To Remember Each Year

Today, July 14th, is the anniversary of my father's death. He died 34 years ago. I always write about him on this day, and it never gets old for me. We recognize all important days at least once a year -- Thanksgiving, Veteran's Day, Independence Day, and this one is most significant for me. I was talking to D2 this am, taking part in what has become a favorite daily ritual for me. She calls me as she walks to work, crossing Manhattan from Murray Hill to Macy's corporate headquarters. We talk about the latest about our family, and friends, and what's going on in NYC and Miami. She remembered today was both happy (my friend Mike's birthday) and sad, because of my father. I told D2 that July 14, 1982 was the worst day of my life. But I have been so extremely blessed to have mostly wonderful days after that one. Time truly does jet past, especially as we get older. This am I chatted with Chris, my friend Mike's son, who is clerking at our office this summer. We laughed about his Dad's birthday, and I told Chris his Dad and I were his age when we met, and no WAY does it seem like that was nearly three and a half decades in the past. Chris is a great young man -- headed back to USC in LA for his last semester of college, then a semester off, and then probably law school in the Fall. I've tried to talk him out of that path, but he seems a lot like I was at 22 -- not really sure of what else to do after college with a political science degree (in my case it was the 'BA in English' of "Avenue Q" fame. Anyway, back to my Dad. Wifey asked if I wanted to visit the water, to speak to him, as his ashes were scattered in the Atlantic. I do, and I think we're going to have dinner at Redfish Grill, one of our favorite restaurants, right in Matheson Hammock Park. After we eat, we can stroll along the seawall, and look out past the Bay and to the ocean, and I can ponder, as I often do, his life, and how much he did for and gave to his family. Mike's father Ed was my mentor as a lawyer. When my law partner Paul's father died, Ed sent him a note. This was 1988, and I still recall it exactly: "I was about your age when I lost my father. I don't know that I ever got over it. I feel for you." Typical Ed -- concise, powerful, and feeling words. I know I never "got over" the death of my father. I think about him daily. When I'm faced with a parenting issue, even now, with grown daughters, I think WWHD? What would Hy do? I act accordingly, and usually it's the correct path. On this day of your Yahrzeit, the Jewish term for anniversary of a loved one's death, I love you, Dad. And I thank you for all you meant to me and our family.