well, it’s been more than 2 months since i wrote a blog post.
and a lot has happened in my life.
most significantly, my dad passed away.
i spoke the following words aloud on august 4th,
to an audience of about a hundred, at his celebration of life.
i’d like to share them with you today.
*******
my much-adored dad died on july 9th. i’d been planning a month-long visit to kellogg in august, and i didn’t make it in time. his death, though not completely unexpected, shocked me with its suddenness. it’s been a difficult few weeks, and my emotions have been all over the place. grief so often feels like a physical weight, and this fresh grief has been crushing at times.
a few days after dad died, my husband eric suggested getting out of the house and taking a drive to tellaro, a small seaside village just 20 minutes from our home. since moving to italy, tellaro has become something of a haven to me. so i quickly agreed. it sounded like a nice respite, a nice way to soothe my soul.
tellaro, in its summer season, was lively that night, reminding me that life really does go on after a loved one is lost. as it should, as it must.
we walked through the narrow and colorful village streets, admiring the gorgeous bougainvillea abundantly blooming everywhere. we had aperitivo and gelato. we talked to a resident cat who’s become a feline friend over the past few years. finally we sat and ate dinner and dessert at our favorite restaurant, getting caught up with the proprietor claudio who warmly welcomed us back.
we toasted my dad, we recalled stories featuring his quick wit and sarcastic humor, we celebrated his life. and i laughed and cried freely through it all.
after we’d paid our bill, eric and i sat alone by the water’s edge, listening to the gently lapping waves. each of us lost in our own thoughts, remembering my dad.
on the way back to our parked car, up up up the many steps, we stopped to say a final goodbye to claudio. he was taking a break, watching a video on his phone. he angled it so we too could see, saying it was “the best” . . . the italian artists il volo and mario biondi singing ?? ???. in english. and i gasped in surprise.
because ?? ??? was one of my dad’s favorite songs. i heard him sing it on many occasions. that night in tellaro, i was lost in these words:
??? ???, ??? ??? ?? ????
??? ?? ? ???? ??? ????? ???????
?? ??????, ?’?? ??? ?? ?????
?’?? ????? ?? ????, ?? ????? ?’? ???????
?’?? ????? ? ???? ????’? ????
?’?? ???????? ???? ??? ????? ???????
??? ????, ???? ???? ???? ????
? ??? ?? ?? ???
it was as if my dad was right there beside me, giving me strength. telling me it was going to be okay. as he always did, even when i didn’t believe it and his words irritated me. as he always did when i was facing challenges growing up. as he always did after i married and had kids, trying to figure out how to be a wife and parent. as he always did when i moved back to kellogg, many years later, and was able to be with him once again on a daily basis. and as he always did, on our frequent skype calls, after i moved to italy (his mother’s birthplace) and tried to navigate my way through the culture shock.
my dad was smart and funny, charming and kind. though it doesn’t really seem possible that i’ll never again experience his sarcastic wit, never again hold him tight, that moment in tellaro couldn’t have been a more fitting and touching tribute to my fabulous dad.
??? ????????. he did it his way.
i like you and i love you, daddio. always and forever. ❤️❤️
and i have a p.s.
as a mental health counselor, i’ve done a lot of grief & loss counseling with clients through the years. this time, of course, the grief is much more personal, and i’ve been curiously aware of my own responses. i’d like to share something today that might possibly help someone here, now or in the future.
don’t ever let anyone tell you HOW to grieve. grief is a uniquely individual experience. everyone mourns differently, in his or her own way. what seems comforting to one may seem completely foreign, even wrong, to another. if you are grieving, it’s okay to just be in the experience, whatever that experience is for you. you will most likely cry, but you might become angry. and you might even, incredible as it may seem, laugh. maybe as you remember something related to your loved one (especially in my case). but maybe just as you continue LIVING.
embrace the laughter. your unique response is NEVER wrong. though your reaction might not be the same as someone else’s, it doesn’t mean that you care less or that you are in less pain. you are, perhaps haltingly, discovering your own individual path to healing. grief is an extremely intimate and important process, but only if it is allowed to flow naturally. so allow your grief, your lifeline during the veil of death, to unfold however it may. shed the tears, punch a pilllow, have some fun. it’s ALL okay.
thank you. and thank you for being here today. let’s laugh and enjoy ourselves, my dad’s way. he would have loved every single minute.
[my dad, before i met him]
[me and my dad, 1968]
[my son, alexander, singing ?? ??? at his grandpa’s celebration of life]
[my mom and dad in the early 1950s, and the beautiful watercolor by candi quach (my son’s girlfriend) capturing that moment]
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