Dear Dad: A Letter to You 20 Years Later

Dear Dad,

Today marks 20 years since we lost you so unexpectedly, though the number of years stopped shocking me a long time ago. You passed away when I was 13. The emotional weight of that day stays with me always, and I’ll never forget the feelings, the people by my side — every word they said — and the confusion of those first few days. I was already a little lost and struggling in middle school. There were so many things going on that I wish I had the guts to talk to you about at the time, because I know you and mom would’ve had the advice to help me through it.

I’m 33, so at this point, I’ve lived significantly more of my life without you than I did with you. Despite that, so much of who I am today is shaped by the experiences I had growing up with you, mom, Aja and Zack. I often feel lucky we had you for as long as we did. It wasn’t nearly enough, of course. But there are a few things I’d like you to know about me, and our family.

I’ve had really amazing life experiences.

Life throws us all curveballs, but I’ve been very fortunate that life has also brought amazing people into my life. And I’ve had wonderful experiences with them. I’ve made and kept lifelong friends, I’ve lost friends, I’ve met people who were only briefly a part of my life but who played extremely significant roles in shaping me. I’ve traveled to beautiful places, where you tagged along in spirit and I spread your ashes in meaningful places. I played my heart out at soccer, and won many tournaments with our Lynn Youth Soccer teams… less so with my high school team. I spent an unforgettable four years at Merrimack, and spent a year earning my master’s degree at Syracuse — an experience that did far more than further my education on paper. I’ve fallen in love, and out of it. I turned work acquaintances into some of the best friendships of my lifetime. I dedicated time and effort into philanthropy and to involving those around me in philanthropy, too. I’ve mentored people who taught me a lot about myself along the way. I became an aunt to Lilah, Aja’s daughter who is too perfect and adorable for words. She’s sweet, kind, smart and funny. She knows about you, and we’ll always tell her stories.

I had some really hard times, too.

It hasn’t all been uplifting experiences, but that’s okay. Life’s challenges are what make us grow, reflect and appreciate all that we do have. Losing you was easily the most difficult thing I ever went through, but mom, Aja, Zack and I were there for each other, and we had amazing friends and family to help us. Those first several years were extremely challenging, and hey — I didn’t always make it easy on mom. I regret that, but I know we were all grieving and dealing with this trauma that I’m not sure any of us handled as well as we would’ve liked to. Those scars have faded, but they’ll never fully go away. Still, we are okay.

When I was met with more challenging times over the years, I looked to you for guidance. Over the past two decades, I’ve found myself and lost myself so many times. I’ve been right, I’ve been wrong. I’ve made so many mistakes — some were small and laughable, while others took time to heal and to forgive myself. I’ve let people down, and I’ve lifted people up. I had to hear hard truths, and I’ve had to deliver devastating news. I had people there to pick up the pieces when my heart was broken, even if that meant pizza, all-nighters and tequila-induced tears. I’ve struggled with mental health at times, and I’ve cried — happy tears, lonely tears, sad tears, tears of grief. I’ve disappointed myself and those around me at times, and said or done things that weren’t my proudest moments. I did always have a flare for the dramatic. Above all, I always tried to grow with every challenge, disappointment or loss. I know I still have so much growing and learning to do.

Next to losing you, the most challenging experience I faced was losing Jed a few years ago. He was like another brother to me, and he looked up to you so much. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve both of you — 4th of July block parties, trick-or-treating around the pond, or just random weekends when Jed showed up unannounced at the back door cooking himself breakfast to eat with us. Sure, Jed may have been a menace to me growing up, but he was my brother. And you would’ve been proud of the man he became. He grieved alongside us when we lost you — and he was as protective of me as you or Zack would be.

I think we’d get along quite well.

Sure, that seems obvious since you’re my dad. But as I’ve shared many times with friends, one of my greatest disappointments in this life is that we weren’t able to be friends as adults. I think you would like how I turned out. Not just because I have a successful career or a wonderful wife. I mean I think we’d be friends. We’d laugh over a few beers (but please not Rolling Rocks), we’d disagree on things and both be too bullheaded to admit when we were wrong. We’d have meaningful conversations about life’s injustices and politics. And in college, I am sure you would’ve called me at the end of each week to ask me what I learned in classes — because you were all about ensuring we appreciated our education. And I would groan about having to come up with an answer. But on those days I learned something truly cool in psych or astronomy classes, I would’ve given anything for that call.

I always try to stay true to myself.

For the most part, I like myself. There are parts of me I need to and will work on — I can feel bitter if I feel I’ve been slighted or wronged; I can be a jealous person — not really in a romantic way, but more so in that I look at things other people have and feel envious at times (like people who have strong adult friendships with their dads). And I’ve got about the worst case of FOMO around. But I like to think the good outweighs the bad with me — that I can be fun, funny, kind, thoughtful and last but not least, the life of the party. I try to bring that Marki out every day, whenever possible. I’m not saying the Marki people see every day is always the same Marki that is behind closed doors. But for the most part — I try to be. One of the best compliments I’ve ever received came from a very unexpected place. He is a colleague, and as a group of us were laughing over something likely outrageous that I said or did, he said, “You know, you gotta love Marki. She’s just always so authentically… herself.” I really do try to be, and to live that way. Whether it’s singing and not caring who’s listening, calling myself out, not catering to expectations of those around me, or being so bold as to volunteer to write my own future eulogy because, frankly, who could do me better justice than me? While I’m (half) joking about that, my point is that I always try to be authentic, and to be unapologetically — Marki.

Rick’s a good guy.

You’d like Rick. He’s corny, kind and always around to lend a hand. Seriously, this homeownership stuff is nuts, but Rick is always a phone call away to check out the boiler, replace my smoke detectors, do some electrical work or just answer one of many, many questions I’ve had over the years. He moved me in and out of college five years in a row, and did the same for Zack and Aja, too. He never complained, not once, and he always did it with a smile. He brought his children and now our nieces and nephews into all our lives, which has been an incredible experience. He always honors your memory, coming with us each year to your bench and cheersing with a Rolling Rock (even if he hates every sip). We are all forever grateful this kind man came into our lives, and that mom once again found someone to go through this life with. I mean, it is super weird that his last name is also Conway, but we’ve all pretty much moved passed that — and we call mom LC Squared since she married two different, unrelated Conways.

I try to live my life in a way that would make you proud.

Again, I don’t mean my college degrees or my job. I know you would be proud of those things, but they are nothing compared to living life with compassion and empathy. I try to be a good person. I try to educate myself and be a better ally to marginalized communities who have been victims of a systemically racist society, while acknowledging my own participation in the system and how I have benefitted. This year, I’ve really taken this on very seriously and think about ways I can help. I don’t always do or say the right thing, but I am always trying to grow and learn and make life better for those around me, too. I make mistakes. I lose touch with people I wish were still bigger parts of my life, I forget birthdays. But I live with purpose in (almost) everything I do. In fact, I think you’d tell me to lighten up a little, but you’d be proud of me too. And believe me, I know how to laugh and enjoy life’s silly moments. Around the office I’m almost infamous for goofing off (appropriately) — but also for helping build a strong culture, and being an advocate for all employees and work/life balance. But… also for making people laugh and buying them shots. I love making people laugh (and do shots), and sometimes I’m able to do that while mocking my own shortcomings — I’ve become an expert in making myself the butt of the joke. And once the disaster that is 2020 and COVID-19 is over, I promise to go on more adventures, too. I know you’d want that. For me to take the trip, to spend the money, to live my life.

I married someone who makes me laugh.

Life is a journey that takes unexpected turns. And journeys are always better when you have someone by your side to take in all the twists and turns, ups and downs. I found someone who loves me unconditionally, supports me, motivates me, consoles me, drives me crazy sometimes, and makes me laugh. You’d appreciate her wit and sense of humor. She says all the time that she wishes she could have met you, but in some ways, she feels like she has from the way we all still keep you alive. She hears about you from me all the time, and the Conways have embraced her as family, telling her all about you and your humor.

I’m okay.

I’m not a religious person — something I probably inherited from your life philosophies. Sometimes I think heaven is just a happy thought made up by the hubris of (wo)mankind. But then I don’t believe that, because I feel your guidance at times, and I know I’ll see you again some day. So, I guess I don’t always know what I believe, but I always believe in you. I won’t say 20 years has flown by, it absolutely has not. Today, mom, Rick, Aja, Lilah, Cait and I will visit you at your memorial bench in Nahant — Zack will be there in spirit and on FaceTime, too. We will always visit, but it’s not to grieve anymore. In fact, it hasn’t been about grieving for a while now. We go to remember you, to celebrate your life, and to remind ourselves to appreciate each other and everything this life has given us. We love you, dad. We love you and we miss you every day still — but we are all okay.