Shipmate you stand relieved

I went because my father couldn't. I went to uphold his name and be a reflection of his life. I went to support my mother. I went for myself.

One of my father's closest Navy "brothers" retired last Saturday after 30 years of serving our country. He and his wife were there with my parents when my father tragically and somewhat quietly left this world. They followed the ambulance my mother and father were in, in another ambulance, and when my mother emerged, alone, they were standing there. Her guardian angels she says. They stayed in the hospital with her until my brother and I arrived at 3am, the morning of March 3. It was cold, the weather, the hospital, the morgue where I almost threw up. Bone-chilling and blurry is all I can remember.

This past Saturday was quite the opposite. There was as much sympathy as there was kindness in all of their warm and friendly faces. They talked of my father, remembered him with an empty seat during the ceremony. Steve's speech began recognizing that empty seat, thanking him for his duty, his friendship, and loyalty. I remember them reading The Watch during my father's service, the tone and the tradition gets me right in my core. I honestly love the pomp and circumstance of the military. The tears were unstoppable until one friend told the story of how my father became known as "cheeks". Laughter, hugs, and fawning over my children happily took place.

We drove from Scotia to Delmar, stopping to indulge the kids in a small toy along the way. During dinner Luke shucked his dress shirt to parade around in his "My Grandpa Was a Seabee" shirt, he was met with many smiles and lots of "awwws, look at him!" We were there as they all sang the Seabee song, a boisterous and bold anthem that I remember four of my father's "brothers" singing at the end of our wedding after all four of them danced with both me and John in a huddle/embrace. Luke proudly carried his Chief coin that (I believe, unless I'm making this up) my father had commissioned shortly before he died.

I am proud to have been a part of this day. And even prouder of all that my father accomplished during his lifetime, 8 years later and his presence is still a void even to his Navy family. I can only hope to influence my community in such a way.

Live a life that matters

This is a hard post. One about death. Again. I'm tired of writing about it but in order to mentally move on I need to.

An old friend from childhood lost her father last week. He was out playing tennis like he always did, every Monday and Wednesday and his heart just stopped. He died instantly on the court. He was healthy, fit, active, loving, proud. A great man, married to a great woman with four great kids and many grandchildren. It was one of those "this doesn't make any sense" moments. The funeral was hard to sit through. I watched the family process down the aisle and I knew that feeling, the song that played was the same one played at my father's funeral. I was unable to sing, my voice paralyzed by the huge knot of ache in my throat and my heart. The sermon was heartfelt and intimate, this man and his family made an impact on the community and the congregation. The priest, a close family friend of ours as well was visibly shaken as he began to speak. The sudden tragicness of it all had me feeling as if I was at my father's funeral, reliving those moments, the words, the songs, the disbelief. In front of me and behind me sat widowed parents of classmates and friends, clearly a club was forming and not one that anyone wants to be in or join. I sat there and wondered who was next.

My mom and I held hands with a firm grip. We cried together. We listened to the story of how my friend's father woke early to play tennis, usually much before her mom woke up, but on this particular morning she was up before he was looking out at a beautiful sunrise. He kissed her and said goodbye and she asked him to just look out the window at the beautiful sunrise for a minute before leaving for his tennis game. He did, they sat together looking at that sunrise for a great few minutes before he was off. Sunrises will never be the same for anyone in their family.

Wake early, watch the sunrise, you never know what the day will bring.

Live a life that matters
Ready or not, someday it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies will finally disappear.
So, too, your hopes, ambitions, plans, and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won't matter where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived, at the end.
It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant
Even your gender and skin colour will be irrelevant.
So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success, but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence, but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.
What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident.
It's not a matter of circumstance, but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.

Thank you Facebook

Dear Dad,

A copy of this picture hangs in my office.

Ellie has been going around out of the blue telling people, "I have Papa's eyes." Luke asked if we could have Villa's bread with dinner tonight. Mom talks about you to the kids on Fridays, guess it's sinking in.

Your CBMU 202 coin lives on a little shelf in our kitchen. The kids call it "Papa's coin", they like to look at it at least once a week and give it a kiss. Did you know that Tom held it in his hand as he walked me down the aisle? See how tight his hand is? It felt as if we stood in the vestibule crying together for 5 minutes before we took that walk. I was strong and prepared to walk tall until I saw him and the tears and the coin in the palm of his hand.

Thanks for showing us how to be honorable people and to pursue our dreams through hard work and perseverance. You lived with integrity. You were first-rate. You clearly made it seem as though you were honored to be our father and her husband. Life with you included an air of positivity and pushing your limits to better yourself, ignoring the negativity of others and not letting "them" drag you down. Failure for you meant a time of growth. Thank you for instilling us with these values and the example of the give and take of a good marriage. Mom certainly gets the gold star medal of valor for being your wife and supporting all of your public roles. The two of you were dynamic.

And He will raise you up on eagles' wings

Bear you on the breath of dawn

Make you to shine like the sun

And hold you in the palm of His hand.

Memories

Tomorrow it will be six years since my father died. I feel like my posts about him and the void that has been left have been very downtrodden. I mean I am writing about a loss, death is not fun or beautiful or happy. But I also don't want to be such a downer all the time. I need to inject more quips about Luke or the sparkley magic that shines in Ellie's eyes. It is pure magic I tell you.

For tonight though I have memories to share. Memories that I want to make sure Ellie and Luke know about. Memories of my dad.

He carried a bible in his lunchbox. He was a devout Catholic but never pushed his faith on anyone. I didn't even know he had one in there until after he died.

He would always wrap his pinky finger around my pinky finger when we said "The Our Father" at mass. When he did, he'd always wink at me when it was over.

When he babysat Jacob he always got down on the floor and played with him, even when he was only months old and every Friday he bought him a Matchbox car after he picked him up from the sitter.

He hated tomatoes and rice. But loved spaghetti sauce and would eat rice in veggie beef soup.

He put a cape on a jumped off the roof of his house when he was in the 1st or 2nd grade, he was convinced he could fly like Superman. He broke his leg and missed so much school he was held back a year.

He went to Iceland with NATO.

He loved Cheez-Its. And maple walnut ice cream. Crackers with Skippy peanut butter were another favorite.

He was terrible at home repairs. He didn't have much patience, he just wanted it done. But he could build a bridge and a road in some underdeveloped country with the Seabees.

He carried a picture of me from my first dance recital in his wallet.

He was school board president.

City hall lowered the flag when he died.

He and Jake used to call me at work in NYC and scream "wuzzzup" into my voicemail.

He used to send me cards to cheer me up when I was homesick the first year of college.

And everyday I can feel him smiling.

Simple Moments

I'm feeling sappy today.

The simple act of buying holiday cards always leaves me with a broken heart. We can't buy Father's Day cards, or cards for our "Parents", or for "Grandma and Grandpa" only cards for Mom/Grandma. Luke, Ellie and Will, will never get to sit in their Papa's lap or hear his laugh, or see him smile with pride at their cute little faces.

It's Valentine's Day, hug your loved ones, sit your kid in the lap of their grandparent, kiss them goodbye. It's the simple moments that we remember and hang on to.

Bro-nating to a good cause

The Bravada, my father's car, or as we call it, The Bro, has officially died. The breaks are gone, it needs to be jumpstarted almost every morning, and most recently the front left tire fell flat. Completely flat. We finally drove it into the ground and decided it was best to donate it to the Kidney Foundation. When I see it sitting in the driveway I feel like my dad is with me, as if he's stopped by for a visit, but like one of the last times I saw him it will be towed away on a cold winter day. I took a few keepsake pictures and ironically it was snowing, just like it was the last time I took a picture of my father, although that day was Christmas night 2002 and a major nor'easter was hitting the north country. I took a picture of him shoveling the sidewalk, in the photo you can see him admist a flurry of snowflakes in the dark night illuminated only by the porch light. Hopefully someone, somewhere will find some use out of the busted up Bro. I find it comforting that the last picture I have of him and of his car are in the same season, the same setting. Irony at its best. And, yesterday was his birthday too.




We've been living as a one car family for a week now and while our current car is really extremely small for a family of four, we're working it. We know we're lucky to work in town, our entire life (work, sitter, home, family) is lived within less than a mile, which makes it all feasible.

If Only

The room was dark, illuminated by the glow of the television as Elle and I sat in bed. She vigorously nursed as I tried to find something other than the Magic Bullet infomercial to keep my attention. John sat up as if the alarm was ringing, jolted out of a deep sleep he slipped out of bed, a confused look on his face as he stammered to the bathroom. As he came back to bed, he curled himself around me and whispered, "I met your dad."

Every once in a great while we dream of our dads. They are rare gifts that leave us as if we've been touched by angels.

John never met my father and has only heard his voice from old family videos, but we haven't sat down and watched one in years. Unfortunately in this dream my father didn't speak to him. I was hoping for some guidance or words of wisdom.

Apparently Ellie was two years old or so, walking about, she slipped out of the babygate and was on the front porch. My father rescued her, swooped her up in his arms and held her tight. He saved her. He smiled as John watched from the doorway.

We feel your arms around us Dad. They're tight, oh so tight. So safe and warm and strong.

If only these dreams could come true.

The joke was on me

I made a joke a few weekends ago, not really thinking at all that it would come true and today that joke was in fact a reality.

John was asked by our very close friends to be the godfather for their second daughter, the baptism just so happened to be on the same day as my cousin's wedding which was also happening in the same church. We brought Luke with us to the baptism and then scooted him off to my brother's house to spend the day with his cousins. After getting him settled with my sister in law's parents we ran back to the baptism reception for half an hour before we were to head to the church again for the wedding. Everyone thought it was so funny that we had to attend a baptism and a wedding in the same church on the same day. I joked. I said that we were celebrating all of the sacraments at once. Then I realized a funeral is a sacrament, so I took it back and said, well we can skip the funeral thing, we only want to celebrate happy occasions.

Yesterday we had a funeral.

My father's sister passed away from brain cancer last Thursday night. She lived a short and tough life. I ache for her 13 year old son, he resembles my father at that age, the eyebrows, the lanky body. My father's picture lay by her side in the casket. It was a tiny Navy portrait, a young vibrant man full of promise and hope, determination and pride. After he passed away she was diagnosed and he became her guardian angel. She was always asking my mom for pictures of him to keep by her side and still he was there. Today I can only think that they are sitting down to cups of coffee with my grandparents, telling stories, remembering. It was a hard day as she was the first person in our immediate family to pass on after my father. The two youngest in their family are no longer here, that just doesn't seem to make sense to me.

I sat there, unable to look at Mark (her 13 year old son) wondering if my father was here what would he do? Would he take him out to lunch once a week and try to mentor him? Would he get him enrolled in Big Brothers/Big Sisters? I know he wouldn't be able to idly watch and not offer any help or support. I felt guilt for not having that in me. I feel like I do, but then I think of how little time I have for my own child. Is this selfish, should I buck up, should I do something, will it even be accepted if I try? He has ADHD and comes from a life I am so not familiar with, will I even know what to say?

Afterward we spent a few hours at my Aunt Phyllis's house. I listened to stories of their childhood, who was born at home, who was born in the hospital, how Aunt Pat always went into Aunt Phyllis's closet after she left for work and would rummage through her freshly starched clothes to pick out her outfit for the day and about the time she was caught doing so. Of course the conversation had to take a turn as the Center clan can never tell "clean" stories. All six kids have birthdays in November and December, I thought that was interesting, I didn't know that until yesterday. Aunt Phyllis piped up with, "well my father's birthday was in February! That was his present, once a year!" Oh my, I didn't need to know this about my grandparents! It was great comic relief though and so appropriate for the company.

Yesterday was another reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone. I left work to pick up Luke, driving there I had tears in my eyes feeling so happy and lucky to have all that I have. I composed myself, got out of the car and saw him and the babysitter waiting for me at the door. He teetered and tottered and took 5 steps to me, unassisted, squealing with delight. It was the perfect end to such a sad day. I melted at he fell into me and wrapped himself around me.

I'm continually learning that I have to keep the past in the present and keep moving forward but realize that everyday is precious.

Rest in peace Aunt Debbie.

I Saw God Today

I looked into the face of a ghost today. A familiar and gentle face, a kind and tired face. It was comforting and moving and tear filled.

We moved from Third Street across town to Prospect Street when I was almost 5 years old. As you may have read Prospect Street is where my father's family settled when they landed in Glens Falls from the far reaches of Bari, Italy. Prospect Street was home to mostly Italians, vineyards and wine cellars, chicken coupes and elaborate gardens were (and in some cases) still are the staple of every home. On the far end of the street lived an Irish-Catholic family with a young girl whose mother died when she was just a teenager. She lived there with her aunt, and honestly I don't know much about her childhood, just that she married a protestant named Richard Potter from South Glens Falls. Her aunt passed away and they grew their family of five in the same house she was raised in, the same house that my father grew up next to before his family moved to Dix Avenue.

The Potter's had five children, the youngest being my brothers age which meant they were all quite a bit older than I was. I looked up to the girls and thought the boys were totally cute. They were always around playing basketball or street hockey, teaming up on paper routes and getting into general neighborhood trouble with the old folks, losing stray baseballs to crochety old men and the like. When their oldest daughter married her very upstanding Navy boyfriend the party ended up at The Potter's house where the men played quarters in the kitchen and the women chit-chatted. Legend has it that my father was stuck in the far corner of the room with a full bladder. The beer was flowing and my dad was riled up, when they wouldn't let him out he stood up and walked across the kitchen table to get to the men's room. It's been more than 20 years and when the old gang gets together someone is bound to bring up the time "Tom Center walked across the Potter's kitchen table."

I remember at their youngest son's wedding, my father whispered something to their other daughter who was going through a tough time in her marriage, he brought her to tears. They hugged, she thanked him for saying whatever it was he said. I asked him later what he said to her and he wouldn't tell me. It was a moment between them and I respected that. I still wondered though. Obviously it was a kind, fatherly thing, he felt for her.

Ironically today, her father whispered in my ear.

Our power was out in the kitchen. No fridge, no lights, no dishwasher. Ack. I called my brother to see who we should call and he suggested Mr. Potter. John didn't want to bother him, he's retired, he won't take any money, what if he gets hurt, yadda, yadda, yadda. But I called him anyway. He updated the electrical in our house, switched out light fixtures, added new outlets where we needed them, all for free. Well we gave him a nice gift certificate but he told me we broke his rules, he didn't want anything. So I called him and thought if it's over his head he'll tell us, if it's something easy then no worries.

He was a little stumped when he came over at 8:30am, very apologetic of his appearance as he'd just woken up. After about an hour and a half he thought he had it figured out and told me to get to work. He was going to go home for a bit as we had the fridge plugged into another outlet so really there was no huge emergency. He said he's come back later in the morning and spend time testing what he thought was the problem. He certainly did not want us to call an electrician and waste our money.

As he was leaving, with his hand on the door he said, "it must be hard for you? To move on without your dad, to have a son and a daughter and not have him here. But you have to move on, I know it's hard. I pray for your family every night, you're all so special."

I started to cry. He barely said boo to me my entire childhood and only after my father died did I come to exchange more than pleasantries with him. I know my father's death greatly affected him. He made Luke an Adirondack chair when he was born and is always here if we need him to help get my mom's snowblower running, or put the lawnmower away for the winter. It's like he's become the patriarch of the street.

I told him how lucky we are to have neighbors like him and that I felt in a way like he was telling me exactly what my father would be telling me. It felt almost like I was having a heart to heart with my dad for a second. I was looking at Mr. Potter but talking to my father.

He teared up and said, "I could never be your dad, but you know I love you. Now I have to go, stop making me cry!" And off he went, laughing a bit with embarrassment.

He said some other things throughout this short 2 minute conversation that I guess I should keep between me and him as that's what my father would do I'm sure. It was a moment, an understanding and one to keep close, not to exploit.

These moments make me so grateful for having grown up here, for having close family ties, for in the true sense, loving your neighbor.

I've been to church
I've read the book
I know he's here
But I don't look
Near as often as I should
Yeah, I know I should
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today
-George Strait, "I Saw God Today"

I can't post just some of the lyrics so here's the whole thing, this song is too much

Just walked down the street to the coffee shop
Had to take a break
I'd been by her side for 18 hours straight
Saw a flower growin' in the middle of the sidewalk
Pushin' up through the concrete
Like it was planted right there for me to see
The flashin' lights
The honkin' horns
All seemed to fade away
In the shadow of that hospital at 5:08
I saw God today

I've been to church
I've read the book
I know he's here
But I don't look
Near as often as I should
Yeah, I know I should
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today

Saw a couple walkin' by they were holdin' hands
Man she had that glow
Yeah I couldn't help but notice she was startin' to show
Stood there for a minute takin' the sky
Lost in that sunset
Splash of amber melted in the shades of red

I've been to church
I've read the book
I know he's here
But I don't look
Near as often as I should
Yeah, I know I should
His fingerprints are everywhere
I just slowed down to stop and stare
Opened my eyes and man I swear
I saw God today

Got my face pressed up against the nursery glass
She's sleepin' like a rock
My name on her wrist
Wearin' tiny pink socks
She's got my nose, she's got her mama's eyes
My brand new baby girl
She's a miracle
I saw God today

Waitin' on a woman (and a girl)

My mom used to drive my dad crazy as she was always and forever late. She'd come home late from work, she'd be the last one in the car for family trips or even to go to church. She always had one more thing to do, one more thing to get, to search for, to unplug, to turn off. I can even remember her doing her nails in the car once, as in painting them. That's no easy task. My dad would wait, sometimes patiently, sometimes impatiently, sweating, pacing, not wanting to be late as he was always on military time, which is about 10 minutes early to everything. It drove him mad and at the same time I know he found it deeply endearing. He would wait in the car and honk the horn which made her crazy, she'd run around frantic and then I think at certain times she'd slow down even more just to maybe piss him off a little. In a loving way of course. He was always the first one showered and dressed for wherever we were off to and like I said he could sweat in below zero weather so nine times of ten he'd pace and sweat a little, always wiping his brow with a look of, "geez Mar, what is taking sooo long" frustration.

I headed to Slingerlands this afternoon with my wonderfully supportive sister-in-law and nephew in tow for a level 2 ultrasound. They needed to check for some genetic disorders and while I know this is fairly routine, as it seems to happen to everyone I know and happened to me when I was pregnant with Luke, to say I was not a tad nervous would be a lie. We're leaving for Maine this weekend which I am so incredibly anxious for and at the same time once again saddened with the fact that my dad isn't here to see Luke kick his feet in the crashing surf. So while driving into work this morning thinking of all of this and thankful for all that I have I heard this song. I was listening and thinking my dad could so relate and was smiling and laughed a little, and then the last bit of lyrics were sung and I almost had to pull over. I was bawling, nose running, tears streaming. It felt good to cry and it felt sad at the same time. It also felt comforting, like my dad was telling me, "she's not ready yet, she's still got things to do and I can wait. I might be pacing the halls of heaven but she's worth waiting for."

So we'll enjoy the sand and surf next week and think of you.

Now to the delicious news of the day and to end on a high-note, we're waitin' on a girl!!! Eek. A healthy, kicking, active little girl scheduled to arrive in mid October.

A girl.






Sittin' on a bench at West Town Mall
He sat down in his overalls and asked me
You waitin' on a woman
I nodded yeah and said how 'bout you
He said son since nineteen fifty-two I've been
Waitin' on a woman

When I picked her up for our first date
I told her I'd be there at eight
And she came down the stairs at eight-thirty
She said I'm sorry that I took so long
Didn't like a thing that I tried on
But let me tell you son she sure looked pretty
Yeah she'll take her time but I don't mind
Waitin' on a woman

He said the wedding took a year to plan
You talk about an anxious man, I was nervous
Waitin' on a woman
And then he nudged my arm like old men do
And said, I'll say this about the honeymoon, it was worth it
Waitin' on a woman

And I don't guess we've been anywhere
She hasn't made us late I swear
Sometimes she does it just 'cause she can do it
Boy it's just a fact of life
It'll be the same with your young wife
Might as well go on and get used to it
She'll take her time 'cause you don't mind
Waitin' on a woman

I've read somewhere statistics show
The man's always the first to go
And that makes sense 'cause I know she won't be ready
So when it finally comes my time
And I get to the other side
I'll find myself a bench, if they've got any
I hope she takes her time, 'cause I don't mind
Waitin' on a woman

Honey, take your time, cause I don't mind
Waitin' on a woman

Memorial Day Memories

Today we remembered our Papa's with a visit to the Gerald B. H. Solomon Saratoga National Cemetery for their annual Memorial Day ceremony. Grandma Center, Grandma LaSarso and "Grandma" Joyce came with Will and in the hot sun and loud rip-roaring wind we honored the bravest, those that have given selflessly to their country. I shed some tears, laughed some laughs and answered Will's questions about death and confirmed to him that yes Papa was in the ground. I know it's confusing and hard for him to grasp, I was blessed with knowing both of my grandfather's, hearing their stories, and sharing holidays.

We left the cemetery and headed to visit Grandpa Jack's grave too, to honor him and say a prayer. Then it was off to Uncle Dick's house for a cookout. I noticed the wagon pretty quickly, the wagon was our magic carpet growing up. It lived in the crawl space under my grandparent's back porch and every Memorial Day it was unearthed, we (the 5 proud grandchildren) would watch with twinkles in our eyes as Papa LaSarso would dust it off, oil it up and line us up for rides around the block. It was as if Christmas was happening again in May, this wagon so simple brought us so much joy. We would try to cram as many little ones in at once, sometimes we'd get blankies and cuddle up for our chariot ride around their Hudson Falls neighborhood. It was truly magical for all of us. There it was, in my Uncle's backyard, the metal wheels, and handle, the AAA sticker on the rear. Will hopped in and we had to get Luke in there too, John tooled them around the backyard and we commented on how Luke looked like a little Tommy in the wagon. Memories of grandpa's so special, gone too soon, but loved forever.

You were men of honor. Thank you for your service and for doing us proud.

Accepting reality and coming to grips with it

My mom has a date in the near future. With a man who is obviously not my father.

I see a spring her step, a twinkle that has been on hiatus for the better part of 5 years, it's refreshing, but also selfishly it makes me uncomfortable. Why is it so hard for me? I know that she didn't chose to live out these years alone, I know she wants my father back as much as the rest of us, if not more. In some way I guess she has accepted the reality and has a "friend" (her words) who she is comfortable talking with and one who is not a woman. Apparently she's tired of spending all of her time with other women, which I can understand. I was single in NYC for 4 years and it seemed like an unending eternity.

I guess what kills me the most is that Will, Luke, and even John don't know the couple that was Mary Ann and Tom. They only know my mom as Grandma, the woman who lives alone, sleeps alone (Will asked her why she did one day), runs ragged to avoid the loneliness of her house of which she fills with things purchased from QVC. She excites in the thrill of buying something spur of the moment, receiving a package in the mail, filling her house with things none of which will replace what was lost. When men my father's age are around the three boys I get a little angry inside, thinking it's not fair that whoever it is (an uncle, friend, etc) gets to see them play Little League, run around and laugh, listen to their stories and just be. Why do these people get to experience their childhood and not their grandfather? And when will my irrational anger subside? So knowing that a man who is taking my mom out to dinner is going to one day, maybe be around my children and nephews is so hard for me to accept. I don't want to be this selfish, I can't have what I want and I need to accept that reality. Honestly I admit it, I get jealous of other girls who have fathers which is so totally weird as I used to be so jealous of friends who were in relationships and I wasn't, so badly wanting to be in one. Now I'm married and I would give my right arm to have lunch with my dad just one more time. Strange how life is eh.

John met my entire family and I mean, aunts, uncles, friends, cousins, etc all in one day. The day that my mom, brother and I came home from cleaning out my father's Naval base apartment and leaving his body in Connecticut to be driven home the following day with a military escort. We had only met 2 weeks prior and here he was shaking hands with shocked family members and friends. I wish we had met sooner, my parent's weren't this incredibly dynamic duo, I don't want to over romanticize them, but they are my parents, so special in a way and together they "worked". I miss laughing with my dad, ribbing on each other for silly things or strange personality traits.

So how do you let go, but remember and accept the future reality with grace?

Soldiers Sleep in Peace and Angels Sing Amazing Grace

Dear Dad,

It's been 5 years today. 5 years since we last spoke on the phone, you eating peanuts and laughing with mom and your friends before you headed out to dinner. Our last good-bye, and the last "I love you Acey-cakes" I would hear spoken from your lips to my ears. Thank you for calling me, a gift I will treasure. How could I have known that a few hours later Tom and I would be driving through the night to Groton to meet mom at a Connecticut hospital. Dry-heaving and throwing up along the way, both of us in shock at how could this be happening to us. You were supposed to come home that coming Friday we were going to eat Harvest pizza and you were going to meet John. This John who I had been speaking about with such joy that I'm sure you heard me smiling through the phone converstations we had while you were in Rotten Groton and I was in Saratoga. We've been blessed these past years. William was born that January, but you knew that, you called me from Groton to tell me the news. He's a funny, handsome little guy who wants everything Jacob has and dares to be told otherwise. He's built like Tom, a tough little fighter who hates to be told no and who Kristie's father thinks will one day be a Marine. Jacob is tall and lean and gentle, he has your spirit and remembers you with eyes that sparkle and a smile so big it makes his eyes squint. He says when he grows up he's going to be a Seabee. Of course I got married to that John guy and this past June we had a little one of our own, Luke Thomas. I have to believe you were there as I looked outside our room and the American flag, one so huge and proud was slapping the hospital window.
We're all doing well but your presence, or the lack there of is the white elephant around every holiday table and birthday celebration that we have. I see you in Tom, so much of you and while years ago he would probably balk at that, I think today he might be alittle proud of that fact. It's funny that in all the pictures we have of you two, you're proudly wearing some Seabee t-shirt and he's sporting a fireman one, and when he's on tv 8 at those town board meetings talking in his serious voice, he sounds like you. I wish you could watch and see. We see mom struggle, it's hard and I can only imagine harder for her to go on without you, without a mate. It's odd how our roles shifted so quickly, me the lonely girl tagging along with her parents to now mom sitting alone in the backseat with me and John. I hate it. But through it all I know you are here, you are proud and I know you must miss us. I hope you feel us as we feel you.I know you didn't die "at war", but you were away from us (but mom was there with you, thank God!)and on active duty when you did and when I hear this song I lose it. We did lay you down, in a field on the edge of town, at the Saratoga Battlefield and 100 Navy Chiefs lined Warren Street as we approached St. Mary's in the most magnificent salute I've every seen. So this is for you. I know you are singing Amazing Grace today. We love you and we'll see you in pictures and dreams.
If you’re reading this
My momma is sitting there
Looks like I only got a one way ticket over here
I sure wish I could give you one more kiss
War was just a game we played when we were kids
Well I’m laying down my gun
I’m hanging up my boots
I’m up here with God
And we’re both watching over you

So lay me down
In that open field out on the edge of town
And know my soul
Is where my momma always prayed that it would go.
If you’re reading this I’m already home.

If you’re reading this
Half way around the world
I won’t be there to see the birth of our little girl
I hope she looks like you
I hope she fights like me
And stands up for the innocent and the weak
I’m laying down my gun
Hanging up my boots
Tell dad I don’t regret that i followed in his shoes

So lay me down
In that open field out on the edge of town
And know my soul is where my momma always prayed that it would go
If you’re reading this, I’m already home

If you’re reading this, there is going to come a day
You move on and find someone else and that’s okay
Just remember this
I’m in a better place
Where soldiers live in peace and angels sing amazing grace

So lay me down
In that open field out on the edge of town
And know my soul is where my momma always prayed that it would go
If you’re reading this
If you’re reading this
I'm already home

For One More Day

It was about 2 or 3 years ago, I was standing on the street corner with my boss at the time and the director of the Museum, it was a mid-March, chilly, almost-spring-but-still-winter day. The Mayor, our State Senator, county supervisors and other dignitaries were also in attendance, it was the big unveiling of the cities cultural insititution traffic signage (how we never had signs directing people to The Hyde or the Wood Theatre for so long I'll never understand, but I digress). There I stood, tv reporters, and news writers were taking statements from Senator Little (a woman I've known most of my life as her kids grew up with me and my brother), Mayor Regan (a close political friend of my father's), and the county supervisor who beat my father in the last campaign. I snapped the token pictures with the sign and those that made it happen to tout the accomplishment in our next newsletter. I felt the emptiness, it was so heavy in the air swirling around me. If my father were alive he would have been there. He would have helped to make this happen. He would have been beaming, showing me off to his politician friends, so happy that I was home from New York City, working in Glens Falls and actually using my degree.

I was wearing my Hyde badge, some women from the county said, "oh, you're Tom's daughter, he was a great man." They smiled that sympathetic, "I'm so sorry" smile and then the awkward silences followed. I congratulated the Mayor and my father's succesor. At that moment a fire truck went flying by, charging for Warren Street, lights flashing, sirens blaring. I felt him, he was there in the sirens saying, "you guys did it, I'm so proud of you!" My brother was driving that truck, his childhood dream was to be a fireman and there he was racing through the streets and I, the little girl who would copy the comics on Sunday mornings was working for the most beautiful little museum that we're so lucky to have in our tiny city of 16,000. We're doing what we love to do in our hometown that we adore. We're contributing to the community with pride and doing our best to to do so with honor and integrity.

I caught the end of Oprah today. It was about the new made for tv movie, "For One More Day". I was of course holding Luke and sobbing. John came home and the three of us stood in our living room, crying, hugging and swaying as Nick Lachey sang "An Ordinary Day"...I'm paraphrasing here, but it's something like, "if I had one wish, it wouldn't be for fame or money, it would be for an ordinary day with you".

If *I* had one more day I would want to go back to that streetcorner scene with my father in tow, when it was over we would hop in his car and surprise-pick-up Jacob and Will from school and my mom, Tom, Kristie, and John from work. We'd rush home to a wonderful meal with all of us around the dining room table (somehow Luke would be inserted here even though it was a day in the past, let's let go a little, eh!!), the boys would play throw and catch in the backyard and the girls would watch in awe at how lucky we are to have this family.

Edited to add: That I'd also like a walk down the aisle, I've always wondered what he would have said to me at that moment. Okay, that's enough sap for awhile!

The Power of "Do"

Growing up my father had lots of nicknames for us. Tom was Boop. When he was little my dad would bounce him on his knee and say "Boop boop dee do" and Boop just stuck, even when he was 30. There was also the classic "Son". My mom was hardly ever referred to as Mary Ann, she was always "Mare". Somehow I inherited the motherload of names, ACE was the most common. One Christmas, I was about nine years old, he bought me (Amy Elizabeth Center) a monogrammed sweater. With the big C in the middle it looked like my sweater said ACE. And so it began... "Acey-cakes", and "Ace is the place" were his two favorites. Followed by Baby-Cakes, Scooch, Schoochy-doo, Miss, and Missy, all very endearing. My brother still calls me Miss and my mom has her own version, Amykins.

Then John enters. He is just John. No familial nicknames, not much in the way of silliness during his childhood. In an odd way and unbeknownst to him, there are times when I think he is channelling my father. He borderline bores us (my mom and I) with historical facts about every town in the tri-county region as we drive through them, so much like my dad. When this happens my mom and I roll our eyes at each other and smile a smile that says, "they would have loved each other!" We used to make fun of my dad and say he was a bastion of (useless) knowledge. They would so get along, most likely trying to out-bore, ahem, I mean out-do the other with their knowledge of useless facts.

John has once again channelled my dad. Luke is rarely referred to as Luke. He is L-Train (a football player reference), Mr. L, Bubby, Bubby Brewster (another football reference I think), and Bubbs Bubberton. Then there are all the "Dos". Mr. Do, Bumble-Do, Bubby-Do, Bubbs-Do, Luke-Do, and the classic "Do". Let's not forgot who we have become. I am Mama-Do, John calls himself Dada-Do and my mom is Grandma-Do. We are the family of "Dos". We go to Sleepy-Do, wear Diaper-Dos, take Tubby-Dos, and drink Baba-Dos.

Am I stretching things here, looking too hard for a connection that maybe isn't there? Well you see my dad was a Command Master Chief in the Seabees, a division of the Navy. Seabees or CB for Construction Battalion, are the ones who rebuild after war, or go to underdeveloped countries to build roads, bridges, put in plumbing or electrical services. Their motto is "Seabees Can Do". They have "Can Do" spirit. They "Do".

You tell me? Is this just coincidental? Regardless it warms my heart and yet again I am so blessed-do

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seabees

Can you hear me smiling?

Call me a virgin blogger. I've never done this before, my fingers hesitate as I decide to bare all. The thoughts, emotions, silly-ramblings-on of my simple life. I decided today that I need to blog. I need to share and I don't know why. I'm a first time mom of a now 4 month old son (decidedly the most amazing baby to have been born thus far) a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a graphic designer, and well you get the idea.

I lost my father almost 5 years ago. It happened in an instant. He called me at 5pm out of the blue like always, "just calling to say hi, and tell you I love you Acey-cakes (one of many nicknames)." At 7pm he was dead. Brain anurysm? Massive heart attack? We'll never know. My world was so turned upside down. I had just met the man who would become my husband, and in the same month lost the man that for my entire 26 years had meant the world to me. How could it be that these two men who I had and would come to share so much of life with never meet?

It's been 5 years and the emotions are still so raw. When does it fade? When my nephews were born I had a whole new realization that my parents were once regular people with dreams and lives before my brother and I entered with the hostile take-over. I appreciated them so much when I watched as we all fawned over my nephew as if he were the king of kings, realizing that they once fawned over me and Tom in the same teary-eyed joyful way. And now here I am gleefully saddled with my own child and the feelings are even deeper than I imagined. I want Luke to know that I love him with wild abandon, that his dreams are my dreams, that life is an adventure and you need to go live it to figure it out. Support, trust, freedom, rules, respect, integrity and passion are the words that my father instilled in me. I feel honored to have been raised in that way and honored to pass the morals on.

Dad, can you hear me smiling? Life is sweet, you are ever-present and I am so thankful that you were mine.