WHEN RECOLLECTIONS BECOME MEMORIES
Christmas, for most of us, and certainly in my family, is a time when we pause to remember our good fortunes. Regardless of religion, most people I know enjoy the holiday as an opportunity to spend time with family, exchange gifts with loved ones as demonstrations of our affection, and to generally reflect on the past year. Despite the brash commercialism it has taken on, with some inkling of self-control, any of us should be able to at least recognize the true meaning behind it all. Since I was young, one of my favorite things to do, after presents were wrapped, shopping was done and one could finally breathe that long sigh of relief, was to watch "It's A Wonderful Life". No film has ever, in my opinion, captured the true meaning of what is truly important in life. The brilliant direction of Frank Capra, coupled with the unrivaled sincerity of James Stewart, making his first film after returning from duty as a B-29 pilot in England during Word War II, carries a message that remains valid throughout the year.
Readers of this column may recall that last year, just before Christmas, my father was diagnosed with a rare cancer and was told he had only a few weeks remaining. My parents, demonstrating the stoicism which is the hallmark of their generation, held the news to themselves until after Christmas. My father passed away on January 23rd, surrounded by his children and grandchildren, and at the farmhouse home that he so dearly loved. As anyone who has lost a parent knows, it leaves you forever changed. Sadly, the trend continued this year.
Last weekend my in-laws came up from New Jersey to visit the kids and their daughter. This was not unusual. It gave my wife some help with the kids and a chance to shop with her parents and to generally tie up the pre-holiday loose ends. After roughly 18 years as a proxy member of this family, I was used to these visits. My in-laws are the consummate North Jersey Italians, very entertaining, very energetic and very generous. Over the years I had come to view their visits with a combination of trepidation and anticipation, but it was always fun and never boring. We have vacationed together probably twice a year for as long as I can remember and like most families, through the highs and lows, love is a constant. I had truly come to love them both. My father-in-law, Chas, is a stand-in for any Italian movie or Sopranos episode. An ex-Army paratrooper who never drank or smoked, but indulged his love for food without restraint and his size demonstrated that.
On Saturday, he came to watch my son Mitchell's basketball game at school. Saturday night we had dinner and everyone went about their business. Our home was home to my in-laws and Chas would stay up late in the living room watching TV and enjoy a late sleep-in the next day, a benefit of retirement we all look forward to. Sunday brought a sizeable snow storm and I left early to go to work, plowing snow from an assortment of parking lots as I have done for over thirty years now. Around 11:30 I received a frantic call from my mother-in-law. I could hear, in the background, my wife, also hysterical, and like any parent, my mind rushed immediately to my children.
I was only minutes from home. I arrived to chaos and grief and the news that they could not get Chas to wake up. I rushed into my son's bedroom, which became the guest room when people visited. Chas was in bed and I reached to turn him over to begin CPR but as I grabbed his arm, I knew it was too late. He had passed, mercifully, in the middle of the night while sleeping. There is nothing worse than watching a heart being broken. My poor wife and mother-in-law, home alone with my three children were in shock. In the dining room, a beautiful table was already set anticipating Sunday dinner. How quickly...how ruthlessly, things change.
The past week has been a blur for everyone. A textbook Roman-Catholic service in Jersey that lasted for days saw over a thousand people pay respects to the kid from Hoboken who had done so much for so many. The funeral could have been for a Gotti or a Kennedy. Fort Lee police cars stopped traffic at every intersection along an hour-long funeral procession. Following the ceremony at the cemetery, where honor-guards played taps and prepared the flag for Mrs. Ferrara, a beautiful luncheon allowed many to stand and speak. A litany of stories, mostly funny, but all with gratitude to this larger-than-life man who had done so much for so many, quietly, without fanfare or seeking thanks. A man whose greatest love, after family, was helping others.
It dawned on me then, as I thought back to the countless vacations and times we have spent together, laughing, yelling, arguing, crying, more laughing, how you don't realize that all of these times that seem simply like another day as they occur, are the very times that will turn from recollections to priceless memories when someone dear passes. You fear losing them from your memory. And then, I remember Chas, and am comforted to know that certain people leave such an impression, that they could never, will never, be forgotten.