4 years ago
995
248
Posted On: June 3rd 2022, 07:16 pm
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CW: Death, Cancer
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I lost my dad this week.
After a two year battle with leukemia, Matthew Speier passed away yesterday morning at the age of 85.
I only saw my father a couple times a year, as we lived on opposite sides of the continent. And he lived his life in his own way, with a stubborn conviction. For many years I resented that he and I didn't have a more traditional, closer, relationship, and that he focused most of his energy on his passions: Playing piano, spending time with his loving wife, in their remote cabin on Mayne Island, reading books, cooking great food. My mother did a lot of the heavy lifting when I was coming of age, raising me, sending me to school. It wasn't until more recently that I realized so much of my identity was imprinted onto me from him. A lot of the things I love and hold close to my heart, I owe to him: Late night jazz music, driving stick-shift, contemplating art, interpreting film, roasting chickens with rosemary and garlic. He was born and raised in New York — what I now call home. So many people go to therapy to stop themselves from becoming their parents, but I have come to love and be proud of this identity.
I obviously can't reduce a life's worth of memories into a dumb 10-slide instagram post — but these are just a handful of many photos that I've kept close over the years that remind me of him.
Goodbye, dad. I love you.🌷
—
I lost my dad this week.
After a two year battle with leukemia, Matthew Speier passed away yesterday morning at the age of 85.
I only saw my father a couple times a year, as we lived on opposite sides of the continent. And he lived his life in his own way, with a stubborn conviction. For many years I resented that he and I didn't have a more traditional, closer, relationship, and that he focused most of his energy on his passions: Playing piano, spending time with his loving wife, in their remote cabin on Mayne Island, reading books, cooking great food. My mother did a lot of the heavy lifting when I was coming of age, raising me, sending me to school. It wasn't until more recently that I realized so much of my identity was imprinted onto me from him. A lot of the things I love and hold close to my heart, I owe to him: Late night jazz music, driving stick-shift, contemplating art, interpreting film, roasting chickens with rosemary and garlic. He was born and raised in New York — what I now call home. So many people go to therapy to stop themselves from becoming their parents, but I have come to love and be proud of this identity.
I obviously can't reduce a life's worth of memories into a dumb 10-slide instagram post — but these are just a handful of many photos that I've kept close over the years that remind me of him.
Goodbye, dad. I love you.🌷
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