This past Friday, HRM was invited to give a talk at Raffaella Gallo’s ARTCaffè. One of the projects she referenced was her most recent body of work, The Hours Breathe.

The series is a deeply felt meditation on motherhood. Hearing her speak of those days brought back a flood of memories.

During the Q+A after the talk, an older man asked her a very perceptive question about how returning to Korea after spending so many years abroad had impacted her perceptions of her own country.

Later on, as the audience was dispersing, we had a chance to speak with him. He told us a very moving story. A week earlier, at home in Montreal, he got a telephone call from his son in Seoul. “Dad, what are you doing next weekend?”

“Nothing special, son”.

It turns out his daughter in law, who was also in the audience on Friday, was scheduled for surgery and his son flew him in for a few days to help care for his young grandson. For some reason, hearing the man tell his story almost brought me to tears.

And I haven’t been able to stop thinking of my own early days as a father.

Tonight, as I was doing the dishes after dinner, I suddenly had a vivid recollection of myself in the vegetable aisle at Harlem Whole Foods, with baby Luca strapped on to a backpack across my chest, carefully choosing the best broccoli I could find to puree for the twins at home.

God, there were some sleepless nights back then. And I remember being so bone-tired that I might as well have been sleep-walking through my life.

But what immeasurable joy filled our hearts as well.