For My Father

Bradley Arden Hoffman.

Husband. Father. Grandfather. Golfer. Handyman. Writer. World traveler.

Sadly, Dad passed away this week. And while his absence leaves a void, his legacy remains larger-than-life.

He was tall. He was creative. He was humble and wise. He lived a life of adventure, but always put his family first.

He was my father.

He was my role model.

This is for him.

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Dad saw the world.

I mean the whole world.

He covered thousands of miles, visited 60 countries, and set foot on every continent except Antarctica.

He was a worldly man in every sense. Just as comfortable at a dive bar in Bangkok, as a fancy banquet in Dubai.

Dad’s career took him all over creation. And as time went on, he leveraged his role into a choose-your-own-adventure tale of corporate communications. He’d pick a country, pitch a story, and set off for someplace new.

Dad got such leeway because he was great at what he did. He wrote powerful pieces that made bosses look good, and they in turn let him explore.

Of course, it’s more fun exploring with loved ones, so Dad stockpiled airline miles to bring his family along for the ride. By the age of twelve I had seen a dozen different countries, and Dad made sure we understood the breadth and diversity of the world outside our door.

When the opportunity knocked, Dad packed up and moved us all to Switzerland for two years. It was an ambitious leap, but the experience helped us grow as individuals and a family. Dad relished the adventure, and he did so much work to make us all feel at home.

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Dad loved working with his hands.

He was a fixer and a fiddler. He’d spend hours in his workshop, chasing down some new project as an outlet for his active mind.

Dad was always very cerebral, his brain full of ideas and plans. Handiwork let him express those urges and gave him the satisfaction of a job well done.

“What a piece of craftsmanship!” He used to say. Maybe it was remounting a light fixture or taming a stubborn door. He took pride in his work and never half-assed anything around the house.

In fact, he built our house.

From the first blueprint to the final brick. He picked the lot, cleared the trees, drew the plans, then hired twenty-two different contractors to bring it all together.

He was out there every day during construction to ensure the building fit his vision, and there are subtle touches throughout that show his forethought and care:

• Extra gravel around the foundation so the basement never floods.
• A wide, smooth driveway that became the envy of our neighbors.
• A backyard of mature trees that draws wildlife from miles around.

Since before my first birthday, that’s been our home. It’s our place of peace and family togetherness. He created this special environment, and within it we all thrived.

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Dad enjoyed a dream retirement.

He walked away at 62, on his own terms, and used the freedom to golf, relax, and spend time with his family.

He hit the links hard, playing different courses every week and making new friends across the state. When the weather turned cold, he’d take trips down to Florida where he might barnstorm 72 holes in a weekend.

Some of my favorite memories with Dad will always be those perfect days on those perfect courses. We’d laugh our way through a leisurely round and just enjoy the experience together.

Dad went out of his way to create experiences like that. Even when we were all living different lives in different cities, he made sure we came together as a family at least once per year.

He had his favorite spots: Florida, Jamaica, West Virginia… He would book a nice hotel or cabin, and we would all just get together and relax. It brought the family closer, and gave Dad the opportunity to revel in what he’d built.

As retirement went on, Dad got to watch his family grow. The day he walked my sister down the aisle is one of the proudest I’ve ever seen him.

A few years later it was my turn, and Dad emceed our ceremony after a last-minute change of plans. He was witty and poignant, and I never doubted he would pull it off. Dad’s modest wisdom gave the day the gravity it deserved.

After that it was off to Malaysia, for a whirlwind cultural union that he called one of the most memorable weeks of his life.

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There’s a lot of Dad in me.

We’re both laid back and pragmatic. We rarely seek the spotlight but can carry a room when called upon.

We both found our way to writing simply because we’re good at it. Dad went to school for business, but realized early on it was his way with words that set him apart. That skill carried him through a successful career in communications, and by the end he was writing speeches for Fortune 500 CEOs.

In a lot of ways, I’m following in his footsteps now: Traveling the world, writing about my adventures, raising a family abroad. He blazed all those paths before me, and transferred life skills I’m still just discovering I have.

There’s no way I’d be in Malaysia without Dad’s help. He provided planning and wisdom and tireless support. He convinced me it could be done, and we embraced the challenge together. I’ll never forget the day he dropped me at the airport to embark on my new life. I had four suitcases and a fifteen-year old cat. My plane took off in a blizzard.

It was harrowing and complicated and emotional and exhausting, but I made it.

Thanks to him.

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The end came fast.

I got a phone call. I got on an airplane. I arrived home to find Dad too weak to walk.

He’d developed an aggressive form of leukemia, and his body was shutting down.

We did our best to keep him comfortable, but three days later he went into hospice care.

That was my birthday.

It was a weird week.

Looking back, I was lucky to be there at all. I got to see Dad through to the end, while helping my Mom and siblings mourn.

It’s a confusing time.

My sister just gave birth to a healthy girl, so we’re caught between emotional extremes as elation wrestles with grief.

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I can tell you Dad was peaceful in his final days. He felt no pain. He had no fear.

He told me several times he carried no regrets about his life. He had a great career, a great family, and a great retirement where he savored it all. He enjoyed forty-eight years of marriage, and watched his children grow into happy, successful adults. He hung around long enough to see his first two grandchildren, and passed knowing that his legacy is in good hands.

There are no easy goodbyes, and sitting by his bedside that final time I was – for once – at a loss for words.

How do I thank the man who raised me? Who put a roof over my head and food on my plate? Who helped me graduate college and move halfway around the world? Dad was always there. Always thoughtful. Always giving unconditional support.

In the end, I realized, the words didn’t matter. Dad knew how I felt. That’s why he was so comfortably at peace.

He knew I loved him. I knew he was proud of me.

Who could ask for anything more?

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I’ll miss the hell out of him now. Talking to him, bouncing ideas, reaching out for sage advice. I’ll miss our rounds of golf and games of Words With Friends. I’ll miss sharing a meal, sharing a drink, and sharing a laugh with my old man. He was so full of wisdom. It will take years to get over his loss.

In a weird way though, I feel a closeness I didn’t have before.

Dad and I no longer live half a world apart.

He’s here with me now, always.

He’s in my heart. He’s in my home.

He’s in the eyes of my son.

Thank you for everything, Dad.

You gave me a life of wonder and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You rest easy now.

I’ll take it from here.

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