big guy

So, Marc's father passed away on September 6th. I've been letting words whirl around in my mind on how to write about it here. I think, I'd like to think this is a place that I've tried to document my growing-up. And this is part of it. And Marc is part of it. And, Marc, I am so, so, so sorry and devastated for the loss of your dad and your relationship with him. It's not fair. It feels like we should be gone, too.

I'm not sure I can add anything to what I've already said to you or felt with you. Maybe I will over time. Your dad's death still catches up with me so tangibly it feels like a heavy, metal hook has caught me. And I just begin to mourn again. For his short life, his full and colorful life, his death and our own lives lightly marching on without him.

I'm here with you and I remember with you.
Remember that time he accidentally cut too much hair with the electric shaver and tried to ignore it? But we found it and pretended we didn't know about it either.
And remember the time he watched us make a mess in the kitchen making pasta? And telling us the story of the pasta maker and how it's been sitting in a box for years, unused? He let you turn the crank while he gingerly lifted the dough off the roller. It was a delicate job! He told us to open a noodle shop in Salem. We still can, you know!
And either he or you got the idea of putting the oven rack on the counter to dry the noodles?
Remember Thanksgiving and his toast? It was about how lucky he felt that his family was together. And remember drinking the limoncello with him and your mom? He gave us an extra shot, but then drank the rest of it behind your mom's back! Now I know where you get it from.
Remember going to the Farmer's Market with him and your mom? And we got through all the vendors in 15 minutes while your dad was still talking to the same guy - a stranger he just met - for that whole time! And we all drank free apple cider together? Then your dad bought a whole gallon cause he liked the farmer who was selling it?
It feels like he's alive when we talk about him.
It feels beautiful and painful and heartbreaking and necessary all together at once. I hope I've written the right things for you.