At 3:30 p.m. the day before yesterday, my beloved dad was suddenly taken from us.
On Monday, shortly after I finished my lunch in Bali, I saw a two-word WhatsApp message from my mom. “Call me.”
She was in shock. I will never forget this moment. With a tremble in her voice, she said, “Dad collapsed. I heard him fall in the bathroom, which woke me up. I saw him lying on the ground, called the ambulance, and they took him to the hospital.”
We first thought it was a heart attack.
About an hour later, she called me again and said, “Roman, it’s far worse than that. He has a tear in his aorta and open bleeding in his heart and brain, and they have to take him to a specialized hospital in Tübingen by helicopter, or he won’t survive.
I immediately booked a flight to Germany, but I did not make it on time. He is gone and I am now sitting at the airport in Munich waiting to see my mom a little bit later.
I am struggling.
My dad and I were as close as it gets. I called him every single day and sometimes we would talk for hours.
I feel an enormous void and a strong desire for everyone to know what a wonderful dad he was. Writing this letter is my way of honoring him, and by sharing it publicly, I hope to keep a part of him alive in the world.
Dear Dad,
I keep thinking about my last long walk with you, just a week ago.
We were exploring a new beach and a valley in Bali, a place where I thought we might one day have an apartment. I was walking there physically alone, but not really. I had you on FaceTime, my phone in my hand, and you were walking with me, looking through the lens.
You were my company. You stayed with me for almost an hour, happy just to be part of it, looking at everything I showed you. We could take long walks like that, have lunch together across continents, and talk about anything. It was never too long for you. Never.
I need you to know that all of my plans and our plans, like going to Tenerife this March with Mom, walking on the beach and spending time together like we did so many times in Mexico, all of that wasn’t finished.
I also wanted to tell you that the reason I pushed so hard, quitting alcohol, staying disciplined, aiming high, and trying to become the best version of myself over the last four years after my bankruptcy, was to show you that I could do better. That I made a mistake but would get up again.
In my podcasts I talk about how I lost everything. But the truth is, you were there behind me the whole time, supporting me. You invested so much. You were my biggest investor, my dad, and my best friend. You always believed in me so the truth is that it wasn’t just me; it was us. We lost everything.
And now I feel guilt because right after Mom told me you collapsed, I closed my next deal, and today I closed another one. The agency is taking off exactly the way I told you it would. Everything I promised about rebuilding and being successful again is happening right now.
And now you are not here.
I cannot pay you back. I couldn’t give you the life you deserved in these last years, and I feel guilty because I was the one responsible. I was the one who made those decisions and mistakes. I really did everything I could. I tried to get back on track as fast as I could.
It just wasn’t fast enough. Now you are not here anymore, and I miss you so much.
We had unfinished business.
But I want to hold on to the fact that I was there for you while you were alive, that we talked every day, and that we spent more time together than some people who live together. That is my relief.
Palenque, Mexico, 2013
Rest in peace, Dad. I love you.
Roman