dad « le petit hiboux

I took his old pencil case out of his desk, the day he got too sick to fix. It’s a tartan fabric, flat and long, with holes in all four corners. It’s got leather alongside the zipper. I’m not sure I meant to bring it back to Brooklyn, but then I did. There’s a dime in there, it’s from 1941, and it’s got Hermes on it instead of Kennedy, obviously.

I think he’s had it most of my life, the pencil case, since I remember the privilege of borrowing it when I was young. But I’m sitting at our coffee table looking at it, and I realize I don’t know where he got it. My mom might know, most likely, because not all the questions I have are unanswerable, but I can’t ask him.

I think about how I felt the day he died; fragile but full of light and grace, full of unrealized sorrow, and so hyperaware of all the love around me. I felt so lucky to have known him.

And now I feel so bereft, so heavy, so unable to ask him questions about the pencil case, or whether there’s a maximum I can contribute to my IRA this year, or whether we did alright with his funeral. I don’t know that I want that lightness back, now that the sorrow has arrived, because I know I have to go through this, I have to put my head down and get through it. I just keep thinking how upset he would get when I cried about anything, and now he’s not here to tell me not to cry because everything is going to be fine, even if it will be.

The commandments according to Angelo, or, Ten Things I Learned from my Dad:

1. Never put anything off; make a list and then do it.

2. Always read the instructions.

3. Money really doesn’t grow on trees.

4. If you’re lucky, you have two or three great friends in life.

5. You get what you pay for, unless it’s at Sam’s, then you get it in bulk.

6. A good steak is always medium rare.

7. Anything worth doing is worth doing right.

8. If you don’t know something, look it up.

9. Work hard, pay your dues, and enjoy it.

10. Love is always unconditional.

For as much as these sound like cliches, my dad meant them. He had the wisdom to back up all his experience, and the advice to help you out when you needed it. If there was something my dad understood, he would explain it. If there was something he didn’t understand, he would research it until he did.

My dad touched so many lives in different ways. He was the funny man with our neighbors, Kathleen and Donna, because he shared their sense of humor. He was the family man with the Pappadopoulos and the Corbetts, because he relished those big family gatherings that we’d missed, so many years abroad. He was the long-suffering Republican to so many of us bleeding-heart liberals. He was the guy with the answers for me, for my brothers, for Stuart. He was the hard worker for his colleagues, who considered his honesty and integrity a breath of fresh air. Perhaps most of all, he was the best husband my mother could ask for, and he treated her like the queen that she is.

But to me, he was my dad. He was my friend, one of those great friends we’re all lucky to find. He taught me the value of my intelligence, he taught me to be brave and confident because I am loved, and maybe he taught me some math along the way. I will miss him every day, but I also know I am tougher, kinder, funnier and braver for being his daughter.

I delivered the above eulogy at Church of the Annunciation, Greek Orthodox Church, in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, on December 31st 2009, the day we buried my father after a series of strokes took him from us too soon, but hopefully without too much pain. Dad was buried in Swan Point Cemetery, Providence, RI.

this pain in my heart

e.c., 1940 – 2009 (a eulogy)

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