Last weekend, I traveled back to New York to celebrate the lives of two significant people: a dear friend and my father. Their memorials, held just a day apart in very different settings, offered profound moments of reflection. Despite the differences in age—one, a young man in his 50s taken far too soon, and my father, who passed suddenly at 81—I found comfort in the striking similarities of these celebrations.
At both memorials, rooms were filled with photos, stories, and the laughter of those who knew them best. It was impossible to dwell in melancholy when surrounded by the hilarious tales that were shared. Both men lived their lives with passion, loved deeply, and left behind soulmates to not only mourn their absence but to celebrate their presence in this world. The love for these two remarkable men was palpable, a shared experience of grief and gratitude among friends and family who gathered to honor them.
What struck me most was how each person in attendance knew the deceased at a different point in their lives. The common threads of their character were evident, but everyone’s memories revealed a different chapter of their journey. It was a poignant reminder that our lives are woven together by the connections we make along the way.
In the days following my father’s passing, I’ve felt somewhat lost. Losing my mother 20 years ago was a significant blow, but my father’s death has left me feeling untethered—a disconcerting sensation for someone who thrives on feeling grounded. Yet, there was healing in celebrating his life, particularly in the act of scattering his ashes. It was a moment of acknowledgment for the man who loved us, who sacrificed for us, and who lived a life that, while perhaps ordinary to some, was extraordinary in its impact.
One of my favorite things about my dad was his tendency to take in strays. While he did rescue stray dogs, I’m referring more to the people he took under his wing. He hired those in need of work or purpose, offered countless individuals a safe place to stay when they needed it most—my brother and I included. His immense kindness, extended to those who needed it most, is his lasting legacy.
As I sifted through photos to create boards for his memorial, I saw his life with fresh eyes: the adorable blonde child, the sassy teenager who loved cars, the man searching for and eventually finding direction. I saw the man who traveled, hunted, and fished for decades, who loved being on the water, who could strike up a friendship in the span of a short conversation, and who was a good neighbor wherever he lived. He lived fiercely, loved deeply, and will forever be missed.
Recently, I released a summer turquoise collection. I approached the process with determination, thrilled with the results of my largest collection to date. It wasn’t until afterward that I realized turquoise is my father’s birthstone—an unconscious bridge to healing, perhaps.
Rest in peace, Dad. You’ve earned it. ❤️