Sitting in the Cup Half Empty
Today my dad would have been 103. He died when he was 50. Every Father's Day is bittersweet.
Watching Jalen Brunson embrace his father at the Knicks win was heartbreaking for a guy who never cultivated a relationship with his own dad. I lost the most important part of my upbringing and personal development, and I have suffered greatly. I am not here looking for sympathy. I am just speaking from the heart — and if that makes you uncomfortable, if you’re willing to judge something pure and honest, look in the mirror. The monster is there.
I saw a post on Instagram where someone wrote next to a picture of Jalen and his dad how envious he was, as his dad had also died young. We didn’t know each other, but I was compelled to DM this:
“My dad also died when I was in high school and how much different my life would have been forever haunts me. Just know, our dads will always be with us.”
I too am envious of the love and connectivity of a father-son relationship. How much different would my life have been? No one can say. Except I can imagine — hugely different.
One of the few memories I have is of a hot summer day when we rented a boat and floated around Swan Lake. My dad wasn’t just some guy. He was my gentle giant — hard-working, generous, kind — and an unsung superhero unknown to the world at large.
As a teenager in Warsaw during World War II, he was sent to a Siberian gulag, escaped, made his way back to Germany, and joined the Underground. He risked his life to save hundreds of thousands of Jews. The world will never know his name. He wasn't one to talk about it — he kept those days to himself. I wondered if they still haunted him: unspeakable memories floating on the water's surface. I have never fully gotten over his loss.
As much fun and joy as I have experienced in my life, only now — as the quiet sets in and the meaning of life is not clear in this fog of old age — with no children to nurture, I wonder what it’s all worth. I know that as a child of Holocaust survivors, I will figure something out. My DNA requires it. But for today, thinking of my dad, I can’t help sitting in the space of the cup half empty.
I need to sit here now, as uncomfortable as it is.
And remember — this too shall pass.
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