My Father

Today is the 40th anniversary of my father's passing away. I remember it like it was yesterday. My dad was in upstate New York working at a resort as a chef for the summer. My mother got a phone call in the late afternoon. I heard the phone ring from upstairs and picked up the receiver. I heard my mom pick up the one downstairs in the kitchen. I listened to the conversation on the extension upstairs. It was someone from his job. He told her that my dad had died suddenly. I immediately ran downstairs. Apparently he had a heart attack at work. I remember the day before he called home and asked my mother to send him his pills because he wasn't feeling well. I never knew exactly what those pills were; I was 13 at the time. I remember my mother yelling "oh my God, No!" My sister came home just then and was told. My mother tried to reach my half sister Evelyn but couldn't. Little did we know that she was on her way to our house just to visit and by coincidence arrived shortly thereafter. Call it fate, coincidence divine intervention, whatever. It was as if she had an intuition about it. I remember that in May, four months earlier, he was pretty sick with pneumonia; or so they said. He probably had heart failure. I remember the death certificate said he died of "hardening of the artieries." I suppose that was a term they used back then.

My dad was a great guy. Although my mom and he did not always get along, he loved us very much. He was an extrovert. Loved to play tennis, and was a ballroom dancer. According to my aunt Patsy (his sister in law) Daddy was a stowaway on a ship from the Phillippines when he was 13. After he helped his brother Manuel come to the states. My dad and Uncle Manuel were merchant marines during WWII. I remember a picture of him in his uniform. He looked very handsome. I don't know where that portrait ended up. He became head chef (or cook) at various local hospitals. He would come home with the scent of food all around him......and I loved it. He taught me how to do the "Cha Cha" and the Fox trot when I was a little girl. He taught me prayers of his childhood. He ate with his hands, not with a fork, because that was the custom of his people. He had many friends and was a "ladies man." I say this with affection; not disdain. There are many other memories I have of him that I will blog at a later date. But for now I just wanted to say , I love you Daddy, I miss you still. I cherish the memories I have of you. I know you and Mom are watching over us and smiling. Keep dancing Daddy! Love, Your Daughter, Georgie. xoxo.