I had unfinished business in Baltimore… or rather… my Dad did. So when I learned that I would be presenting at a conference there, I knew I had a second, unrelated mission.

I’d only been to Baltimore once before… as a kid, and the experience was underwhelming. The internet may have been invented, but not MapQuest and surely not Apple Maps. If you wanted to get from Point A to Point B, you really needed to know where you were going.

On a family vacation to Washington, D.C., we took a detour to Baltimore. Point A was the National Aquarium. Point B was the burial place of Edgar Allan Poe. While I have no memory whatsoever of the Aquarium, I have vivid memories of trying to find Poe’s resting place… emphasis on the word “trying”. 

We walked the streets of Baltimore as a family of four, so it was unusual that my Dad was solicited twice by sex workers (did that work on other Dads?!), but we proceeded onward with the rigid determination of a man who did not want to admit he wasn’t sure where we were going.

Eventually, we entered what looked like a housing project, and a couple of ladies shouted “we wouldn’t go any farther that way if we were you”. Dad finally relented and turned around, although his disappointment was palpable.

As the one year mark of Dad’s death approached and passed, I was busy planning and preparing for my trip. I was not worried about whether or not I would find it. I Googled it once, and knew that I would take an Uber to eliminate any guess work. The rest of my energy was devoted to creating and practicing the presentations I had been selected to present.

But as I packed, I threw a black dress in my suitcase, a dress I thought dark, romantic, and mysterious enough for the mission at hand.

First, I thought I would go on Tuesday night, but there was a busy agenda for the conference. On Wednesday night, I had dinner plans with friends, but thought I’d be able to visit it before dinner. As I sat in the Uber, I looked up the location on Yelp and it said “closed until 8:00 am”. I proceeded. It was only 5:00 pm. How can a graveyard be closed? I arrived, and it was locked. I took a few photos from outside of the gate, thinking “could this place be any more freaking elusive?” Eventually, I walked back to the hotel and figured I would try again in the morning.

After a fun night of dinner and dancing with friends, I put on the same dress as I ventured back in another Uber. I was hoping that it wouldn’t be too touristy. I knew I wanted to take a lot of photos, and getting the right photo would take some time. When I arrived, there was one other couple in the vicinity, but they moved on to several of the other historical figures entombed in the area. I had the time I needed to get the photos I wanted… photos mostly intended to accompany this essay. 

A woman walked up and placed four carnations around the large monument, “one for each of the family members buried there”, she shared. She was sullen, and dramatic, and seemed very invested in what she was doing. So even though I don’t often talk to random strangers, I tried to engage her. I asked if she was a fan, and she said she was a graduate student. I asked “Of Poe?” and she said “yes”. I didn’t know you could get a Master’s degree in Edgar Allan Poe, but I was in Baltimore.

In all honesty, my intention to engage her was probably selfish. I wanted to tell her why I was there. I wanted to tell her about the time we’d tried to come before. I wanted to tell her about my Dad. That he was a beloved writer, who, though mostly known for his humor columns, had also been a published mystery writer. She wasn’t interested.

Before leaving for Baltimore, I had to drop off my (sweet, perfect) dog to stay with my Mom in Muncie. After I left Mom’s house,  I thought “oh shoot – I should have taken a smidge of Dad’s ashes to take with me”. It was a nice thought, but I quickly realized that I didn’t need his ashes. He was going to make it. I am half him, after all. He was even going to get a column out of it. 

While I sat at the monument, I didn’t feel any sort of magic or eeriness. More than anything, I felt in a hurry.  But there had been magic and it had been there all week. The magic remains in the undeniable connection to my Dad that I feel every time I write. And it will remain as it’s shared with the world, or whoever cares to read it. 

This magic, however, could also be described as grief. And the feeling of grief seems to go hand in hand with love. And what is love if not magic? 

In the words of Edgar Allan Poe, “Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.”

My life is beyond blessed.

As I rushed back to the hotel to change from the gothic dress I’d danced around in the night before into business clothes, and then raced, late, toward the convention, I turned a corner to run into two of my closest people, Brittany and Kallan. They were the last people I was expecting to see in Baltimore, but they’d flown out because, unbeknownst to me, I was about to be honored with an award. Both of my presentations were successful and engaging, as well… a HUGE relief after several months of preparation.

I leave Baltimore finishing this essay on an Amtrak to visit my dear friend Kristen and her family in Philadelphia. Behind me on the train lies one of the most significant weeks of my professional life to date. Behind me lies the proper ending of a story that started in Baltimore almost 30 years ago.

I wrote the presentation proposals that I presented this past week in deep grief. But there’s nothing that could convince me that grief (love) can’t propel you towards your wildest dreams and the infinite possibility that lies in the greatest mystery of all… the future, the unknown.