May 20, 1930

That was the day my Dad was born. I wonder if the day was sunny & warm like it is today or if the air smelled like blooming lilacs like it does today. I wonder what my Dad's older siblings thought of him and wonder if they missed their Mom since I'm sure her hospital stay was at least a week.

My Dad was born in Manchester, CT during the Depression. He was the the 2nd born son and also had two older sisters. He and his siblings (which eventually numbered 7) lived in a 3 bedroom cape style home on Spring Street in Glastonbury, CT. The house is precariously close to Route 2 now, but before the highway went in, it was all fields that one of my aunts used to walk the cows across. I know the boys shared a bed because my father once told me that he had gotten in trouble and switched places with one of his younger brothers so that they would get the spanking when their Dad got home. It did work, the other brother got the spanking although I'm pretty sure my Dad got one too once my grandfather realized what had happened. My father also worked on a farm as a young boy. He, ironically, drove my grandfather to his first AA meeting at the ripe age of 12. I don't know much more about his childhood. He didn't really share that much. He was dutiful to his parents although we weren't close to them as children. My grandfather died in May of 1976. I remember the day he was buried because it snowed. My grandmother died on her 76th birthday in July 1986. My father died on Pearl Harbor Day (December 7th) in 2006. We buried him on a cold, gray day (December 9th) while a bagpipe played. I thought I had cried every tear I had that day, but apparently I still have plenty left.

My Dad and I shared a birthday month with my birthday being 4 days before his. He often teased me that I should have waited the extra 4 days, but he always told me I was a terrific 40th birthday present. I know my Dad loved me. Despite the alcoholism and meanness that could come out of his mouth during drunken rants, he always treasured me and was proud of me. I was his favorite. There wasn't much out there that I couldn't have if I asked.

While meeting with a minister before his funeral she had told all of us (my siblings and I) that if we had anything to say that we should take the time to say it during his funeral service because that would really be the last time we could. She told us that she thought it was a good way to start getting some closure over the loss. The following is the piece that I wrote and read at my father's funeral through more tears than I care to remember. While I was sobbing through much of it, so were the people who loved and knew my Dad.

Dear Dad,

I'd like to think that I took care of mourning you when you stopped remembering my name, but it hit me all of a sudden that I didn't. Your passing has, instead, reminded me of all the things I miss most.

When I teach my kids the pizza pie song or teach them about the peepers on a warm spring night, thoughts of my own childhood always come flooding back.
I remember all the silly games and songs you played with me and the weekend trips to Aetna where you would work and I would have the run of the place. Oh and the vaults...remember? "Diana, put your hands in your pockets and don't touch a thing!" I wonder if I am still the only kid who was ever in those vaults...
I remember when I was in elementary school, I could always count on a bowl of hot oatmeal and that I didn't have to ride the bus to school because you would drive me every day. I had fibbed and said that riding the bus gave me a headache.

I remember our Saturday trips to the cleaners to pick up your shirts and all the other "Saturday" errands. I don't think I missed many of those Saturdays. I always thought of it as my time with my Dad.

I remember my rebellious teenage years and now that I'm a parent, I realize how much pain I must have put you through, although you never let on. Instead, you chose to always be there when I was ready to talk. I didn't say it then, but your opinion meant a lot to me and has shaped who I am today.

How many times I have wished to call you and tell you about something my own children have done...
About Jeremy's love of baseball and how he yells at the TV during sports like you used to, Rebecca's love of dance and music and how much pride I feel when I watch her perform, Thomas' sweet demeanor and loving spirit, Daniel's zaniness and his absolute love for life, David James' dictator like attitude...I know for sure that he has Bill Cone in him, and lastly, Emma's sweet smile which can light up a room (and a parents' heart) no matter what is going on.
I wish all my kids could have gotten to know you, but for the ones who never did, they will have to know you through my own dear memories.

Dad, I know you are in a better place and the jail that your body had become to your spirit is now lifted. I hope your first Christmas in heaven is well spent. Say hello to all the people I've already said goodbye to, would you? I know that they will rejoice at having you there even though those still here mourn your passing. I'll see you again someday. I'm glad you aren't suffering anymore.

Love always,
Your Daughter, Diana