The Week After
It's been a week now since my father's funeral; I've been back at work since Tuesday morning and slowly beginning to adjust to life without benefit of my dad's voice, let alone his guidance. Each day, each incident of my life brought me a story my dad told, or something which happened to him, or even a funny line he'd say which sounded silly out of anyone else. All the while, I've felt his influence on my life and how much I owed him.
He was always one to chide me for worrying. So it was when I had a lot to worry about this week; two of my accounts at my company (where renewals were king) told me the day before I left they'd sign new agreements. When I returned, they'd changed their minds; one due to budget and the other because ("We don't think we'll need you next year." Perhaps I should have stirred up that company's waters with old fasioned anxiety questions, although my style has always been to serve, await, then create my sales opportunities.)
Friday was an important day. My daughter Alex had a girlfriend stay over for the night. My girlfriend Michelle, an energetic angel throughout my family and work heartbreaks, came over and we shared pizza, and talk of my dad and toilet humor and all kinds of dinner conversation before settling down to a Disney DVD. It was the resumption of a ritual we've enjoyed nearly from the time Michelle came into my life nearly 1 1/2 years ago, one which has brought my children closer to her and started a long awaited process of making us permanent.
Saturday was a day for comforting and being comforted. I'd spoken to my sister and to Franny Chebovitch, the women who together and individually took care of my dad's daily needs and personal companionship. They need prayer even now as they are still trying to adjust to the space my dad filled in their lives. "He was my father, my child and my companion," my sister said. "Imagine if, God forbid, you lost Dad, Michelle and the children at once and you'd know what that felt like." I knew what she meant and shuddered. Franny still spoke actively of the final day of my dad's life and the care she is giving a neighbor suffering from cancer. She speaks sadly of the day God will take her, and I only told her God has a purpose for her staying longer. Perhaps her cooking chicken for that sick neighbor was that very reason.
Father Stan Dombrowksi, a wonderful man who is pastor of my church (St. Cecilia's in Fort Myers) lost his mom earlier this year. I was fortunate enough to share in that Mass, a celebration of the woman his family called "The Queen Mum" featuring a recipe of her classic pound cake. I came home on a rainy Saturday afternoon and found this kind note from him, which I'll close with here:
"Dear Tony,
How saddened I was to hear of the death of your father. I know how difficult it can be to lose someone you love, and so I ask God to give you the strength, grace, and courage to cope with the loss of your Dad. I also offer some thoughts from St. Francis de Sales concerning death as a source of consolation:
"We have a way of referring to death as a passing, and to the dead as departed. It simply means that for human beings death is a passing from one life to another; to die is but to depart from the limitations of mortality to achieve immortality."
"What becomes of starlight when the sun appears on the horizon? It is not destroyed, to be sure, it is caught and absorbed into the sun's greater light."
I believe with St. Francis that your Dad has passed from this life to the fullness of life in Christ Jesus and that his light and countenance has not been diminished but rather absorbed into the greater light of Christ Jesus himself. He not only lives but is an eternal light unto us all.
Please be assured of my love and prayers at this time.
God bless and comfort you,
Fr. Stan"
He was always one to chide me for worrying. So it was when I had a lot to worry about this week; two of my accounts at my company (where renewals were king) told me the day before I left they'd sign new agreements. When I returned, they'd changed their minds; one due to budget and the other because ("We don't think we'll need you next year." Perhaps I should have stirred up that company's waters with old fasioned anxiety questions, although my style has always been to serve, await, then create my sales opportunities.)
Friday was an important day. My daughter Alex had a girlfriend stay over for the night. My girlfriend Michelle, an energetic angel throughout my family and work heartbreaks, came over and we shared pizza, and talk of my dad and toilet humor and all kinds of dinner conversation before settling down to a Disney DVD. It was the resumption of a ritual we've enjoyed nearly from the time Michelle came into my life nearly 1 1/2 years ago, one which has brought my children closer to her and started a long awaited process of making us permanent.
Saturday was a day for comforting and being comforted. I'd spoken to my sister and to Franny Chebovitch, the women who together and individually took care of my dad's daily needs and personal companionship. They need prayer even now as they are still trying to adjust to the space my dad filled in their lives. "He was my father, my child and my companion," my sister said. "Imagine if, God forbid, you lost Dad, Michelle and the children at once and you'd know what that felt like." I knew what she meant and shuddered. Franny still spoke actively of the final day of my dad's life and the care she is giving a neighbor suffering from cancer. She speaks sadly of the day God will take her, and I only told her God has a purpose for her staying longer. Perhaps her cooking chicken for that sick neighbor was that very reason.
Father Stan Dombrowksi, a wonderful man who is pastor of my church (St. Cecilia's in Fort Myers) lost his mom earlier this year. I was fortunate enough to share in that Mass, a celebration of the woman his family called "The Queen Mum" featuring a recipe of her classic pound cake. I came home on a rainy Saturday afternoon and found this kind note from him, which I'll close with here:
"Dear Tony,
How saddened I was to hear of the death of your father. I know how difficult it can be to lose someone you love, and so I ask God to give you the strength, grace, and courage to cope with the loss of your Dad. I also offer some thoughts from St. Francis de Sales concerning death as a source of consolation:
"We have a way of referring to death as a passing, and to the dead as departed. It simply means that for human beings death is a passing from one life to another; to die is but to depart from the limitations of mortality to achieve immortality."
"What becomes of starlight when the sun appears on the horizon? It is not destroyed, to be sure, it is caught and absorbed into the sun's greater light."
I believe with St. Francis that your Dad has passed from this life to the fullness of life in Christ Jesus and that his light and countenance has not been diminished but rather absorbed into the greater light of Christ Jesus himself. He not only lives but is an eternal light unto us all.
Please be assured of my love and prayers at this time.
God bless and comfort you,
Fr. Stan"
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