My father was a brilliant, kind, compassionate and honorable man. His love for my mother and hers for him was an almost tangible thing that got them through every trial and tribulation they ever faced in their rock-solid 53 years of faithful Christian marriage. As much as he never took himself too seriously and was reknowned for his peaceful, fun loving and laid back demeanor, people who knew him well frequently spoke of his princely bearing. He had a nobility of soul that endeared him to all good people, and brought fear into the hearts of the unjust and corrupt. My father was my first hero. He understood me as few others did. We spent many an early morning before the rest of the family was up, speaking for hours on every possible subject. My father never talked down to me. We were as much friends as we were father and daughter. My understanding of the world grew at a rapid pace because he respected me and would never hesitate to explain what I did not know, in tones that never condescended but simply acknowledged a shared intellectual wonder for the universe. His fierce courage and integrity were fully on display in 1974, when as an electrical engineer working for the New York State Department of Criminal Justice, he rejected a six figure cash bribe from a corrupt contractor. The products being evaluated were police radio systems – mission critical infrastructure that were meant for the protection and first line of defense for our citizenry. As the word spread that my father had rejected a bribe which others in the decision making chain had already accepted, coworkers and supervisors who were complicit in this and other shady dealings brought pressure to bear down upon my father. Many a sunrise was shared with him as we walked the family dog and he vented his frustration and anger to me about this situation, speaking to me as an equal and a confidant in this otherwise lonely fight of his, and not as if I was merely his twelve year old daughter. One form the intimidation tactics took was to try to make it look like it was my father who was the criminal. The attempt to smear him was thwarted when, upon coming up squeaky clean, he gently suggested that as long as they were in the area, the FBI might want to have a wider look around. To retaliate for the debacle this new federal investigation unleashed amongst his coworkers who were on the take the New York State Department of Criminal Justice Services, whose very name had become a twisted joke, fired him at Christmas time. But it was too late. The Serpico movie was in the theaters and as rife as corruption obviously was in the law enforcement arm of the State of New York, it was becoming extremely unfashionable with the general public. Having been fully cleared by the FBI, my father had his old job as a DoD contractor at Sperry Gyroscope back within two weeks, along with a full restoration of his security clearance. This pure and honorable good deed only reinforced my view of my father as a true hero, a rare man of quality whose name can sit quite comfortably in the same sentence with the still living and venerable Frank Serpico. He handed me the paperback by Peter Maas with the advice that I never, EVER be afraid to do the right thing, no matter the cost, as I faced my future. My fathers personal honor and Captain America-like contempt for bullies and cowards was only matched in intensity by his love for his family. The love between my mother and father was pure and sacred. The sheer delight they took in each others company sustained them through all trials and tribulations that life threw at them, including the events that caused him to become severely disabled in 1993. For twenty one long years my father was unable to dance with my mother, unable to write the heart-melting little love notes he had often previously left for her to find in his pristine engineers handwriting when she woke up in the morning – an envelope of which I found, meticulously dated and stored, as I packed up their belongings after my mothers passing. He soldiered on as his physical body continued to deteriorate with few complaints and with a smile for everyone, but especially for her. My mothers mission – to give him the best quality of life possible - was accomplished with a grace, resourcefulness and titanic strength of spirit that I was blessed enough to see and be a part of as they approached the end of their lives together. Despite living in crushing poverty and with his disability to consider, my mother aggressively still found ways for them to enjoy concerts, parks, the occasional tasty holiday meal. I was looking forward to having the chance to continue that effort, but it was not to be. My mother was a very hard act to follow, and he missed her more than he could even bear to speak about. I take comfort in the firm knowledge that I know that to his soul, my father even now understands me as few others ever have, and he knows I did my best. I am deeply sorrowful that I will not have the chance to share the home my husband Eric and I worked very hard to obtain for him. I am fully aware of all the reasons for this. Forty years have passed since my father and Frank Serpico were fighting their battles, but little has changed in the nature of man. My father understands, as those who were not there do not, that now is the time for me to carry on his advice to never be afraid to do the right thing into my own future. I also can take comfort knowing that he is now with my mother, and having seen them in action in this world, I can tell you that it really does not matter where in the universe their two souls are, so long as they are together. The unconquerable purity and unchanging reality of their love was such as this: in the fall of 2012 Hurricane Sandy temporarily extinguished the lights of the hospital that they were both in, he for prostate cancer and she for lung cancer. When those lights came back on I had the honor and privilege to witness those two incredibly resilient, fearless, defiantly beautiful souls happily singing jazz classics to each other in the hospital room, grinning and mugging for my cel phone camera in their hospital gowns as if it was some kind of deranged pajama party. So if my mother and father are together, they are in Heaven no matter where else they might be – because being together for them was their own portable and indestructible version of Paradise. A Heaven that could – and DID - withstand the worst, most up close and personal version of Hell any Christian could imagine. So hail to you, my heroic and princely father. Asgard will never run out of mead for the likes of you, for should you choose to visit, you are a Jarl in that place. If you liked watching the sunsets in Cold Spring Harbor I daresay Vanaheim will offer you even more spectacular views to enjoy with the lady you love, and I am sure the curry in Nirvana and the dolmadekia in Elysium will beat mine hands down. Not soon will you and mom forget dancing to the sweet strains of the best Celtic music ever made by the merry Sidhe themselves in the feasting halls of Tir Na Nog, and I am sure you will enjoy as you return home to your Christian Heaven hearing Jesus retell the parable of the Good Samaritan to those who need to hear it – those who have apparently forgotten over time that the city of Samarra is located in what is now Iraq, and that the protagonist of that tale was a follower of Islam. I love you and I love mom, and now you know as I do that Heaven is all one place - as rich in diversity as the Earth itself, but far better at coexisting, for all its occupants have earned a place there by showing themselves capable of a secure, sincere love and respect for each other. As your souls reunite on a whole and fully healed level for the first time in decades, dont be afraid to teach the angels, the saints, the elves and all the good spirits and wights where ever you travel to enjoy your well-earned afterlife rewards how to dance in the pure joy of your love for each other. For even here in this imperfect place we call life on Earth, you always brought your own Heaven with you. There are many who think they know all there is to know about love and goodness who could still stand to take a lesson from the two of you. Hail to you my hero father!Victory hail!
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 15:50:54 +0000
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