The year is 1972, the month is February, and this is three days before my father would die from lung cancer. This was our last family photo and it commemorates the last time I saw my dad alive since I left later that day to return to Austin where I was a freshman at the University of Texas. I had just turned nineteen, my brother George (to my left) is 22, his little girl Casey must be about 2, my brother Sam (to my immediate right is 13) and my brother Jim (next to Sam) is 26. Dad would have turned 70 on February 19, but he did not make that birthday. Mom, sixteen years his junior, is 53. My sister Leslie is shown in the portrait on the wall. She is 30. My brother, John, 28, is not shown since he was in Italy and had come home for Thanksgiving just after we discovered Daddy had cancer.
I treasure this picture for the obvious reasons. My dad looks peaceful and most of our family is together. I also treasure it because it reminds me that people stay with you over the years whether they remain in their earthly body or not. People argue about heaven or an afterlife and the truth is that none of us will know for sure until it’s too late to talk about it. But what I do know is that when you have truly loved someone, no matter if they are near or far, here or there, they are always right with you in spirit. I know this for a fact. At this point, only Sam, Casey and I are still alive. But I can still smell my dad’s blend of Old Spice, baby powder and cigarettes, feel the warmth of my mother’s skin, hear my brother George’s laugh, see my brother Jim crinkle his eyes with love, hear my brother John’s perfect Italian, and feel the smoothness of my sister Leslie’s hands. Nothing takes that away. Not time, distance or death.
Yesterday would have been my mother’s 96th birthday. She made it to 82 with grace.
Happy birthday, Mom. We all love you still, no matter where we are.
As for everyone else, I love you all, too. Those of you still here, Sam and Casey, and those of you a memory away.
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