My Dad

Not so much a blog as a remembrance note for my late Dad, Emanuel (22 Dec 1928-15 Jan 2004). It's been three years since I last saw him draw some of his last breaths. He passed away just mere minutes after our plane took off from Malta back to the US and, to this day, I still feel (and will continue feeling till the day I die!) his presence around me while at the same time I tearfully acknowledge his absence.

I miss his smile, his calming influence, his kindness, his common sense... he was a man among men but he did it silently, no fuss, no panic. He commanded respect wherever he went and people back home still talk very highly of him. He had integrity, poise and a wicked sense of humour when he chose to use it, but he could also be serious and understanding when the need arose.

When I lived in Malta (from the day I was born till the time I was a few months older than 33), I always lived with my parents and I regret the fact that, while I greatly respected my Dad, I was not as close to him as I should have been or as much as he would have liked me to. When I came to the US in June of 1999, we almost inevitably became closer, with regular phone calls once a week... so close in fact that, when he realized something was seriously wrong with his health, I was the first and (for quite a while) only member of the family he chose to relay the information to.

He said it was because I could keep a secret. This was partly true, but I think the real reason was because I was HERE and they were THERE and, out of respect for him, I could keep my mouth shut for a few more weeks or so if he asked me to (which he did and which I did!). As it happens, the main reason he gave (also true!) was that my brother was getting married in a month (this was Summer 2003) and he didn't want to spoil the party... fair enough. Me and my wife Misty had planned to visit in September of that year but he asked us to postpone to a later date, that way he will be healthy enough to be a good host. Unfortunately, that never happened. He took a turn for the better in late November/early December and I even talked to him over the phone on Christmas Day of that year. God, he sounded so SO weak, I told my wife... but he was joking and wished us well and said that he can't wait to see us again as soon as he got even better.

I think it was Sunday the 4th of January 2004 (so that's about a week and a half since I had last talked to him) when my brother John called us tearfully saying that Dad had taken a turn for the worse and that the doctors had given him roughly a month, maybe two to live. It's funny how you remember certain details related to specific events and occasions... I was listening to parts of Iron Maiden's 'Powerslave' album at the time of John's shock call and, to this day, as much as I like some of the tracks on it, I avoid it like the plague!

So anyway me and Misty started making plans to visit within the next two to three weeks... owning two businesses unfortunately doesn't allow you to just up and leave whenever you so wish (contrary to popular belief, you are only your own boss in CERTAIN aspects when you own a business!). It was I think Wednesday the 7th when John called us again saying that the general consensus now was that he'll be gone in a week! We left the next Saturday evening and were by his bedside Sunday afternoon (Malta are roughly six hours ahead of US time).

I can't deny that his face lit up as soon as he saw us walk in and for those brief hours that evening he was his usual self... alert, sharp and smart as ever. He was very weak, obviously, but the twinkle I detected in his eye was unmistakable. After that, it was all downhill, I'm afraid... he was in and out of it continuously and all the time I was there from Monday through Thursday morning I don't think he ever fully regained consciousness.

To this day, I feel that I should have given the man more, MUCH more, of my time. I should have been there for him when he wanted to tell me about a country's geography, or needed me to listen to a classical piece on the radio, or watch a political broadcast on TV with him. THAT is probably the one regret I have. I miss you so bad, Dad... thank you for being you and for making me who I am. Sorely missed, never forgotten... R.I.P., you beautiful soul.