Rest In Peace Dad

My father, Frank Joseph Marinucci, passed away this morning.  This is one of the few posts in this blog not related to my journey... though it may have a profound impact on gettting me back on my path.  I simply wanted to share a few words about my dad.

My dad went in to the hospital with a heart attack two weeks ago.  The following Monday, roughly 11 days ago, I sat in my office at work wondering if I should fly to Florida to be near him, to help him, and to spend some time trying to convince him that he should live closer to family, whether that be mine, my sisters', or my brother's.  I told a friend that I needed some kind of sign, then she left my office.  Seconds later my phone rang and my father said, "Anthony, can you come down here (to Florida)?".  Given the highly unusual request from my dad and the fact that it happened seconds after asking for a sign, I figured that it wasn't going to get any clearer than that.  So, I got online, found the best flight I could, packed, slept three hours, drove to Denver, and boarded a flight a few hours later.  I will never regret that decision. 

When I arrived, my dad looked up at me and said, "Do I know you?".  I laughed and told him it was his son.  Probably a little bit of the drugs talking, but I think a lot of it was that the pictures I had sent recently did not do my weight-loss any justice.  My dad spent the next week telling that story to anyone who would listen and also bragging about how his son had lost 115 pounds.  He kept telling me that he really wasn't playing when he said he didn't know who I was.  I assured him that I could see that he had no clue in his eyes.  I enjoyed how proud he was of me.

We spent the last week doing what my father and I have always done best... talking sports and food.  My dad was a foodie.  Even more than I. It's where I got it from.  He was a great cook.  Another thing I took from him... though he was better and spent more time trying different things.  Throughout the week, he would ask me if I had tried different dishes and then tell me the way to make them if I had not.  We talked baseball, basketball, and hockey as we watched the local Rays, Heat, and Lightning play.  Despite any differences we may have had over the years, we always had a common ground in food and sports.

We talked about my blog and I read him various posts, including the one about me beating him in hoops and how he always brought it up.  He never had a computer or the internet, so this was the only time he got to hear the blog.  He loved it and repeatedly told me I should submit my stories to a magazine.  He was proud of that too.

Whenever I called my dad over the last year, I got the sense that he was tired and close to giving up the fight.  He had various health issues and his overall health had deteriorated rapidly over the last two years.  But, when I was sitting in that hospital room talking to him, I had a sense that he had an emotional lift from me being there and that maybe he remembered why he should keep fighting.  Well, his struggles continued when he got home and that lift subsided a little bit each day.  Part of me thinks he wanted to have this last week with me before moving on.  Maybe that's silly.  But, it felt kind of like he was saying goodbye to me.  He thanked me for making the trip... repeatedly.  He thanked me for everything as I cleaned, cooked, and helped him dress.  He reminisced about anything and everything.  He played a Josh Grobin song about a father and son while we drove over the Sunshine Skyway bridge and told me he always thought of me when he heard it.  Again, if you knew my father, this was not his typical behavior. 

This morning I woke up to a piercing alarm on his external defribillator.  I rushed to his side and tried to perform CPR as the paramedics made their way to his house.  It was already too late.  I had talked to him at 6:30 AM and helped move him to a comfortable position on the couch.  The alarm went off around 45 minutes later.  I hope that he found peace in that last 45 minutes and I hope that he passed without any pain. 

I will tell you one thing as I close.  Never hang on to grudges.  Don't ever let your anger consume you.  You will never regret forgiving a person... at least I never have.  As hard as this was to take time away from my family and work, I will never regret spending the last ten days of my dad's life with him.  I love you dad.  I will miss you.

Frank Joseph Marinucci, 12/16/1940 - 5/27/2011