An Open Letter to My Dad in July

Dear Dad, 

Lately, I’ve been feeling your presence around me, an essence full of comfort, reassurance, with a mix of “Are you sure that’s what you should be doing?”

Actually you wouldn’t state it as a question. You would be shouting loudly and then rambling so fast that I wouldn’t be able to catch the last three things you say. I know, I’m still figuring it out. Whatever that means.

Do you remember we were supposed to get lunch one afternoon during the summer of 2024? I sent you a postcard from California earlier that spring, asking if we could go. I wrote it from a place where I felt almost invincible. I had just completed my second marathon and was in a place where I felt connected to myself again. I continued to write the postcard in a dream-like state, feeling motivated and inspired by the West Coast, grounded by the ocean waves, believing in the timing of things, believing in myself again.

I crammed every little letter onto that card, trying to convey every ounce of passion I felt. I felt curious about your life and all the adventures you had. I thought lunch was the chance to talk about it all. I didn’t know we would never get that opportunity. I didn’t think you would pass away suddenly the next month. I really thought there was more time. 

I tried to look for the postcard when I visited Mom this past May. She said it’s somewhere in a drawer. Letters and cards have always been important to me, so I know she kept them. I just couldn’t bring myself to look for it. I didn’t know at the time that it was the last physical letter I would ever write to you. It still hurts when I think about that. 

I often imagine what our lunch conversation would have looked like. We’re sitting in a restaurant in Attleboro, Massachusetts, and you’ve just ordered a Caesar salad with chicken. 

“What were your twenties like?” I would ask. 

How many times did you fall in love before Mom? Did you drink too much wine while living in Paris? Did you party every night while living in Montreal? Why did you choose to live in Florida? Seriously, why? How honest would you be with me? Would you hide parts of yourself just to shield me from your past? Maybe I would open up to you about mine. We have always been close, but we never had that type of relationship where we tell each other about those things. I wanted that to start to change. 

Over the years, I have jumped from place to place. Eyes always on the next adventure, heart belonging to everywhere and nowhere. Did you know you would end up having a daughter who would be so curious about the world that she would move far away from you, multiple times. I know you were happy for me, but were you okay with me really leaving? 

Every place I have visited or lived in has taught me something. I’ve met some incredible people who radiate what it means to be human. I’ve had experiences which have made me question myself. No matter where I continue to go or the people I meet, you’re still a part of what home is to me. A place where I have learned the most about myself. A space that has challenged me. Even though you're not on this Earth, I still find you teaching me lessons. Some of them are lessons I’m finally listening to. 

In the last year, you taught me to lean into community. You taught me it’s not wrong to lean on people when you need help. Friends and chosen family want to help when things get tough.

You taught me that even after the most painful experiences, life moves forward. You can sit in the hurt and relive it until it makes you go numb, or you can keep living. It took some time, and it still takes time. I’ve learned from you that healing doesn’t necessarily end. You can heal while still moving forward. Two things can be true.

You taught me I can handle most things. One of my biggest fears came true. And if that happened already, I can’t and won’t just sit back and let that truth consume the life I choose to continue to live. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m afraid that I’ve always been quietly prepping for this type of resilience.

I’ll be okay. Maybe even a bit more than I thought. Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay too. Thank you for still being there for me.

Love always, 

Ari 

P.S. The Sox are 3rd in the league right now. But I know you already know that.