My emotions got the best of me as I realized the day after Thanksgiving, in 2003, was the day we all said goodbye to the man I call my father, John Joseph. I can hardly see the key board as I type these words, the tears will just not stop...how can I get through this? In the same way I sat down seven years ago and wrote the story I would read at his memorial service.
It was actually something I had written about him on March 28, 1993, when I had first put pen to paper and began attempting to get my thoughts into some kind of a legible format. The pages are faded and wrinkled, I'm almost shocked that I've kept them all these years. I wish I had the exact story that I rewrote for his service, I'm sure among all my papers it exists somewhere. Instead I will share with you the original one I wrote..... more than 10 years before he unexpectedly and sadly passed away.
*******The Man Who Sat at The Head of Our Table******
"He is a proud man of few words. You can be sure when he spoke all those within range would heed his commands. As with all fathers of that time, his word was law, and few questioned his wisdom. Our rebellion would come with age, up until that point, we dare not test the head of the household. Over the years, we all learned to recognize that special look my father would give us when we had crossed over the line. Our spankings were far and few between, the threat alone of having to " deal with your father when he gets home" kept us in line.
My father had the place of honor at the dinner table, from his vantage point, nothing passed by without his knowledge. We, in turn, were seated strategically between him and my mother. Older boys on either side of the master, babies beside Mom and children less likely to cause problems, in the middle. Table manners were something we were all expected to adhere to. My father having been raised by a female dominated family, demanded we follow proper eating etiquette. To this day, I hear him correcting my own children when they break one of his golden rules. I imagine I have been more lenient at my own table as a parent, my children don't always measure up to his standards.
I sometimes wonder if we didn't all as a group, tend to overwhelm my father. He didn't have a chance to relate to us on a one to one basis. We traveled in a pack, where one went the rest followed. Because we were born so close together, we didn't have any individual personalities in his eyes. Our whole lives, we were treated as a group of children, I think we missed out on having a close, special relationship with this man. I see us now, each one in our own way, reaching out to him, trying to keep the lines of communication open. It's not always easy, he is still a difficult person to talk to.
I feel like I'm ten again, being drilled for a math test at the sink while I dry the dishes he washes. Am I saying the right thing? Is he really interested in my life? Will I ever have the close feeling with my father that I've finally found with my mother? I love him for all that he has done for me. He did his best, no more or less than he would expect from me."
Retyped 11-26-10
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I have many great memories of my father, as stern as he was, he had an incredible sense of humor and as we got older, he would enjoy telling jokes and could easily have all of us cracking up around the dining room table. He was an actor at heart, and never shied away from the self-made captive audience we created, when gathered for a family meal. As adults with our own children, when we were all together, my brothers, sister and I, would try to outdo him and each other by telling amusing stories and jokes.
In 2000, very shortly before we moved to Florida, I decided once again that I wanted to try my hand at writing and interviewed my father on tape about the subject of death. I know it sounds a bit macabre, but it was something that interested me at the time, and I intended to speak individually to each family member to get their thoughts on the subject. I was then going to compile all the information, and write about it. His interview was the only one I conducted, and although he was more than willing to answer all my questions, when we moved, I lost track of the tape. I do recall some of his very thoughtful responses, one of which had to do with his relationship with each of us. He regretted not having the time to get to know us on an individual level, however, he had made an effort to spend time with us as adults, and did let us know in his own way, that he was proud of all that we had done in our lives.
My father was a biochemist, he spent his entire 30 year career working for an international pharmaceutical company, doing research and development for new medications. He looked at life from a scientist standpoint, he felt that when you were no longer breathing, you ceased to exist. I feel very strongly that this is not the case, and we debated the issue on that day. Interestingly for me, there are times I've felt my father's presence more intensely since he has passed, than I did when he was still living. He continues to influence me to this day, his strength, generosity and responsibility to his family never wavered, as my parents struggled to raise a family of six children. Although their marriage did not survive, his legacy as a hardworking man lives on today, as seen by the strong ethics he instilled in all of his children.
As with all of those who have left us, long before we were ready to say our goodbyes....they are gone but never forgotten.
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