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Lost and Found: The Moth Radio Hour

The Moth

Tue Oct 28 2025

Summary

The Moth: "Lost and Found" – The Moth Radio Hour

Date: October 28, 2025
Host: Sarah Austin Janess

Episode Overview

“Lost and Found” explores the powerful, often emotional journey of losing and finding—whether it’s people, identity, a sense of belonging, precious objects, or ways of life. By sharing true, personal stories live on stage, The Moth brings together tales of near-miraculous rescue, the unmasking of vulnerabilities, reconnection after estrangement, and the realization of family across unexpected lines.

Key Stories & Discussion Points

1. Ross Jessup: "Lost in Lolo National Forest"

Tale of duty, desperation, and hope from a Montana police officer.

[03:32] Ross, working as a police officer in Missoula, responds to a call about a disorderly man seen running into Lolo National Forest, possibly with a baby.
[04:06] Under personal strain (his marriage is struggling, it’s his wedding anniversary), Ross embarks on the search in the vast woods in scorching July heat.
[06:00–12:00] Develops: The suspect is a dangerous, wanted felon with a history of violence. Ross and colleagues find the suspect’s camp, laden with evidence of a child (diapers, clothes, toys), but no people.
[08:35] The suspect is apprehended and cryptically confesses:

“He says to me, ‘He’s dead. I buried him alive. I crashed off of a cliff. You won’t find him. I don’t know where he’s at.’” (Ross Jessup, 09:14)
[10:00–15:00] The search intensifies in darkness and cold. After hours tracking debris, Ross, exhausted and praying for guidance, hears:

“There’s a moment of silence in a black forest. And in that moment, I hear this small, precious little baby whimper...the sound of a baby that has cried and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore.” (Ross Jessup, 15:34)
[16:00] Against all odds, the baby, Grayson, is found alive, buried under sticks, filthy but resilient.
[16:48] Ross links the story to his own struggles:

“I made a difference last night.” (Ross Jessup, 17:33)

Memorable Moment: The raw relief and emotion when Ross finds Grayson alive is palpable, as is his honesty about trauma and the toll of the job.

2. Christine Gentry: "Taking off the Mask"

Story of confronting vulnerability and redefining self-worth.

[22:59] Christine shares the awkwardness of a promising first date, which collapses when the man mocks a previous girlfriend who revealed she was bald (from a medical condition)—the very condition Christine has herself.
[23:45] Christine recounts her lifelong secrecy about her hair loss from alopecia, tracing back to painful early experiences and trauma from an abusive relationship:

“He would do things like snatch my hair off during fights because he knew that it would just break me.” (Christine Gentry, 25:08)
[25:19] She describes the two deep fears she carried:

"If anyone ever got into that space again, they would hurt me. And the second was that no one would ever love me for who I really am anyway.”
[26:24] Inspired by Congresswoman Ayanna Pressley’s public revelation of alopecia, Christine bravely reveals her baldness to her new partner. He responds with acceptance:

“He kissed my head, and he told me I was beautiful. And this time, I believed it.” (Christine Gentry, 27:22)

Notable Quote:

“I had to ask him to see me. Like, all of me, the real me. And I knew it was for me and that it was something I needed to do no matter how he responded.” (Christine Gentry, 26:58)

3. Gregory Pereira: "Brotherhood Lost, Family Found"

The search for family through gangs, addiction, and acceptance.

[28:48] Gregory’s early home is filled with love for The Beatles shared with his mother—a short-lived period before addiction devastates his family.
[29:30] Caught by the “tidal wave of heroin” in the South Bronx, his mother’s addiction propels Gregory towards gangs, seeking the belonging he’s lost.
[32:10] Gregory is shuffled between coastlines, constantly searching for family, and repeatedly returns to the gang life, but is ultimately betrayed and left for dead.
[34:45] Hitting bottom opens up new possibilities: he gets clean, earns two degrees, and starts working in prevention.
[36:30] Unexpectedly finds love—first dancing with his mother to The Beatles, then encountering a colleague, a woman with seven children, for whom “laughter I’d never heard before” rekindles “that magic feeling.”
[38:45] Her sons confront him (testing his intentions), and after passing their test, he finds acceptance in this "modern family.”
[39:35]

“That magic feeling started to emerge, because they became my angels with dirty faces. That was my modern family. So we’ve been together now nineteen years.” (Gregory Pereira, 39:41)

4. Joseph Gallo: "Oh, Holy Cow"

On friendship, grief, and the power of memories in objects.

[43:24] Joseph recounts a friendship forged through a love of baseball and the Yankees’ Phil Rizzuto, cemented by the gift of a special book, Oh, Holy Cow.
[44:40] After AJ’s death from a brain tumor, the book becomes Joseph’s symbolic link to his friend.
[46:45] Decades later, while packing up his late mother’s house, he accidentally donates the book, leading to obsessive visits to the bookstore and an evolving emotional attachment to the book as long as his mother is alive.
[48:00]

“If the book is alive, then in some abstract way, AJ is alive. And I want them alive.”
[48:15] He finally reclaims the book from the basement after telling the owner the whole story.
[48:59]

“[She] reads the inscription inside aloud. ‘To Joseph. Instant Stories from the Field of Dreams. I thought you would enjoy this. Love, AJ.’... She closes the book, and she hands it to me, and she says, ‘You should tell that story.’ And so I just did.” (Joseph Gallo, 49:05)

5. Erin Wolfe: "Goodbye to Grandpa Bernie’s New York"

Losing a home and finding identity in new places and people.

[49:37] Erin’s wife lands her dream job—prompting a move from New York to Boston—shaking Erin’s self identity (“I have been a New Yorker for 38 years”).
[50:27] He grapples with personal and traditional attachments: their family apartment full of his grandfather’s belongings, including a broken-old clock.
[52:00] Erin’s farewell walk through New York ends at his cousin’s monument shop—one last tie to Grandpa Bernie’s legacy.
[53:40]

“Who am I going to be if I leave this place? This is my New York. This guy is my New York.”
[54:30] Symbolically, the shop is also closing; as his old world disappears, he realizes legacies endure in family rituals, foods, and, especially, stories.
[55:35]

“But also like a time machine, my New York, my Grandpa Bernie’s New York, it’s gone. It doesn’t exist anymore. But I still see it here, of all places... in the stories we tell each other around the dinner table at home, underneath the clock that says Forsyth Monuments, established 1911.” (Erin Wolfe, 55:49)

Notable Quotes & Moments

Ross Jessup, [15:34]: “If I was to describe this sound, it would be the sound of a baby that has cried and cried and cried and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. I’ve never heard anything like it. And I hope I never have to hear anything again like it.”
Christine Gentry, [26:58]: “I took everything off, and I asked him to see me. Like all of me, the real me.”
Gregory Pereira, [39:41]: “That magic feeling started to emerge because they became my angels with dirty faces. That was my modern family.”
Joseph Gallo, [48:59]: “She opens it up, and she reads the inscription inside aloud... She closes the book, and she hands it to me, and she says, ‘You should tell that story.’ And so I just did.”
Erin Wolfe, [55:49]: “I see it in my son’s love of Chinese food and smoked fish, and in my daughter’s laugh and her scream. But most of all, I see it in the stories we tell each other around the dinner table at home.”

Timestamps for Key Segments

Ross Jessup: Lost and found in the forest – [03:32] to [17:39]
Christine Gentry: Revealing vulnerability – [22:59] to [27:32]
Gregory Pereira: From the streets to family – [28:48] to [39:46]
Joseph Gallo: Searching for a memory – [43:24] to [49:07]
Erin Wolfe: Leaving New York, carrying legacy – [49:37] to [55:56]

Episode Tone

Mixing tension, perseverance, humor, and deep emotion, “Lost and Found” is classic Moth: poignant, reflective, and at times cathartic. The storytellers speak candidly, sometimes with dark wit, sometimes with aching honesty, always with the vividness of lived experience.

Takeaway

This episode demonstrates that loss—of people, places, identity, or even a simple object—can become the raw material for new chapters, fresher identities, and the rediscovery of what matters. In each story lies the evidence that beginnings are embedded in every ending, and that “found” is often more profound for being forged through “lost.”

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Transcript

Sarah Austin Janess (0:00)

The moth is supported by AstraZeneca. AstraZeneca is committed to spreading awareness of a condition called hereditary transthyroidin mediated amyloidosis, or hattr. This condition can cause polyneuropathy like nerve pain or numbness, heart failure or irregular rhythm and gastrointestinal issues. HATTR is often under diagnosed and can be passed down to loved ones. Many of us have stories about family legacies passed down through generations. When I was five, my mother sewed me a classic clown costume, red and yellow with a pointy hat. It's since been worn by my sister, three cousins and four of our children. I'm so happy this piece of my childhood lives on with no end in sight. Genetic conditions like HATTR shouldn't dominate our stories. Thanks to the efforts of AstraZeneca, there are treatment options so so more patients can choose the legacies they share. This year, the moth will partner with AstraZeneca to shine a light on the stories of Those living with Hattr. Learn more at www.myattrroadmap.com.

Narrator/Host (Sarah Austin Janess) (1:09)

You know that moment when you're on the edge of a discovery that feels important, but the information you need is scattered, complex, or hard to find. That's where Claude comes in, an AI thinking partner that can search the Web to gather context, surface relevant sources and and help you make sense of the details. Picture someone diving into a topic that looks straightforward at first but quickly reveals layers of history, data, and perspectives. CLAUDE helps navigate that complexity not by writing for you, but by bringing together information, asking the right questions, and providing the context you need to think deeper. Claude doesn't rush toward quick answers. It digs into different angles, finds unexpected connections, and organizes information in a way that lets you see the bigger picture. Whether you're digging into a new hobby, analyzing research, or simply trying to understand the full context around a topic, Claude matches your curiosity and goes beyond easy answers. Try CLAUDE for free at Claude AI Themoth and see why the world's best problem solvers choose Claude as their thinking partner. This is the Mom Sarah Hath Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Janess in this episode, Lost and Found stories, heirlooms lost, old ways of life gone and what is found in their stead. Our curatorial producer, Suzanne Rust, found out about our first storyteller, Ross Jessup, through an article in a local Missoula, Montana newspaper, and she reached out. Ross later told us, I thought it was a scam and so did my lieutenant. I told my wife about it and she said, the moth and it's Not a scam. Call them. I listen all the time. So we begin this episode lost in the woods of Lolo National Forest in Missoula, Montana with Ross Jessup, a cop 10 years into the police force. He came to New York to tell his story outside in Greenwood Cemetery. So you may hear the occasional airplane. We partner with the Greenwood Historic Fund. And just a note, this story involves a crime and there is some intensity. Here's Ross Jessup live at the moth.

Ross Jessup (4:06)

And he was caring for a baby. I'm at the end of the road. I'm depressed, I'm struggling. My marriage is falling apart. And in front of me there's nothing but large bushes and pine trees that had overgrown the road that I was on. Another dead end. I turned my patrol car around to continue the search. The area that I'm searching is Lolo National Forest. It's 2.1 million square miles. That's a little bit larger than Del Ora, folks. I continue searching for hours. At approximately 10:30, my patrol radio breaks silence. Since my partner, he says to me, Ross, we know who the suspect is. He's a man felon wanted out of Oregon. He's a known drug user and he's violent. He has guns and he's made threats towards law enforcement. I'm 20 miles away so I go, I meet other officers knowing that we have about a half a mile walk into the campsite that where he's staying at. I put on my night vision. I take out my long rifle, strap it over my chest. My heart's pounding. I'm nervous, I'm focused and I'm full of adrenaline. I'm ready for combat. Silently walking in to the pitch black forest. It's about 40 degrees now and I see his tent, but it's empty. My partner finds the stash of guns that had been set out to ambush the cops. When we got there, there's no people in the campsite. I open up the tent and I look around and I see diapers and dirty clothes and dirty dishes and baby toys. My heart sinks and I'm crushed. It wasn't until that time we were just speculating, but now I knew that we're looking for a five month old baby boy named nobody knows where he's at. As I'm scrambling my brain to try to figure out what I'm gonna do next, My portable radio breaks squelch and it's my dispatch center and it's a broken transmission. The suspect has been arrested. So I run back to my patrol car and I drive as fast as I can to where he's at. I see a man that is dirty. His hair is a mess, he doesn't have any pants on. He's screaming wildly at everybody and just making no sense. He's more concerned about his telephone than anything else. All that pent up adrenaline that I just had kind of went to the wayside and I just became pissed. I tried interrogating him to no avail. I wanted to just strangle the truth out of this guy, but I didn't. I yelled at him, begging and pleading him to tell us where we could find Grayson. And he says to me, is dead. I buried him alive. I crashed off of a cliff. You won't find him. I don't know where he's at. Enraged, I'm asking him for more information and he tells me about. He tells me about a bush that he had drove over and started to ramble on and on and on in the bush in my head. Just kept echoing and echoing. I knew where I had to go. I got the help from the forest service with their four wheeler and I went up with a forest service officer back up the same road that I'd already been up earlier that night. And when we get to the bush, we drive around it and we continue driving for less than a quarter mile before what was left of that road completely disappears. Now we're just on a mountain slope, about 30 degree slopes, no trails, overgrown with bushes and trees. I'm devastated because there was supposed to be a car up here, but there wasn't. I want to scream. And I'm walking down slope and I see an overturned boulder the size of a basketball. And I look where that boulder was and there was tread marks in the dirt. I continue to look and soon find a dome light, very dim dome light of a car that had been crashed into a grove of pine trees. I rushed to the car and I find debris scattered all around it. A chainsaw that had been stuck in the middle of the tree because our suspect had tried to cut himself out of being stuck. And I frantically get into the car, but there's no baby. I start to look around the crash site and I start following a trail of debris. Playing cards, some diapers here and there. And slowly and Slowly we walk down down slope of the crash. And about 100 yards here and 100 yards there, I'm still picking up traces of human until I come to the bottom of the ravine where it's just completely muddy. All signs stop. My partner had to go back to the crash site to meet the search and rescue people that were on their way up. And here I was, alone in the forest and somewhere in Montana, not knowing what differences I make, not knowing why. But I do know one thing. I'm looking for the body of a baby. And it breaks my heart. I'm a father of three. I have three beautiful little girls. I kneel down and I just pray to God, God, please help me find this baby tonight. Help me find this baby so that nobody else has to. So that nobody else has to deal with the things that I'm about to see. I continue my search. A short time later, I find the suspect's pants in an easterly downslope direction from the crash. And then I find a car seat. And the car seat's empty. My portable radio had died. I didn't have any way to communicate with my dispatch center. I'm now in charge of all of the volunteers who are looking for this baby. And everything's pointing. Keep searching down slope that makes the most sense. I tell my partner, can I borrow your radio? I'm gonna take a walk straight up this mountain. He says, no, but I'll go with you. So together we start walking straight up this mountain. 30 degree slopes. We're hot, we're sweaty, we're tired and we're upset. I'm upset, maybe more upset than I've ever been in my life. And I'm exhausted and I'm breathing hard. About 20 minutes straight uphill. I'm panting, trying to catch my breath. And in between pants, there's a moment of silence in a black forest. And in that moment, I hear this small, precious little baby whimper. At first I couldn't believe it and I heard it again. And if I was to describe this sound, it would be the sound of a baby that has cried and cried and cried and cried and cried until he couldn't cry anymore. I've never heard anything like it. And I hope I never have to hear anything again like it. I rush towards the sound and it's pitch black. My headlights on and my flashlights are on and I can barely see anything. I'm about to step over this pile of debris and there's GR buried underneath sticks and twigs, face down. He's wearing a onesie. He's soiled and he's wet. I remove all the sticks and I wrap Grayson up in a down coat and I kiss his forehead and I cry and I hold GR and I walk him down the mountain and the whole time he's coughing up sticks and twigs out of his mouth. I get to the ambulance and turn Grayson over to their care. In less than a minute and a half, Grayson drinks two bottles of Enfamil. He was that dehydrated. However, Grayson's a strong kid and he's alive today and healthy. I go back to my patrol car. I think I'd forgotten to mention this at the beginning of the story.

Christine Gentry (22:59)

So it's one of those first dates where you catch yourself getting way too excited because things are going way too well. Supposed to be just drinks that turned into dinner, more drinks. And then we were back at his place in Inwood in New York City, and we're just talking, talking, talking. And as it often does on first dates, the conversation snaked around to our previous experiences on the app that we had met on. And he starts laughing and says, oh, man. The last girl that I met on there, she seemed great. But then when we went back to her house and get this, she was bald. Like something about her immune system, I don't know. She had a wig and she took it off in front of me. How crazy is that? I was so weirded out. And what this man did not know is that he was sitting across from someone who had the exact same condition. The odds of which I cannot even begin to imagine. My immune system attacked every hair follicle on my body when I was three years old, and then again when I was eight. And then again when I was 14. And I'd been wearing wigs since high school. But it was something very few people knew because I kept it locked, quarantined, you know, behind this thick door inside of me. And at that moment, it felt like I was floating above us, looking down at this conversation. And I thought about telling him. I thought about the bravery of the woman before me. And I thought about how fucking stupid he was going to feel if I did it. But I'm embarrassed to tell you, I chickened out. I said, you know what? It's late. I have to work tomorrow. Grabbed my stuff and left. And I Just sobbed that whole subway ride home because not six months before, I had finally escaped this horribly abusive relationship. And I had gone into therapy to figure out, how did I get into this relationship? How is it that I stayed for so long? And we'd figured out that it was because I had let that man in that space, right? And I had let him see me at my most exposed, my most vulnerable, and what I thought was my most ugly. And he had loved me anyway. And he had turned that love against me. He would do things like snatch my hair off during fights because he knew that it would just break me. And I left that relationship with these.

Gregory Pereira (31:00)

Bandanas, putting them on, standing in the park. And you had to look like a warrior. You had to look like the Terminator. No feeling till we got drunk. That lasted for quite a number of years. Well, my mother and my grandfather, they didn't want me in this lifestyle any longer. And they Sent me to live in the west coast with my father in California. I went to East Los Angeles. It was like the frying pans of the fire. Because gangs were generational over there. There was great grandfathers, grandfathers, fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers, cousins. And I had to be accepted. And I had to do what they did. They used to wear these shiny shoes called Imperials. Iron your khakis, iron your T shirt, or put your T shirt over your arm, and another bandana. And you always kept it low. And you kept your eyes sharp. You were both predator and prey. And you looked fierce. You had to, otherwise you were a victim. My father said no, back to New York you go. So back to New York I went. My mother and my stepfather, both intoxicated, forgot which airport I was going to land at. And I had to find my way back into the city and back into pain. Because pain attracts pain. The gang in life. One more time. Back with the cutoff sleeves, the long T shirt and the headband. And I did that for some time. I felt a brotherhood. But then I felt a betrayal like I've never known before. They left me for dead. You know, there was a Beatles song when I was growing up that reminded me of family. It was a line inside that Beatles song, that magic feeling. And I had that with my mother, and I had that with the gang life, the culture. I had that for a little while. But that magic feeling was no longer there and nowhere to go. Alcohol and drugs became my new friends. And that lasted for quite some time. But what happened was I ended up finally, I guess, through the big guy upstairs, changed my life. I hit bottom and he turned some stuff around for me. And I ended up. I ended up even going back to school. I ended up with two different degrees. And with that I taught gang awareness and prevention, substance abuse prevention, HIV prevention. And I was transformed, but didn't have that sense of family. I had some stuff, but not family. But in my office one day, there was this girl who came in and she was smiling, she was beaming. She lit up a room. When she came, that smile was there. When she was leaving, my head bobbed left and right with her. She used to come into my office to borrow a stapler and tape and folders. And I would see her walk out and I could look at her desk and she had a stapler, tape and folders. So from our talking, we got to walk. And she was very athletic and she used to love to walk. So I used to walk her home or close to home. So we started walking for about Two, three weeks, we were walking, and she would always tell me, after about two miles, okay, I'm gonna leave you here. And I was like, maybe she's doing me the favor. You know, she has a lot more to go. But after two more times like this, I got very curious, you know, like, why isn't she allowing me to walk her home? Well, the following day, we must have had this psychic connection. It was the heart of February, was freezing out, and there was sun glaring on the snow that was still on the floor. And I was breathing smoke out of my nose, and I had these sunglasses on. And she stops, and she says, listen, I got to tell you something. I got to show you something. And she whips out these two pictures and these two pictures, and I'm cold, I'm trembling, and I'm counting heads, two, four, five, seven. Seven heads. And she says, these are my children. I said, man, she couldn't put them on one picture. And she said, are you okay with that? Now, I had a son of my own, and, like, I wasn't a good parent. I don't know, do this. You know, I had a. I'm still finding my way. Anyway, we left, and I figured out why she didn't allow me to walk home. She was really trying to protect her children from whom they meet. Well, we talked the next day at work, and I was contemplating, and I asked my friend Ronald, what do you think? And he says, well, she's very pretty, and do you think you could handle it? Check yourself. And I said, okay. And I get this phone call from her, and I'm home ironing clothes. You know, I got used to ironing my stuff, and I'm thinking about, I can't do this. You know, it was nice knowing her. But when we talked in the background, there was such laughter, laughter I've never heard before. I remember dancing with my mother, and that was the last time we ever danced in 1967. We never danced again. And that magic feeling was dead. I heard all that beautiful laughter in the background. I said, wow, maybe there's something there for me too. And she says, are we still going out on a date? And I was very scene. I was very thrilled because of the laughter in the background. Anyway, she says, on the date, we go on a date. And she says, I'm gonna set up a time for you to meet my children. Okay, well, we'll work that out.

Joseph Gallo (43:24)

When I was in college, I had a friend. His name was AJ and the first time that we ever hung out, we went to see the movie Field of Dreams. And at the conclusion of the movie, we ended up on the roof deck of this parking garage in a mall in South Jersey. And the two of us are crying our eyes out. We barely knew each other, and we were doing circles around my car, refusing to look at each other. We're going. Are you okay? I'm okay. Can you drive? Yeah, I can drive. And that's how the of us became friends. We bonded over baseball. And after we graduated from college, we moved to Hoboken and we became neighbors. And I had a tv, and AJ didn't have a tv. And he used to like to come over my house and watch games. He liked the Yankees. I liked the Mets. But the one thing, the one thing that we both loved together was the Yankee announcer, Phil Rizzuto. Now, Phil Rizzuto had a Hall of Fame career as A shortstop. And when he retired, he became the voice of the Yankees or the Yankee broadcaster for 40 years. And he was known for his catchphrases, Holy cow, did you see that? Unbelievable. And he became immortalized in the Meatloaf song Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. He calls the game that takes place in the back seat of the car. And the thing, though, that Agee and I loved the most about Phil Rizzuto was his stream of consciousness storytelling stories used to spring from him out of seemingly nowhere near. You never knew where they were going to go. You never knew where they were going to end. In fact, they were so epic that Rizzuto himself, in his own scorecard over a particular inning, would write the initials ww, which stood for Wasn't Watching. Anyway, one day, AJ Invites me over to his house, and he presents me with a gift. It's a book. And the book is called oh, Holy Cow. And what these two writers have done, they've taken Rizzuto's broadcasts and they transcribed them, and they culled and edited them down to the stories that we both loved. And he said he got the book because he saw it, he thought of me, he wanted me to have it, and he knew I collected books and loved books and I'd appreciate it. And then he sat me down and he said, I have something to tell you. I've been to the doctors, and I have been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. And a month later, AJ dies. So now fast forward 25 years, and my mother, who is a widow, who lives alone in the house that I grew up in, she suffers a massive stroke. And she survives, but she ends up in a nursing home. And I am taxed with the job of breaking down my childhood home. Now, anyone who's ever had to do this, it's a sad, emotionally exhausting, horrible experience. And one of the jobs that I have to do is I have to do something with boxes and boxes of books that I have accumulated over 25 years. I live in an apartment. I have no room for books, and I stored them in my mother's basement, and now I have to do something with them. And so one day, I'm driving out to my mother's nursing home, and I pass this used bookstore, and I think I'm going to donate them there. And so I drive back to my mother's house, I pack up the car, and I take the books to the store. And the woman who owns the store looks exactly like Angela Merkel, the German chancellor, and she is completely, 100% delighted and she's going through the boxes, she's opening them all up. And I look down, and I see the copy of oh, Holy Cow. And I am so emotionally exhausted that I do nothing. And I let the book go. And the book. I watch the boxes go to the back of the store, and they disappear. And a ritual begins. I go to visit my mother in the nursing home. I pass the bookstore, And I think, AJ's book's in there. I go to the nursing home, I pass the bookstore, I think AJ's book's in there. And I realize that the book is starting to take on this amazing power, Certainly far more than it ever had when it was in a box in my mother's basement. And I thought of it only once in a great while. And I realize that the power stems from the fact that my mother is still alive. And as long as my mother's alive, the book is alive. And if the book is alive, then in some abstract way, AJ is alive. And I want them to. To be alive. I want them alive. And so one day, I'm driving to the bookstore.

Erin Wolfe (50:27)

And she hangs up. In the next 24 hours, we go through the first four stages of grief in, like, every conversation, just like, I'm not going. I'm not going. I'm absolutely not going. How could you make me move? Maybe we should, like, try long distance. What am I going to do in Boston? Like, over and over again. And then finally, at, like, 7:30 the next morning, I reach acceptance. I call her up at work and I say, look, we've been treading water for so long in this city. My job's not going anywhere. I'm not happy at work. You've worked so hard at your PhD. This finally could be the moment where we become adults. Let's do this. And it's not just acceptance. It's relief. It feels good. It feels good to say it. And then two days before we're leaving, I'm sitting, packing up our kitchen. I'm holding the silverware, and I'm sobbing because it's my Grandpa Bernie's silverware. And I look around the kitchen, and everything in my apartment is my Grandpa Bernie's. The art on the walls from his house and 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 2 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 inside and 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 that 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. I have to. And Murray's not there, but his assistant is there. And I can't remember his name, but he knows me because the last time he saw me, he was selling me and my mom a gravestone for my grandpa Bernie. And he kind of squinches up his face and he's like, yeah, yeah, Beth David Cemetery, right? Yeah, yeah, buried near the Arbiter Ring. Yeah, yeah, how is your mother anyway? And I look at this guy, he could be 50 or like 250. Like he's never touched an iPad, you know, like. And he looks like he's from. He's of this place. Like he stepped out of the fabric of this store, which is dusty and claustrophobic. And there's yellowing paper everywhere. And I reach out, I touch, I sort of stabilize myself on a gravestone. And the granite is cold and smooth and it feels exactly like it felt when I was 8 years old in my Grandpa Bernie's shop. And I think, I can't, I can't do it. I can't leave this place. Who am I going to be if I leave this place? This is my New York. This guy is my New York. And then he says, yeah, it's funny you should come in today of all days. It's really funny because Murray just sold the building. We're moving to Long island tomorrow. It's funny. Of all days, you're coming in today. And I sort of like rocked back on my heels in stunned silence. And all I could see is him and the gravestones and a clock that looks just like the one that's in a box in my house. Waiting to come up to Boston and I look at him and I just say, well, I guess this is goodbye. And he says, yeah, I guess. And I leave that clock. My Grandpa Bernie's clock. It never worked. One night after like hours of googling, I found these rare clock fuses and I replaced the fuses in the clock and I plugged it in and the fluorescent light turned on and then it ran backwards like a frickin time machine. But also like a time machine. My New York, my Grandpa Bernie's New York. It's gone. It doesn't exist anymore. But I still see it here of all places. I see it in the Lebanese market in Watertown. I see it in me when I'm walking across Cambridge Common and I'm amazed by the history. I see it in my son's love of Chinese food and smoked fish, and in my daughter's laugh and her scream. But most of all, I see it in the stories we tell each other around the dinner table at home. My home underneath the clock that says Forsyth monuments established 1911. Thanks.