I woke up this morning to find a memorial post from your sister about the 26th anniversary of your death. I can't believe it's been that long yet some days it seems like yesterday. Your death was one of the most life-changing events in my young life. At 27 you were just beginning to build your life with a beautiful family of your own. You were running your own business and seemed to me to have the perfect life. I was too naive to see how addiction was destroying your life. All I saw was the smiling face covered by that grizzly mountain bear beard that greeted me whenever we were together.
I spent a lot of time being angry with you in the year following your death. I blamed you for leaving your young family and for destroying the rest of your family. The only times I could seem to shed tears for you were at your funeral and when I would visit with your mom. Even then I think the tears were more for the people you left behind than for you. It wasn't until I truly understood the struggle of an addict's life that I began to soften and to grieve your loss. I feel this is one of the reasons I made so many poor choices in my early dating years: I was trying to "save" the addicts I dated like I couldn't save you and other men in my life. But this is not your true legacy in my life.
No, you brought so much joy and fun into my life. I once wrote a poem about you entitled "Hero of Mine" which reflected how I viewed you as a child and young teen. You could do anything in my eyes. You taught me so much about sports just by letting me hang out while you were playing basketball or watching baseball (sorry, the football thing didn't catch on with me until your daughter convinced me to follow one team which turned out to be your team). Anyone who knows me well knows that I love the Yankees, and that love started with me watching a few games with you. You would patiently answer my questions and explain different aspects of the game. I was hooked after one season (I think it was 1976) and have been watching ever since.
Another positive you helped usher into my life was the love of music. You, my sister, and my cousins were all born in the wrong generation: you were hippies at heart and would have been better suited to have been teenagers in the 1960s instead of toddlers. No evangelical, born-again Christian could have been more devoted to his God than you all were to yours, Jerry. I didn't share your love for the Dead's music, but we did share a love for another band, The Rolling Stones. While I can't give you all the credit for me taking down my Andy Gibb poster and replacing it with my Keith Richards poster, you definitely help usher in a new kind of music to my life. You also introduced me to music that I would never even know existed like reggae. Now I think about how much music has literally saved my life in so many ways and know that even your death had a big part in that. I obsessively listened to Van Morrison's album that year you left us and always thought that the song "Memories of You" could have been written about you. Music remains an important part of my life and a way to make me feel closer to people who have left my life.
One last part of your legacy in my life is kindness and laughter. Now, I wasn't unkind before you died but now when I think of you that quality is one of the first that jumps out at me. You were forever defending the underdog and often getting more than your share of trouble for doing it. You were a great big brother to your younger sister and to all of us younger cousins. You never seemed annoyed with us for wanting to hang out with you and your friends on Saturday mornings. When you became a father I saw this big, gangly man turned into mush with one giggle from his toddler son or one gaze from his little girl. You also could make anyone laugh even my straight-laced mother. She has trouble remembering things these days but still recites how you would scare the shit out of her when you would sneak into our house and jump from the top of our basement stairs down the bottom. Like everyone else, she could only feign anger for a second and then just laugh at your goofy face. I'm sure your great sense of humor was sometimes a mask for painful feelings, but it also showed the core beauty of your soul. Your son has your laugh while your daughter has that quiet smile that would sometimes overtake your face when listening to some nonsense around us, and I thank God for the greatest legacy you left us all, your beautiful children.
Franny, this is such a touching and loving tribute. I feel like I knew him through your words. I remember when you found out Nino died, and I remember the pain you carried with you. So glad you've made peace with this tragedy. XXOO
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jenn. You and Cheryl were great to me that morning when my whole world changed. I appreciate your kind words.
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