Remembering my dad on his entry into eternal life.

Today is the anniversary of my Dad's death. He died in 1985 at the age of 67 -- too young, too soon to say goodbye. I still miss him. I still ask him to forgive me for not being a better daughter. I was with him when he died. In fact, at least four of his ten children were in the house at the time and several grandchildren. My sister Peggy and I were with Daddy when he died. He was sitting in a chair leaning against the bed and we were stroking his back and talking quietly when we realized he wasn't breathing. The blood had already begun to pool at the pressure point on his forehead.

We had sent my mom to dinner with Daddy's sister, Marie. They were still in the driveway, but we couldn't catch them and decided to just wait until they came back. It gave us a chance to call the local pastor and get Daddy arranged in the bed. My sister Carol's nine year old daughter came into the room, stroked his forehead, and said, "Grandpa looks so peaceful." When Mom got home we were all praying the rosary.

One memory from a private family time before the wake makes me smile. My sisters and I were cutting bits of his hair as relics. I still have a locket with his hair in it.

During those last weeks and days I was often at the house. I sat with Daddy and worked on body sculpting a Cabbage Patch doll for our daughter's sixth birthday which was on July 6th. They were the rage at the time and she wanted one, but they were so expensive I bought a kit and made one. I later made another for our youngest. When I look at that doll I think of those final days with my dad. What a gift they were!

How many memories are flooding my mind: sitting next to Daddy on the piano bench while he played the Grand March from Aida or the Jewel Song from Faust. He often played opera records on Sundays. I didn't much appreciate it at the time, I confess. I would rather have been listening to the popular recordings of the time from Frankie Avalon, Connie Francis, Pat Boone -- all those ancients who are either dead or advertising old geezer products.

Daddy was always creating something with his hands: complicated geometric shapes, old juice cans crimped and painted to make building sets for the grandkids. I remember one gold polyhedron star that hung on our Christmas tree and our children loved playing with the building set. It reminded me of the scepter Daddy made for me when I was in Kindergarten and was supposed to be the Queen of Hearts. Unfortunately I got chicken pox and missed the event, but I remember that wooden scepter with the hearts and the beautiful dress my mom made for me.

I only came to fully appreciate my dad after he was gone, the same with my mom, which is why every day I begin my prayer time asking for their forgiveness and their prayers. They were good parents -- they provided us with the necessities of life: food, clothing, and shelter, but especially an example of faith. We never once missed Mass on a Sunday or Holy Day. In fact, one Sunday in the winter with the roads (and driveway) pretty impassable my older siblings and I trudged through the snow about two miles to Sunday Mass singing, throwing snowballs, and having a glorious outing with the sun sparkling on the snow like diamonds. Mom and Dad stayed home with the younger kids, but I still remember that day with a smile.

I love you, Daddy! Please pray for me and for all your grandchildren, great grandchildren, and your three great great grandchildren. None of us would be here without you and our great big Catholic family.

Some of Dad and Mom's legacy