My dad, Glenn, passed away yesterday, and we are heartbroken.

He truly lived by the idea that you can’t take it with you when you’re gone. He never owned a house or chased wealth, but he was rich in family, love, lifelong friendships, and a job that brought him real joy. He had been a DJ since the year I was born. His business, Tunemasters, wasn’t just a job to him—it was his life. He loved getting people to dance, feeding people, cooking for friends, and showing up to every one of my shows.

He was the best dad, and I don’t say that lightly. He showed up for every part of my life. He supported me through everything, met me with curiosity instead of judgment, offered advice when I needed it, and always made time to listen. He wasn’t short on a good critique either, but it always came from love.

My dad kept DJ-ing up until the last few weeks of his life, and it’s just like him to have left this earth once he could no longer do the thing he loved most. A few months ago, I asked if I could take over his business, and he joked like I was trying to become his competition. He said he wouldn’t stop until people stopped calling him.

If you knew my dad, you know he showed love by cooking for people, and regularly fixed plates for friends and strangers alike. He believed in taking care of people, and he did that his whole life. A month before he was admitted to the hospital, he showed up at Christmas dinner with a huge prime rib he’d been preparing all day and boxes full of presents for everybody.

Although he had been battling cancer for the past two and a half years, his end of life came much sooner than he, or anyone, expected. He wasn’t able to prepare in the way I know he wanted to, and this has left me with a lot of unexpected costs.

In his last few weeks, friends from across his lifetime came from all over to sit with him, give him strength, and remind him how loved he was. When my dad made friends, he kept them for life. He loved really big. He taught me how to do the same. My dad spent his life taking care of people, and this fundraiser will help us take care of him in this final chapter.

We’ve set a goal of $12,000 to help cover end-of-life costs, his service at Bayshore Clubhouse (details to come), final rent and moving costs, and lost wages spent caring for him before and after his passing.

My dad was always there for me. This is one of the last ways I can show up for him.

Any support, shares, or kind words mean the world to our family.

Thank you.

—Quinn