“Oh, yes, I can assure you, men in felt hats and women carrying baskets—you have lost something that would have been very valuable to you. You have lost a leader, whom you would have followed; and one of you has lost happiness and children. He is dead who would have given you that.”
—Virginia Woolf, Jacob’s Room
I can’t believe it’s been a year. Last year Father’s Day fell on the 16th. I found out on Monday, the 17th. I’d shot Harry a silly little email, completely on a high from having had coffee with Lynne. He replied with the news and a photo of you and your sister. It almost made me fall out of my chair.
Your memorial mass left Amy, Lindsay, Nahjee, and me kind of wrecked. How strange to see everyone in black dresses. We somehow stumbled into the right station and spent the ride back into Manhattan laughing deliriously. It felt good to be in each other’s company.
Since then I’ve run into your name and image so many times doing research on things related to foster care. You were involved in so much. I even met your professor, Kyra Gaunt, who told me that she tried really hard to get your degree granted posthumously. Everyone that knew you loved and admired you.
You continue to be a leader among your peers, quite a few of whom mentioned to me that they hope their lives—now longer than yours—make as great an impact as you did during your brief sojourn with us.
You are still very loved; you are still very much missed.