One year ago today, I ran into your dad in Wegmans parking lot. He was going into the store as I was coming out. Your dad commented, “You’re particularly smiley today!” so I shared with him that it was my birthday. As he wished me a happy birthday, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tried to hand me a $20 dollar bill. I refused it. He responded—with great patience—that I could either accept it graciously and go back into Wegmans and buy a nice bottle of wine to celebrate my birthday OR I could stand there in the parking lot and argue with him which, he explained, was “NOT the right choice” and "You will lose." I laughed, accepted the $20 graciously, and bought that bottle of wine. Today, one year later, I bought a good bottle of wine to celebrate my birthday AND to celebrate your dad. His kindness, his humor, his love, and his delight in celebrating with a good bottle of wine. When my dad passed, the world as I knew it shifted. The weighted center, the gravitational pull of the earth was different. I didn’t know what the world would be like without my dad in it. What I found was that what he left behind was more solid than I thought. I don’t know much, but I do know that the love that your dad left behind is solid. And you will lean on it, and carry it, and stand on it, and pass it on. You--all of you--were blessed and so was he. I love you all.