Sometimes the hardest thing in life is letting go...

My father passed away on Sunday after a long bout with numerous illnesses that ravaged his body- leaving his mind prisoner in a shell that no longer worked. Throughout it all, he kept his sense of humor and I know that he found such comfort and peace in my brother and I.

He ended up having a massive heart attack at dialysis, went into cardiac arrest, and subsequently suffered many strokes, which left him braindead and on life support. One of the most difficult things was coping with the fact that although his body was lying in that bed, he was already gone.

I remember my dad as an active, energetic, and explosive personality and we knew that he would not want to live like that. My brother, my uncle, and I agreed that the best thing would be to let him go. When they took him off life support, it didn't happen right away and we stayed by his side night and day for a day and a half before he slipped away peacefully, with my brother and I each holding one of his hands, beautiful music playing, and my head on his chest as he took his last few shuddering breaths. I laid with him until they came to take him away, knowing that it was the last time I would ever feel close to him. I couldn't get up because once I did, that would be it. I would never see him again.

It's a painful thing to lose a parent, and, I am told, especially when you are 22. My brother is 18. My dad? He was 49 years old. The numbers on his headstone are too close together: 1958-2007. In the cemetary yesterday, everywhere I looked the numbers were much further apart and I was overwhelmed with the unfairness of it all. But I find comfort somehow- that he is no longer suffering, that he is whole wherever he is, and that he is at peace.

My dad was somewhat of an atheist and out of respect for my Jewish grandfather, my brother and I, as next-of-kin, authorized my uncle to plan a traditional Jewish funeral, although we are not of the Jewish faith. I knew that I needed to say something and I needed to do that for my dad, so I wrote a eulogy for him. Somehow, miraculously, I got through it and I said what I needed to say- I even got a few laughs, which I know my dad would have loved. I wanted to share with you, faithful reader (if you've gotten this far, you must be faithful!), what I wrote. I've said it before and i'll say it again- family is the most important thing we have in this world, so don't take it for granted, because life is too unpredictable and cruel sometimes.

For my dad: January 4, 1958-February 11,2007

Simone de Beauvoir once said, “From the hour you’re born, you begin to die. But between birth and death, there’s life. “That’s what I want to talk about right now-my dad’s life. You know, I think everyone here knows that my dad was a consummate bad boy. He had some wild stories. I wish I was as good of a story teller as he was because then I could do his stories justice and have everyone here laughing in one fell swoop. He’d really love that. He wasn’t really one for religion, but he loved to tell jokes and make you laugh, even when things seemed bleak.

One night this past summer he, Josh, and I stayed up all night and he told us one funny story after another. He knew he had us rolling on the floor laughing and he got a huge kick out of it. He was a fantastic story teller. He’d gesture and make hilarious facial expressions, pausing in all the right places. You could tell he loved remembering how things used to be. How HE used to be.

THAT ‘S how I want to remember my dad, how I CHOOSE to remember him. My dad was by no means perfect. He was a flawed human being, as all men are, and although much of our time together was rocky, he had his moments, and I will be forever thankful for the past four years that we had together. Our relationship and friendship these past few years is a true testament to the power of forgiveness. It is thanks to this that I am standing before you today and it is through this that I am finding comfort and peace. He died with my brother and I by his side, and he knew that we loved him. There’s something beautifully symbolic in that he was there when we came into this world and we were able to be with him when he went out of it.

I want to share some of my memories and thoughts with you now because I don’t want you to remember him as he was the past two years, or for those of us that were there- in his last few days and I know he wouldn’t want that either.

Dad was a terrific athlete. He was in the Army ROTC and a baseball player, a football player, and a black belt in karate. He taught me how to play softball, the one sport that I really and truly excelled at, ironically, and he came to most of my games, always cheering me on and always eager to play catch. We spent hours in front of our house, playing catch in the street. I got my good arm from him, and I know he was always proud when I took third base.

It’s no secret that he was incredibly intelligent. He was enthralled by the world around him- history, technology, current events, cars, and he was always eager to talk about it. You could ask him almost anything and he would answer in great length and detail, telling you everything you need to know. I remember when I was little and he’d help me with my math homework. My mom wouldn’t touch it, but he’d sit down, roll up his sleeves and explain it to me. Unfortunately, while I got his general smarts, I don’t quite have his aptitude for numbers.

Other than telling stories, nothing seemed to make him happier than sharing what he knew with Josh and I. His whole face would light up when you asked him to tell you about something. Sometimes he’d just think of something and randomly ask, “Did you know…?” and share some really fascinating anecdote or fact that we would never have known otherwise. I will really miss that. I learned a lot from him and I always learned something new.

My Uncle Sidney commented the other day that he remembers my dad installing kitchen cabinets and how proud he was of him. I remember how good he was with his hands. He was a tool and die maker and one day he came home and used a tape measure to measure my finger. A few days later he came home with a ring that he had made because he knew I wanted a ring very badly. I was always fascinated by the rings that my grandmothers and my mom wore, so he wanted me to have one, too. He made others things. I wanted to be an artist for a very long time. I loved to draw, paint, and I was churning out what I thought was masterpiece after masterpiece on a daily basis. For Christmas one year he made me an easel. It was truly fabulous- a chalkboard on one side, and a place to hang a piece of paper on the other. It was the perfect size and height, too. I loved that easel and I will pass that easel on to my children.

He was always eager for a project and he threw himself into each new thing that he tried with passion and abandon. Josh and I were just recalling his jaunt into fishing. He had a crazy fishing pole and he stocked up on all sorts of lures. When he dove into these things, he didn’t just dabble- he educated himself and went into it wholeheartedly. So, needless to say, he was a very successful fisherman. It was really too bad that we all couldn’t stand bluefish.

He taught Josh and I how to fish. We went down to Point Judith one day, stood at the end of the dock, and he showed us how to bait a hook. We had stopped for worms and he was showing us how to do it. I was squeamish at first, but he wanted me to at least try it, so I did. Then he taught us how to cast off. I remember trying to cast off as far as I could because he was fantastic at it. He could make the lure go for what seemed like miles. Once, we both cast off as far as we could and he made it go so far that when he reeled it back in he realized that the lure had come right off.

He was pretty random sometimes (I think this must be where I got MY randomness- and my stubbornness from, while we’re at it.). Some days he’d get up and decide that we should go somewhere- tobogganing, apple picking (where I’d eat so many apples that I’d get sick!), ice skating, to Point Judith for lobsters, to Barrington to see the big houses, etc. Sometimes we were eager to go, but sometimes it seemed like he was dragging us all over the state. I know now that this was his way of trying to show us things that he found interesting and that he thought we would enjoy. Well, now I love going to look at the big houses and I love apple picking and tobogganing and I love random car trips to places like Point Judith and Newport and I really still love a good lobster.

One year, my mom had surgery right before Christmas and she, Josh, and I were staying at my grandmother’s house. Being kids our main concern was getting our Christmas tree, and when we were told we wouldn’t have one that year, we were devastated! It was a travesty, as far as we were concerned- Christmas at our house without a Christmas tree! Well, when we went home…and in the door…there it was. Dad had gone out and gotten a Christmas tree and had it all set up and waiting for us to decorate.

When I was little, he had a big gut, which was a major joke between the four of us. I used to sit on his lap and knead his stomach. He always called it “making pizza.” Every time I did it he’d always ask what kind of pizza we were having that night.

We played make believe all the time. One of my favorites was hair dresser. Dad didn’t have much hair, but he had enough to brush and to put barrettes and head bands in. He was pretty secure in his masculinity, I’d imagine, since he let me put all sorts of crazy ornaments in his hair. One night, he went to CVS after we’d been playing and when he came back he told my mom that everyone had been looking at him oddly in the store. She laughed and reached up to unclip a pink butterfly clip that was dangling from a tuft of hair. “This could be why.” She said.

Before dad went blind, he had a scooter. He absolutely loved it- it was an all-terrain vehicle and came with turbo speed. We took it for a few spins and one day we took it to the boardwalk at the beach. I will always remember that day- it was sunny and fabulous. I ran and he sped along beside me until I got so tired I couldn’t run anymore. Then I hopped on the scooter with him and we raced down the length of the beach, laughing that everyone else had to walk.

I don’t think that there is anything more painful than losing someone that you love. I can’t imagine that it gets much worse than losing a parent. I’m finding comfort in a few things now. His last few years, in particular, were very rough and I know that he is now at peace. I do not know much about Judaism, but in my faith we believe in an afterlife and while I admit that I am uncertain about what lays in the “great beyond” I like to think that he is looking down us, maybe at some big shooting range in the sky…but there is one thing of which I am certain. He is whole again and his spirit will live on in my brother and I. He may be gone, but I will never forget.