I don't remember what time he passed. I don't remember how long it had taken for him to finally go home. I do know it wasn't very long. It was a beautifully warm, fall day. The skies were the bluest of blue, and the sun was a vibrant shade of honey. I remember walking into the hospital and no longer seeing the blue of those skies, or the sweet color of the sun. As I walked down the hall way towards the family waiting room-clutching the arm of my mother, and my sister on the other side of her, the foundation of that lovely day turned to artificial lighting, and the sterile smell of the hospital. I remember my whole extended family being in that room with us. I can recall the nurses coming in to tell us that it was time for everyone to go into his room and say the things they wanted to say. One by one they went. I know I was second to last. My mother of course, being the last. I wish I could remember what I said to him. Maybe by now I have blocked that out. After everyone gathered back in the waiting room, his doctor and a nurse came in to tell us he was off the machine and that it was time to say goodbye. No matter what anyone says, you are never prepared for something like that. You can talk yourself into the harsh reality as much as you want to, but when you know you are about to watch the life of one you love slip away into the heavens, how could you be?
The night before I prayed for the strength to get through the next day, and the rest of my life. How was I going to conquer this loss? I never was supposed to. Either was my mother or my sister. I was 22, my sister just shy of 16, my mother was 48.
And I watched him in that hospital bed. Struggling to take his last breaths. I remember holding one of his fragile hands and praying to God so hard to take him. I didn't want him to go, but I knew it was best. I pleaded with God, I cried to God, I cried to the angels to carry him away and be at peace with no more pain.
And it was like they heard me. Like my father heard me and everyone else in that room.
Then he was gone.
I don't remember much after that. Of course it was all just a blur.
I didn't want to remember anything about that day, or how he was before he drifted out of my life and out of his own soul.
That was 20 years ago today.
I wanted to remember who he was when his vivacious spirit was alive.
He was a simple man. A Roman Catholic who did love his faith. He was a hard worker, loved to joke, and had a contagious laugh. He loved a good party. He loved his wife. He adored her. On his way home from working at the airport-which he did for 30 years, he would always stop at the roadside flower cart to pick her up flowers. I loved that.
He loved his girls. He always wanted a son, but told my mom that he wouldn't trade 'his girls' for the world. Good, because we weren't going anywhere. He was a horrible driver. He was a loyal friend, brother, and son. He was a terrific uncle. He drank a lot. It almost cost him all of 'his girls'. When the thought of what he was about to lose finally sunk in, he cleaned up, got sober and was a changed man for the rest of his life. That was something to really admire.
So he continued to be a family man. He doted on his girls. Every accomplishment whether big or small, he was always proud of us. We also disappointed him at times as well, but that just meant we were learning the ropes of growing up. He loved his dog, Nicky. Finally he had another male in the household. He thought that dog evened out the testosterone in our household. He loved horse racing, crabs, Italian food, and taking us on vacations. He always had 'date days' with us on his Saturdays off. Even if it was going out for a hot dog and a Birch Beer. The Phillies, Flyers, and Eagles were his passion. He yelled at the T.V. on any given Sunday more times than I could count. One time he won the daily Pennsylvania Lottery and told no one. While at dinner one Sunday when we all picked up our napkins, money flew out of them and into the air. One napkin even belonged to my boyfriend/future husband. He spent it on us. Not on himself. He did anything to make us happy. We came first. But there wasn't enough time to make more memories.
So I sit here today and I often wonder what life would be like now at 42 with my father alive. What would it have been like to have him walk me down the isle and sit with my mom in the pew of the church and watch. I think about my sister too and how we have that in common. Him not being there on our special days. What would it have been like to tell him I was pregnant. I would have done anything to see his face when we told him we were having a boy. But man, oh man, he knew what he was doing when he sent that baby boy to us. It was like looking at him, and more now the resemblance of him in my son is inconceivable.
I'm not a jealous person by nature, but I am when it comes to seeing grandfathers with their grandchildren. I'm just being honest. Me and my sisters' kids were totally gipped. It pisses me off. I get so angry. Anyone who says it gets easier, they lie. This doesn't get easier. With every milestone and every Holiday it gets harder. But you live with it. Life has to go on. You don't like the way it sometimes goes, but you carry on. Some how you do.
Why did he have to go?
I wish I had more pictures of us. I wish I had ones of us from the past twenty years. I wish I had wedding pictures of him standing next to me, or with us at the hospital when me and my sister had our babies. I wish him and my mom were jetting around the world and enjoying their golden years together. The pain I feel in my heart for what I have lost really doesn't compare to that of my mothers. It must be unbearable to lose the love of your life. It's unfathomable to me.
It's no fun to lose a parent. It's unbearable at times. But in the twenty years since his death I've learned a few things. Here's what they are:
1. It really is better to have loved than not to have loved at all.
2. I'm fortunate to have had him for the short time I did.
3. I KNOW in my heart of hearts he would be proud of the woman I've become. I know he would be really proud of my mom for raising me and my sister without him.
4. He would be so super proud of my sister for being a wonderful mother to her own baby, as well as the two she did not give birth to, but opened her heart and life to.
5. His goofiness exudes out of my son from head to toe and when I look at that boy, it brings me comfort and sadness at the same time.
6. I am such a big part of my father. I am my father. He lives within my heart and in my soul.
7. He is always with me without a shadow of a doubt.
In closing there isn't a day that goes by when I don't think of him. When I don't feel him near, and when I don't question why he is gone. Just because today is the day of his death, I'm trying my best to think about his life. It was transparent and brilliant.
I'm trying to think about the bluest of skies and the brightest of sunny days that are still ahead. I know he won't be here to share them with me in the physical sense, but I know he shares them with me in spirit.
And I'll tell myself everyday to be grateful for the father I had when I was blessed enough to still have him.
His name was Joseph...
9/29/96
XoXo
M~
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