If we’re lucky, time turns us into the people who once held the wheel for us. Now my sister has twins the same age she was here.
One of the last photos of Aurora with her GranDan was sitting in his lap at the helm of a Duffy ride two summers ago. This photo feels like an echo more than a memory.
Happy Mother’s Day to my fabulous mother and sister, and all the rest of the mother figures out there for making the world a softer, more inhabitable place.
Black Trans lives matter. Thank you to @juniormintt and crew for leaving it all on the stage and giving our community a moment of light amongst all the time lost to hopelessness and doom-scrolling in recent weeks. As a gay, white, cisgender man, I would never have the rights and privileges I enjoy today without the Black Trans women who paved the way for Queer resistance.
The time is flying, the world moves on, and some days hit harder than others; today is one of them. Happy 69th birthday to my father. You would have loved making jokes about this number all year. Love and admire you forever.
To my sister, who brought these two fabulous little humans into our lives—who we need now more than ever; to my mother who has navigated this year with incredible strength, resilience, and openness; to all the mothers and mother figures who make the world a softer, more livable place; Happy Mother’s Day.
“When we would get to the lyric, he would turn it up and become very earnest, pointing his finger along with the words, to make sure we understood the lesson: ‘Youth’s a mask, and it don’t last; Live it long, and live it fast.’”
Last night in Laguna Beach following Dad’s celebration. Thank you to everyone for all the love, and for loving my father.
While it feels slightly disingenuous to say “Happy Birthday” right now, there is so much to celebrate about this woman.
Mom, although it’s not a happy time, I hope that you find moments of joy today in the many people that love you— a testament to the life you live and have built. Today, and every day, I am so thankful for you.
I missed you so ferociously today, when the cumulative minutiae overwhelmed me and I needed that text from you, like the last one I ever received. “You got this, my son. I love you 😘”
When you got sick, it was the first time it occurred to me in a visceral way that you weren’t immortal, despite all the times you (and I think John) would fret about dying young like your father. In our irreverence, we always made light of it with our dark humor.
But even when you received the bone marrow transplant and I thought we had indefinitely more time, “indefinite” means “unknown.” And I thought how terrible it might be to only have the remainder of an average lifetime with you. What, 20-ish years?
What I wouldn’t give for 20 more years! 10 more years! 10 days, an hour, I could make it feel like another lifetime.
Two nights ago, September 12th, Dad passed peacefully, in his sleep due to complications from pneumonia. I’m at a loss for words while my mind struggles to grasp the finality of it, which has been hitting in devastating jolts.
This photo of us was taken in December 2010 while on a dive trip in the Great Barrier Reef. He introduced me to scuba diving when I was 13 in Cabo San Lucas, and it was our favorite thing to do together. I’m grateful that we got to go on one more epic trip to the British Virgin Islands in April of last year.
Growing up, his home office was filled with corny motivational posters for which he was the perfect audience. The one with the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz read, “Remember, my sentimental friend, that a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”
To my father, the man with the biggest heart in the world, who saw me, and believed in me so relentlessly— there is nothing I would change about the time I had with you, except to have more of it.
Daniel David Linge
August 13, 1956 - September 12, 2024
I think the year was 1993 and Grandpa was a huge fan of Harmon “The Killer” Killebrew from the Minnesota Twins, who my uncle was named after. Dad, McKenna, and I went along to meet him at an event in San Diego.
We lost Grandpa shortly after that at the age of only 64. I was nine years old at the time and the days were all still so long, entire adventures. Dying at 64 didn’t seem unreasonable to me then, a number that was incomprehensibly far away.
Now, as I see Dad surviving two battles with AML and receiving a successful bone marrow transplant, he still seems so young to me (the fact that his incredible head of hair has come back fully after two intense rounds of chemo helps).
We were lucky just a few weeks ago that Dad’s doctor cleared him to travel to North Carolina to attend the wedding of my cousin Aleah, Harmon’s daughter. During their father/daughter dance, they had selected a version of Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra that I’d never heard before. It was Bubbe’s favorite. I ran over to my parents’ table and knelt next to Mom as everyone in our extended family caught eyes with each other from around the room to acknowledge the moment and have a collective cry.
The non-linear experience of life can feel jarring at times, but on this Father’s Day, I’m particularly grateful that we get indefinitely more time with Dad.
“Be courageous and be brave, and in my heart you will remain forever young”
This is a photo I took two a little over two years ago when my dad was in the hospital. I was able to capture my mom’s embracing him and the look on his face the moment the doctor told us that the chemo treatments were successful.
I love this tender moment between the two of them and how easily the memory of our celebration of the news comes back to me, and how it’s a perfect portrait of my mom as the tireless pillar of strength she’s always been for us.
Happy Mother’s Day to this remarkable woman.
