He died at 8:00 p.m. yesterday, the day after Christmas. All of us had just
been to see him at 5:00, and while his condition had deteriorated since the prior day,
the nurse did not believe we needed to keep vigil quite yet. She was sweet and
well intentioned and apparently quite competent: I think that no one could
grasp how rapidly this cancer was destroying him. My aunt, a retired career
oncology nurse who worked in terminal care wards her entire life, had never seen
a case progress so rapidly.
So believing he had at least another day, we left.
He was alone when he died, which I will always regret.
But he was, also, long gone by then. His death was the mere shutting down of an abandoned machine. Even his suffering was over by that time.
He taught me card games when I was a child. Big Casino, Little Casino, Rummy.
When I was eleven some boys beat me up and I hid all day in a phone booth in the school. When the gym teacher found me he yelled at me, and my parents were called to take me home. My father always worked from home when he could, so he was available. He came, and walked me home, and didn't say anything about the trouble that I'd had. And that was good, that was what I needed.
When I was fourteen some friends proposed going camping overnight down by the river. My mother told me to ask my father, certain that he would say no. He said yes.
There are other memories, some good, some bad. He was not a perfect man, but who is?
But he was married for 45 years to the same woman, and he raised three kids who went on to be healthy and successful. As the three of us stood briefly over his body tonight, I realized that we were his legacy. He left behind little else. No great testimonials, no particular possessions, not a lot to indicate what he had accomplished.
He was born the tenth child of immigrant parents in New York city, the son of a minor Mafioso-wannabe and a simple Polish girl. He never finished high school. He lied about his age to get into the Navy, where he had a brief career distinguished by fights and long stints in the brig. But here we were fifty years later, three children together, healthy, reasonably sane, and with half a dozen grandchildren in our care.
I know of people who accomplished much less with a lot more.
Rest in peace, Dad. I love you, and I'll miss you.
You did all right.