November 18th, 2013.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was today, in fact, two years ago today. I was sharing a studio with my best friend, sleeping on my lovely twin sized mattress thrown together in the corner of the room near the window. Near the outlet, which someone assured me was a safety hazard.
A week after this day, I was set to travel home with said best friend and visit the family for Thanksgiving. It had been not too long, unfortunately, for my godmother had passed a month prior and I drove home through the night to make the funeral. I was anxious, depressed, and counting down the days until my return home.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was today, in fact, two years ago today. I was sharing a studio with my best friend, sleeping on my lovely twin sized mattress thrown together in the corner of the room near the window. Near the outlet, which someone assured me was a safety hazard.
A week after this day, I was set to travel home with said best friend and visit the family for Thanksgiving. It had been not too long, unfortunately, for my godmother had passed a month prior and I drove home through the night to make the funeral. I was anxious, depressed, and counting down the days until my return home.
November 17th that year was a Sunday. In my rather small family, the newest baby was receiving his baptism so a lot of the family gathered in one of the northwest suburbs to which we spend nearly every thanksgiving. There was rather bad storms, and the Chicago Bears game was nearly cancelled for them, I recall. My father wasn't feeling all that well, and not being confident drivers they stayed home. I spoke to my grandma on the phone that evening, as well as her other son.
Assured the evening went well, and that the baby was beautiful (I had never seen young John Paul at this point), my grandma made sure to mention that I should give my father a ring. It was getting late (for him), so I agreed and had put it on my agenda for the next morning.
I never got that chance.
Assured the evening went well, and that the baby was beautiful (I had never seen young John Paul at this point), my grandma made sure to mention that I should give my father a ring. It was getting late (for him), so I agreed and had put it on my agenda for the next morning.
I never got that chance.
My father and I have had a rather interesting relationship. In my youth, he was always my coach. You would think favoritism played its part, but he had no problem benching me, even though I was most often the best athlete in the given sport. It wasn't until much later that I realized how important it is to be humble, and this is what he taught me at a very young age. Having lost his father at an even younger age, I've always felt a strange familial bond with him. One brother, no aunts, no uncles, no father, he was a lone wolf but the life of the party simultaneously. We attended the same high school, and I was given a pass by some of the faculty simply because I was his son. Unbeknownst to many, my dad received a recruitment letter from Joe Paterno himself, before he blew out his knee playing football in high school.
I look back fondly on our time together, because I can no longer look forward to it. The book is closed, there can be no revisions. I can remember our last moment together, he was taking me to the airport to fly back to New York after the funeral. Did we hug? No. Did we say I love you? No. We agreed, see you soon, and take care. It would be more than a month until we would have that opportunity but we never doubted it. I don't regret this. I don't regret, anymore, not making that call a day sooner for how was I supposed to know?
I look back fondly on our time together, because I can no longer look forward to it. The book is closed, there can be no revisions. I can remember our last moment together, he was taking me to the airport to fly back to New York after the funeral. Did we hug? No. Did we say I love you? No. We agreed, see you soon, and take care. It would be more than a month until we would have that opportunity but we never doubted it. I don't regret this. I don't regret, anymore, not making that call a day sooner for how was I supposed to know?
On that cold, windy morning in November, I sent my last text to my mother before heading to bed. She had mentioned my dad's ailments, and I told her he needs to take better care of himself. I had one of those moments that everyone has in their slumber, the random wake up. I'm a big follower of the Chinese calendar, and could tell you the reason I woke up, but I typically don't check the time when it happens. This time, something told me to, something called me, something said Joseph, you need to check your phone.
8 missed calls from Mom.
4 Dreadful "please call us" texts from Sister. It was around 3 A.M. at this point. I already knew what happened. It could be nothing else.
8 missed calls from Mom.
4 Dreadful "please call us" texts from Sister. It was around 3 A.M. at this point. I already knew what happened. It could be nothing else.
I can not exactly explain the feeling, the heart sinking, cat's got your tongue moment of knowing. Where your muscle memory fails you, and you struggle to even make the call. But you do. Something overcomes you, you need to do this. The tone in your mother's voice, when through a deluge of tears she tells you what you know but don't want to believe, "Joey. I don't know how to say this. I'm sorry. Your father has passed." When your life flashes before your eyes. Did I do enough for him? With him? To him? Did he know how much I cared? Did he know much he meant to me? Did he know how I would do anything to change this? When your older sister is on the line, trying to console you when she's the one known to tear up at an overemotional Olympics commercial, the table turns.
But when you're all alone, at 3 a.m. in a cold, dark room, 800 miles away from your family, 5 states away from the closest relative, and absolutely without a doubt on your own, what can you do? I cried. I couldn't breathe I cried so much. We hung up, and I just sat there. What now? All the thoughts cross your mind. What do I do? What can I do? I sat there still. I let it all out. My roommate wasn't home, the one I turn to for everything and who genuinely considers me family, was out. I was alone.
Alone.
In some ways, I still feel this way. When I need to draw inner strength I think back to this day. My mantra of if you can get through that, you can get through anything beaming in my head. The first person I contacted was not only the most loving person I know of, but also someone who I knew was certain to respond, the one time distance and time zones worked in my favor. I have not thanked her enough for this. For handing me an oar, when I was stranded in the ocean.
After a few hours I had realized I need to go home. I rearranged my flight, and got it moved forward to later that day. My brother picked me up from the airport. Our conversation was strange, ours always is as we've had some disconnected for years. Brothers by name, and all. He seemed okay, but felt this odd need to be the head of the family when, as the youngest, I was already 25. It was when I arrived home, his home, our home, that it hit me.
Seeing my mother in this state was the most painful moment of my life. She had no control over her speech, her body seemed stiff, and the pain in her eyes. I've never seen such pain, it was horrible. Her eyes seemed lifeless, and she blamed herself for this though she was not at fault whatsoever. She couldn't eat, she couldn't drink, she couldn't stop from shaking. For years we didn't know why our parents stayed together, now I understood.
It was a painful few days. I honestly only remember bits and pieces. The wake, which I expected to be one of the most difficult days in my life, turned out to be one of the best, surprisingly. The love shown to my father, and the wonderful stories shared with me gave me such joy. I held it together all night, too, until my father's childhood best friend came up. They'd been friends their whole lives, lived two blocks away when they started their families and as a result, my sister and one of his daughter's grew up as best friends.
Seeing all his work colleagues, former teammates, all my friends, family, it was just fine, and rather nice to be reunited for such an unfortunate event. When I saw Hank I couldn't hold it back anymore. He gave me the greatest hug, as he always did, and I felt the need to say sorry /to him/, before he could even say a word. Before this, I had recently planned a long trip across Europe and South America that was going to take me upwards of a year, and he had exclaimed his excitement and how proud my dad would've been of me.
While this brings me happiness, it brings me utmost sadness. All I wanted was to share my story with him as he shared his adventures with me. I feel like part of his soul lives on in me, the adventurous one. The one saying, " Go on! Do it!"
But when you're all alone, at 3 a.m. in a cold, dark room, 800 miles away from your family, 5 states away from the closest relative, and absolutely without a doubt on your own, what can you do? I cried. I couldn't breathe I cried so much. We hung up, and I just sat there. What now? All the thoughts cross your mind. What do I do? What can I do? I sat there still. I let it all out. My roommate wasn't home, the one I turn to for everything and who genuinely considers me family, was out. I was alone.
Alone.
In some ways, I still feel this way. When I need to draw inner strength I think back to this day. My mantra of if you can get through that, you can get through anything beaming in my head. The first person I contacted was not only the most loving person I know of, but also someone who I knew was certain to respond, the one time distance and time zones worked in my favor. I have not thanked her enough for this. For handing me an oar, when I was stranded in the ocean.
After a few hours I had realized I need to go home. I rearranged my flight, and got it moved forward to later that day. My brother picked me up from the airport. Our conversation was strange, ours always is as we've had some disconnected for years. Brothers by name, and all. He seemed okay, but felt this odd need to be the head of the family when, as the youngest, I was already 25. It was when I arrived home, his home, our home, that it hit me.
Seeing my mother in this state was the most painful moment of my life. She had no control over her speech, her body seemed stiff, and the pain in her eyes. I've never seen such pain, it was horrible. Her eyes seemed lifeless, and she blamed herself for this though she was not at fault whatsoever. She couldn't eat, she couldn't drink, she couldn't stop from shaking. For years we didn't know why our parents stayed together, now I understood.
It was a painful few days. I honestly only remember bits and pieces. The wake, which I expected to be one of the most difficult days in my life, turned out to be one of the best, surprisingly. The love shown to my father, and the wonderful stories shared with me gave me such joy. I held it together all night, too, until my father's childhood best friend came up. They'd been friends their whole lives, lived two blocks away when they started their families and as a result, my sister and one of his daughter's grew up as best friends.
Seeing all his work colleagues, former teammates, all my friends, family, it was just fine, and rather nice to be reunited for such an unfortunate event. When I saw Hank I couldn't hold it back anymore. He gave me the greatest hug, as he always did, and I felt the need to say sorry /to him/, before he could even say a word. Before this, I had recently planned a long trip across Europe and South America that was going to take me upwards of a year, and he had exclaimed his excitement and how proud my dad would've been of me.
While this brings me happiness, it brings me utmost sadness. All I wanted was to share my story with him as he shared his adventures with me. I feel like part of his soul lives on in me, the adventurous one. The one saying, " Go on! Do it!"
When I was a youth and in wrestling my dad would come to every meet and film all of my matches. Sometimes we would watch them, years later. Shaky camera work, and heavy breathing was ubiquitous but so was his phrase that had "dad" written all over it; "Let's rock and roll!"
I will Dad. I will Rock and Roll, and I will do it for you.