Another 10 Years

The Neil Young classic Old Man opens with the lyrics “Old man look at my life, I’m a lot like you”.  I wish that were true.  Actually, if I were half the man my father was I would consider it a great accomplishment.

Earlier this year I met up with a bunch of old friends, people I had not seen in more than 2 decades.  A couple of them told me they didn’t recognize me.  Who can blame them.  I’m more than twice the size I was then.  Plus the guy they remember had long hair.  One of them told me she was convinced it was me because of the blue eyes and because I was still very sweet.  Well if I am sweet, that is a way I’m like my father.  Nobody was sweeter.

On September 29th, 2002 I went up to my parent’s apartment in the Big 6.  I wish I could honestly tell you I was going to visit my parents, but in reality I was visiting my oldest brother Charlie who was up from North Carolina.  You see, despite living just a few blocks away I had not faced the reality of how sick my father really was.  Charlie on the other hand, he knew, and that is why he came up.

When I walked into my father’s room that day, reality quickly set in.  He was laying there, his eyes closed, and taking fast short breaths.  He was talking, more like whispering.  I immediately knew what he was doing.  I flashed back to when I was a little boy.  My father would go to bed early every night.  He was usually awake at 5:00am for work.  I would climb into bed with him.  He would lay on his right side, facing his night stand.  On the radio would be the Met’s game.  My father would be talking in the same whisper, he was saying his nightly prayers.  There is no doubt in my mind that is what he was doing that day in his room.

I walked out to the kitchen and stood next to Charlie.  He said to me “I have a feeling I’ll be coming back up again pretty soon.  I don’t think he has much time left”.  I looked at Charlie and replied “Charlie, I don’t think you are going home tomorrow.”

The next morning at about 7:00am, the telephone rang.  It was my brother Charlie.  He said “Well little brother, you were right.  Dad is gone.  He went in his sleep”.  I asked how my mother was, I told Jen, I showered, and I went back to my parent’s apartment.  We all gathered and waited for the medical examiner. 

That was ten years ago today.  It was a hard day.  My brothers and I went and made the arrangements.  I went home that night and wrote “Daddy, Say A Prayer For Me”.  But I didn’t cry.  I never understood why.  In the following days we were supported in an enormous way by everyone from Woodside to the West Side.  So many people coming to pay their respects, and the words most commonly used by people referring to my father were “kind”, “nice” and of course “sweet”.    

Over the course of those first days of October when we spent time in Kennedy Roth, St. Sebastian, and finally in Donovan’s, I never cried.  However, as the years go by, I find myself thinking about him more and more.  When I do, these days, I cry.  The moral of this story is simply this.  Treat each and every interaction with those you love as if it’s your last.  You don’t know if they will be here tomorrow.  You don’t know if you will be here tomorrow.

I hope Neil Young doesn’t mind, but I’d like to change his lyrics.  “Old man look at my life, I wish I were more like you”.

As always, until next time, stay safe!

later,
dan

"My karma tells me, You've been screwed again! If you let them do it to ya, you've got yourself to blame! It's you who feels the pain! It's you who takes the shame!"