The last couple of weeks have been an overwhelming mix of thoughts and emotions for me. My father passed away on July 6, and we laid him to rest nearly a week ago on July 13, 2021. I started writing this post a couple of days after his passing, but I couldn’t finish it then. I needed to sit with my grief for a bit, let my feelings settle, and wait until after we had said our final goodbyes.
We know that death is a reality of life but it’s true when they say nothing prepares you for it. I thought I was ready. In fact, I had prayed for it because I didn’t want him to suffer. At 95 years old, he certainly lived a full life and my family was blessed to have all those years with him, especially since he was healthy up until the end. Suddenly I found myself like everyone else in this situation, wishing I had one more day. One more Christmas. One more visit with him when he was well, sitting on my patio. I wish I had taken more pictures over the years! Ninety-five years sounds like a lot of time, but it passes quickly. Seeing his obituary in print was surreal. As a writer, I know that seeing something in print makes it official. Once it’s printed, it’s out there.
My father was a complex man of many accomplishments. Born in Brooklyn, NY, he was scrappy and raised with street smarts which he instilled in us. The son of a longshoreman, he was tough. He was a fighter. He had grit. I remember his words to me one day when I was in college, he said perseverance was the key, and boy did he show me what that word meant. My dad never gave up, not even in the end. He never gave up hope. He never gave up the fight. He never gave up his faith. He taught me not just to be tough, but to stand up for what’s right and to do the right thing. He also always told me to be aware of my surroundings, know who’s around, and never take my eyes or my hands off my drink! Good advice even today.
He dropped out of high school at the age of 17 to join the war effort. He said that if his older brother, my Uncle Leo, was going to war, then he was too. The Army enlisted him when he was 18 and my Dad joined Patton’s fight, storming Normandy, surviving the Battle of The Bulge, and many other battles. He was highly decorated with several medals and honors and should have had the Purple Heart, but his Lieutenant pulled the paperwork after my Dad did something he wasn’t’ supposed to do. That’s my Dad….he wasn’t always one to follow the rules but he got the job done! He did things “his way.” My father was a sharpshooter, an undaunted soldier. He bravely helped liberate concentration camps and saved countless lives. Imagine the relief of those frightened and worn down prisoners at the sights and sounds of our American troops coming to free them. Valiantly marching into battle risking their lives to save thousands of others. That is bravery and courage! That is being Fearless in the face of overwhelming uncertainty. That was my father!
You don’t come out of the battle unscathed. My father grew up in a time where men were taught to suppress their emotions. Nobody talked about PTSD back then, but imagine what he saw in those still formative years of his life. At 18 years old, he was arguably thrown into the worst battles where it was expected that most would not survive. The military knew there would be a huge sacrifice of American lives but this was the only way to win the war. My father lost many of his comrades and no doubt saw unspeakable things. The war left a mark and it shaped him in many ways. How could it not? He brought home the battle scars where even something as innocent as hearing children screaming while playing brought back horrible images in his mind of the battlefield screams. Growing up, it sometimes felt we were walking on eggshells and at other times, the kindness that was truly in his heart was obvious to us and others around him. He wasn’t perfect but he always believed in what he was doing. He was humble and carried big dreams in his heart, but those dreams often eluded him. He wanted the best for us. He would often quietly help others, even if he wasn’t necessarily in the best position to do so. He lived through the great depression and stood in breadlines with his mom. He understood that sometimes people just need a little help. He understood because he had been there. We weren’t rich, but we had plenty. We didn’t talk about love or feelings, but we felt it. We grew up knowing what the words sacrifice, honor and respect meant.
Someone once said you’re never really a grown-up until you’ve had to bury a parent. I agree there is truth in that statement. No matter our age, we still see ourselves as kids. Mom and Dad’s kids. Now we have to learn to navigate a world with one less parent and as crazy as this may sound, for me anyway, it creates a feeling of uncertainty. We just expect our parents to always be there even though we know they won’t be.
In the first few days of my grief, I believe I received three messages from my dad. One came to me in the form of a kind older man bagging my groceries at Kroger, the other was the next day when my son and I encountered a man with a dog named Rosie, after the dog I grew up with, who was my dad’s most loyal companion. (I have never met another dog named Rosie so clearly this was a sign! ) And the third consecutive message was a random Tik-Tok video that popped of my Dad’s favorite pizza joint in Brooklyn, the legendary Spumoni Gardens. I think he knew I needed to hear from him and he was letting me know he’s okay. My faith tells me he is made whole again and he is rejoicing in the afterlife with his family and everyone else he’s been missing. I want so much to believe this is true but nobody really knows. We tell ourselves this to help lessen the heartache. We walk in faith even when we sometimes question it because we don’t know what else to do.
To get through this life without him and navigate the pain of feeling like something is missing, I will hold onto my happy memories. When I remember my Dad, I will remember his emphasis on family, his unwavering love of country, and everything patriotic. I will remember Sunday dinners when he would give us his concoction of Lambrusco with 7-Up. (He probably invented the wine spritzer we know today!) I will remember him giving me the red quarters in the bar to play the pinball machines, bowling game, and Pac-Man. I will remember the occasional Sunday treat of getting a banana split from Dairy Queen. I will remember making him a cup of tea as a kid and a sandwich, of which I always had to take the first bite “to make sure it tasted good” I would tell him. I will remember him and Rosie walking to the newsstand to buy The Plain Dealer in the mornings. As a kid, I was always going out for a run and ran on the track team. I will remember him telling me to keep running because it will stretch my legs and make me taller. Apparently, that didn’t work! I will remember his idolization of Sinatra manifested in me being named after Nancy Sinatra. Maybe this is why I love to wear high-heeled boots. His favorite songs being “Summer Wind” and his personal anthem “My Way.” I will remember the time I wrecked the car but swore to him that I didn’t know how it happened! I will remember how proud he was of my boys and all his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I will remember the way he ate every morsel of the last meal I made him a couple of months ago, chicken piccata. I will remember him every time my husband orders a strawberry milkshake, also his favorite, or whenever I make a pot of pasta fagioli. I will remember his strong hands, and how my pinky finger bends that same way his does. So many memories. I will never forget. I will remember.
My father is now back where he belongs. He had a beautiful funeral that paid tribute to his life and his legacy. We laid him to rest with full military honors alongside his brothers in arms at Western Reserve National Cemetery. My father was born to lead the fight, and now he is with others who shared the same calling. We can never comprehend the magnitude of their sacrifice but we hope in some small way we continue their legacy. Dad was a soldier who through his heroic efforts, undoubtedly left the world a better place than he found it. He is part of a lost generation.
Rest in peace Dad, the peace that you are so deserving of. I will try to continue living as Fearless and Faithful as you did. I will continue to make my way in the world and hopefully make you proud. I know you will be watching over all of us. Hopefully, I have passed a part of you along to Alex and Nick. I may have lost you to the summer wind, but you will always be with me. You will always be with us. May God bless you in Heaven, and may God bless America.
“Then softer than a piper man one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind”
Love, The Baby.
