran off into the woods.

What would you have done if you were here? You would not have been that helpful, honestly. I think you would have gone to the garage to get a hockey stick to fling him out of the pool. That would have been hilarious and terrifying. 

The double-edged sword is that we so desperately need moments to make us laugh and smile. But, when they come, we wish you were with us to laugh and smile too. 

Dad, we didn’t need you to help us get the squirrel out of the pool. But if you were here, I am sure your actions would have added another layer of hilarity to this strange incident. We will learn to live without you. We just don’t want to. We saved a squirrel from drowning, and we are trying to save ourselves from drowning too. We hope every laugh brings us closer to the surface. 

You Were a Star

Dear Dad:

Whenever we went to a show or an amusement park where audience participation was required, you would get picked. I would wave my hand in the air and jump up and down. They picked you.

In Disney World, you were picked at Indiana Jones for the pre-show tricks. A few years later, you were picked to be in the show. You were once picked to be blindfolded and do tricks with sea lions in San Diego. You were picked to do the voice of Martin Short at MGM studios. 

Eager wannabe volunteers like myself would wave their arms around frantically hoping for the coveted spot. You actually held me in the air one time to get picked, and they picked you, not me. You would simply hold your cap in the air and smile. You had a quality.

At SuperStar Television at MGM studios, audience members were picked to read lines from TV shows and were then superimposed into the show. The first year, you sat at the bar for Cheers. The following year, you and Mom were picked for Cheers and Patrick was picked for David Letterman. I sat in the audience by myself.

The best was the time you were picked to play Al Borland on Home Improvement. Mom, Pat, and I watched that show all of the time, but you were usually at work so you had never seen it. For some reason, you assumed Al Borland  had an intense Southern accent. I remember watching you on stage, listening to you say “Yes, Tim” to Tim Allen on the screen, and just keeling over with laughter. 

Even though I always wanted to get picked, it was fun watching you perform. It brought you so much joy. And it gave me something to aspire to - to be someone who stands out in the crowd. Your face just radiates “pick me, pick me!” The smile on your face, the poof of your dirty blonde hair, and the joy that can be seen through your eyes drew everyone to you. People wanted to be near you, wanted to know you, and were curious what accent you might use to play Al Borland.

I know you didn’t get picked for this virus, but sometimes it feels like you did. Before you died, I joked that Tom Hanks got picked for the virus to make the virus feel real to people. It would hit home if people knew Tom Hanks was at risk. I know this virus really hit home for people when they lost you. When it happened to you, people knew the virus did not discriminate.

I am so happy you always got picked for stuff, until now. 

Thanks for always putting on a show for me, for our family, and for the world. I didn’t want the curtains to close this way. You deserved your own bow Phil. 

Love,

Kerry

So We Bought an Apartment

We signed the contract on our new apartment today. Thank you so much for taking a look at the contract back in February. I know it was so important to you to be part of the process. I am so grateful that you put your stamp of approval on it because I would not have felt comfortable moving forward with it if you had any doubts. 

When we spoke about it in February, I said to you that we had so much going on! That week, I was signing a contract on an apartment with Sung. I was finalizing my contract with our wedding photographer, and hitting you up for your credit card number to put down the deposit for me (thanks, Dad). I sent in a deposit for DJ Crumbcake, who was recommended to me by my friends Megan & Jeremy. And we were picking a date to meet with the florist. I told you that I couldn’t believe how much we were doing in the span of just 8 months. And you said “these are all good things.” 

You were so excited about the wedding. The day you took me to see a venue you felt strongly about, your eyes lit up. You had hosted a party there before, so you told me exactly where everything would go. And when our meeting ended, I said “let’s do it.” The venue seemed great to me, but the venue seemed perfect to you. I knew that the joy you would take in hosting this wedding at your perfect location would mean the absolute world to you. I joked to my friends that having this wedding was the greatest gift I could ever give you, that you would have to pay for! When we stepped on the street, and I said goodbye, you said “this has been one of the best days of my life.” I wish I had said “the wedding will be better, so please don’t go anywhere.” 

With life not being at all normal because of COVID-19, I haven’t been able to experience those moments yet where I say “you would have loved this restaurant” or “you would have been mad that they made us wait for a table.” It’s hard to have those moments when you spend your days working from home, zooming with friends, and watching Tiger King. I know that these moments will hit like a ton of bricks when they do come. 

Today was one of those days. Buying an apartment with Sung is worthy of celebration. So many of our friends are excited to come by one day and see the new digs. I can’t wait for Mom to tell me we need curtains, because I never know what to do about curtains, and she knows exactly what to do about curtains. 

As I get older, I have access to dishwashers, resources, and disposable income. I’ve been able to hire painters and movers and cleaners. But I haven’t needed you any less. I know I can research interest rates and homeowners insurance. But you put me in touch with your banking guy who gave us a great interest rate. That was so helpful. I don’t always need your help, but I really want your help. I value your opinion. I welcome your dissent. I appreciate your praise and awe. 

I’ll always include you Dad. Even if you can’t answer my questions, knowing that I wanted to ask you means I’ll take a step back and I’ll think carefully before I make any decisions. Your approval held a lot of weight. And sometimes, that weight was heavy, not to be confused with the amazing film Heavyweights. Now that you are gone, I know that weight may decrease down to medium, and maybe one day light. But I think your presence was large enough on this earth that I’ll always feel that weight in some way. I won’t know if you approve, but I’ll know if what I am doing was worth asking for your approval, and that’s what will give me pause before acting. 

So Dad, we bought an apartment today. I wish you could see it. I wish you could tell me I should have 7 signed copies of the contract. I wish you would ask me to send you one so you can have a copy too. But you are not going to see it. At least you left the world knowing that I was a soon-to-be homeowner. At least you saw pictures and videos of the space. And at least you got to read the contract, and be part of the process, because that may have been the thing you wanted the most, was just to be included. I wish you could come over, because you would grab a craft beer from my fridge, eat a delicious lamb shoulder that Sung made, and you would say “these are all good things.”