My dad, Jay Gallagher, died 10 years ago today.
There is so much I continue to miss about him. His warm hugs. His laugh. The way his eyes smirked when he landed a good joke or jab - which is to say, often.
I yearn to talk to him about our current political moment, though I am also a little relieved he was spared the Trump presidency. He would have been just gutted by Trump’s anti-democratic instincts - his vilification of the media; his inability to take criticism, to put the needs of people first, to engage in reasoned thought or discourse. He would worry for the future of our country and democracy, and write about how failures in leadership impact everyday people’s lives.
I listened to people talking about my dad last night (link to videos below) and read over old messages he received. What people valued in him was his ability “rise above the jaded cynicism” - and his commitment to a journalism which had absolute integrity and held itself to a standard of fairness and service.
I think he would have been a really useful voice in thinking through what comes next for the pandemic: the need to come together by staying apart to prevent more suffering and death - weighed against the suffering that will come and be disproportionately shouldered by the most vulnerable amongst us by economic depression.
He would have opined about the proper role of government in the crisis.
He spent much of his career going toe-to-toe with the Cuomos - I would have loved to hear him in that briefing room asking Andrew how he is going to pay for all this, while also cutting him a break and acknowledging that deficit spending might even be justified given what is at stake.
And he somehow would have found a way to don a Red Sox mask.
10 years feels momentous for me - like it should mark a before and after. That he should move into the past tense - cuz come on, it’s time! But this year, in the space created by the pandemic, I have found myself with more time to think about the holes he left, about the places where he should be. On the bike trail from home to downtown Albany! Playing with my nephews - his grandsons - I’m just so sad he never got to know them and experience the joy of playing ball with Jasper, receiving Aidan’s head butts, and being decorated, jumped on, and dressed up as they saw fit.
We are all ok - I am finishing my own book, which I realize mirrors his in some ways. Both share the stories of how average people are affected by government ineptitude (albeit mine is set in Mexico and focuses on failures of their justice system). My sister works at ahem a leading educational institution - working to promote a spirit of public service amongst future governmental and business leaders. And mom continues to therapize - alleviating suffering one client at a time. We all miss him, in our own way.
If you get a chance this Memorial Day weekend, please take a moment (or a swig of beer) to remember my dad. I am trying to breathe into his challenge to think productively about shitty situations: what can I say, write, or do to think about how we lessen our own and other’s suffering as we come out of (and go back into?) this crisis.
Go Sox! (errr… ok. that’s doesn’t even work right now…)
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Well articulated and beautifully written
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