Over the last several months, Emily has become very interested in cooking small things. She's a mug cake pro and she's moved on to different specialty coffees, pancakes and waffles and various oatmeal concoctions. She got an immersion blender for Christmas, which she loves to use, and we recently got an air fryer and she is enjoying experimenting with that as well.
In early January, we lost my dad. He was a force in all of our lives and his death was incredibly painful for us, but we can take some comfort in knowing that he and my mom are finally together again. It was also difficult to properly mourn, COVID stripping from us the normal grieving process of large gatherings. In this most difficult time, as always, I'm grateful to be surrounded by wonderful and supportive family and friends.
Good morning. We understand that this is a difficult time and we appreciate each and every one of you for being here today.
What does it mean to be lucky?
My dad was born in December of 1935, in the middle of a raging blizzard. The first ten years of his life were during the Great Depression and World War II. His parents were not rich, but his father had a job at the gas company, so their house was always warm and there was always food on their table. They had a large, but close, extended family and his childhood memories were happy ones. He often told us stories about large holiday gatherings on Calef Road and the good times they had together. He was lucky.
About a year after he graduated from high school, Dad was drafted by the Army. After boot camp, he served in Germany. He loved being in the Army and it changed his life. If you knew my dad, you certainly heard some of his many stories about the two years he spent in Germany. He was proud of the fact that he used all 45 days of his leave to travel around Europe – meeting family in Ireland and visiting the Netherlands, France and parts of Germany. We all know about his fondness for Army food........and you probably know that he had the good fortune to hear Don Larsen pitch a perfect game in the 1956 World Series while all of his buddies were out on maneuvers. But did he ever tell you the story about the night he was traveling by train through France and awoke with a start from a dead sleep to find the hair on his neck and arms standing up straight? He pulled back the curtain on the train window and found that he was in Chateau-Thierry.
During World War I, his father fought on the outskirts of that town in the Battle of Belleau Wood and never spoke of the horrors he witnessed. But in that moment, my dad knew. And did he tell you that when he was getting ready to leave Germany to return to the states, he was offered transport home on an Army plane with a friend who was an officer? Because plane travel was quicker, he would have stayed in Germany for an extra week and while the thought of taking his first plane ride was tempting, an extra week in the Army was not, so he declined. While he was on that ship home, Russia invaded Hungary and all of the American troops in Europe who were scheduled to go home, including his officer buddy, were required to stay for several more months. His ship arrived home on schedule, safe and sound. He was lucky.
In 1958, he met my mother and a year later, they were married. We know that he saved her life, but he would tell you that she was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. Theirs was a great love story, but certainly not a traditional one. How did we know that he loved her? It wasn’t because he brought her flowers (never) or gave her cards (again, never) or because they were physically affectionate. (The first time I ever saw my parents kiss was at their 25 wedding anniversary party – true story.) My mother knew what she was getting into – “Irish men are thoughtless, but good providers” she was warned before they got married. Boy, my father loved to tell us THAT story. We knew they were in love because of how they treated each other; how they spoke to each other; how they never ran out of things to talk about; and how much they enjoyed each other’s company. As we grew older and got married ourselves, all that they taught us – with actions more than words – had so much more meaning. They were lucky.
In 1965, our dad was faced with a difficult choice – take a job with the Post Office or a job with the Telephone Company. Money was tight, with three little kids at home, and the Post Office job paid much better; but the job at the Telephone Company presented more potential opportunities and would pay better in the long run. He got some good advice from an unlikely source and took the phone company job, making one of the best decisions of his life. He loved being a lineman and he loved the people that he worked with. He arrived at work at least a half hour early every day to shoot the breeze with the guys before they all headed out in their trucks. And he loved to play practical jokes on them, going to great lengths, such as calling in a favor to borrow a brand new BMW from a dealership to convince them that he had purchased a new car to replace his 20 year old Ford Falcon. He loved every day that he worked at the phone company and had a great career there. He was lucky.
After years of living frugally but well – perhaps a concept that only my siblings and I can truly understand – my parents started travelling. After taking various trips within the United States – California, Hawaii, Alaska, the Pacific Northwest, the national parks in the Southwest – they started to travel the world. Canada. Japan. Australia. New Zealand. China – did you ever hear his stories about the food on the Yangtze River Cruise? Ireland. Italy. Poland. Germany. Turkey. Various countries in Africa. And Israel, his favorite. The only place he wouldn’t go was France. Our mother wanted to see Paris, but he refused. Instead they went to Hawaii, her favorite place, twice. The second time, it was because he won a trip. Have I mentioned that he was lucky?
Dad was a loyal co-worker and a good friend and neighbor. Maybe you knew him as the “Tomato King” and received vegetables from our many gardens. Maybe you went to football or baseball games with him. For more than forty years, he stood in the same spot at Gill Stadium, so you always knew where to find him. Or maybe you worked with him at the phone company and he helped you to find a job during a strike. If you knew him, you knew he liked to tell stories; and perhaps you tell some of those stories yourself. Because no one really knew our dad and walked away without carrying a piece of him with them. If you knew our dad, you were lucky.
We are his legacy – my three siblings and I. Although he kept his emotions close to the vest, we always knew that he loved us and was proud of us. I am grateful to my siblings. My brother Joe ensured that we got together at least once a year as a family and kept my dad’s life running smoothly, even though he probably didn’t know it. My sister Kathleen took care of both of our parents, but especially our dad after our mother passed away three years ago. And my brother Michael took control of dad’s medical issues these last few weeks and ensured that we were allowed to be with him in his final days, ensured that he was not alone. Although we are separated by years and miles and we are four very different people, we have come to learn that we are one. My siblings are the greatest gift my parents gave me, and I am grateful that together, we are his legacy. We are so lucky.
One day about a year ago, I was on the phone with my dad and he was telling me a few stories about some places that he and my mom visited. And then he said to me: “You know Maureen, when I’m gone, I want you to remember that I had a great life. I did everything I wanted to do, I went everywhere I wanted to go, saw everything I wanted to see. Not a lot of people can say that, you know.”
He was lucky.