During his last couple of months, my dad used to comfort
us with stories like the one one about the penny (I say stories because he told
me personally to always buy a lottery ticket after he died because if "he COULD
find a way to fix it in my favor," he promised "he WOULD"; so far, and needless
to say, he hasn't quite figured that one out). The penny story is a bit harder
to prove and, resultingly, that much easier to believe. He told us that whenever
we find a face up penny on the ground we should know that it is him, sending us
his love. Tres Hallmark, Oui? Except for the fact that face up pennies have
shown up like clockwork immediately after good deeds have been done or admirable
risks have been taken or anything else happened that we would hope dad would
have approved of. Countless times since he left us I have done something I knew
to be important and immediately looked around, and usually found, a penny, face
up, letting me know that I had done well, or at least that one recently deceased
hero of mine thought so. I look for the pennies every where I go but what is
even sadder, I still also look for his face, his smile, his approval, his love.
Six years ago today my step-sister Terri called from Orange, CA. (I was then in
Canoga Park) to tell me that our Father was dying and if I wanted to see him
before he left us I should hurry up and get down there. I told her I simply
couldn't; I had just met him ten years before and was not at all ready or
willing to see him die. I had already said good-bye to two of my parents
(adopted ones but my parents none the less) and saying goodbye to this one, the
"real one", would simply break my heart. I told her I had too many memories of
him alive and well and couldn't stand to see him go like the others. I asked her
to call me when he was gone, hung up and cried. I sat there and cried for
about...oh I dunno...twelve seconds before I heard my father's voice in my
head," Hey Schmuck! You think I want you to drag your sorry ass out here just to
see me die? It's not about me or even you, you selfish bastard! The family needs
you, not me! So, sonny boy, why don't you get your lazy ass down here! (that's
kind of how he talked, a cross between South Philly and the Bible, as if those
words were coming straight out the mouth of God, or at the least, God's friend
from Philly). I picked up the phone and called the family back, "I'll be there
in 20 minutes." It was a 30 minute drive usually but, as promised, I was there
in 20. I walked into the living room and saw my dad unconscious on his favorite
chair, the family spread out in the room around him. I went over to him, got
down on my knees and took his hand. He seemed totally out of it but when I
touched him he opened his eyes, looked at me, smiled and said, "Well! What a
surprise! " Maybe it was but it somehow seemed as if he knew I heard him in my
head, or at the least had learned something about being a man from him in the
ten years we were together and for whatever reason it was that brought me, he
seemed genuinely pleased that I was there. My God I hope so.
Six years ago today we all watched him die. The most magnificent man I have ever
known and one I am so honored to call my dad. I'm so sorry he passed away before
I found the woman of my dreams for I know he would have truly loved Katie (and
Anya even more) and that they would have loved him too. Of course they would
have. Everyone loved Marty. How could you not?