Aaron Wolfe

The art on the walls from his house in Bayside, the furniture, his record collection, my dishes, my love of food, my love of music, my first cup of coffee, my first hot dog, my anger, my affection, my New York sensibility, it's his.

And now I have to leave it.

And I don't know how to say goodbye to it or to him.

And then I see this clock on the wall in my living room.

It's his clock from his store in the Lower East Side.

It says, Forsyth Monuments, established 1911.

And now I know what I want to do for my last day in New York.

The next day, Naomi and I pack our two-year-old son in the stroller, and we head out for a really long walk.

And it's August in New York.

Everyone in their right mind is inside in air conditioning, but we're walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, through Chinatown, up East Broadway, then Delancey, Orchard, and then we stop at Stanton Street in front of Silver Monuments, the last Jewish monument store on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, my cousin Murray's shop.

And when my grandpa Bernie retired, he sold the business to Murray.

So there in the window of silver monuments is this little sign.

It says, Forsyth Monuments Established 1911.

It's the last shred of my grandpa Bernie on the Lower East Side.

And I don't want to go in, but I have to go in.

Because Naomi's like, you have to go in.

We walked all the way here.

You're going in.

This is ridiculous.

And I'm like, you know, I also have to go in.