My grandfather died 22 years ago today.
This summer, I visited Vienna, his hometown. I thought a lot about him and about whether he had walked the same routes, seen the same buildings, gone to the same cafes. I stood outside his childhood home, wandered around his neighborhood, loitered in front of his father’s store and wondered if I were literally standing in the ghosts of his footsteps. I hope so.
There is so much I wish we could say to each other.
Frank Markus Hoffer (1909-1991)