Category

Grief

Category

Journaling about grief four years later

Journal Entry: Saturday, May 22, 2021 Happy Birthday to my dear husband, Paul Kwasniewski, who would be 74 years old today. I wish he were out here on the back porch sitting next to me. If he were still alive, we probably would have gone out to breakfast and planned to share dinner with the girls and Joe and his family. As it is, Em and I talked about sharing dinner while writing down the many quirky sayings he often used that reflected his great sense of humor and made us laugh, and all the more now in his absence. It has been more than four years since he left us. When people ask me how grief affects my life now, the best response I can offer is that the overall malaise that hovered like a dense cloud cover on an otherwise sunny day has lifted. But grief still comes…

A eulogy for my father

Following is the eulogy I wrote and presented at my father’s funeral on December 7, 2019. Although it was written to be spoken, I hope you can hear the tone with which it was delivered. My father, Joseph Amicangelo, was born on January 14, 1922, in the small village of Pacentro in the Abruzzo region of Italy. He was the youngest of four children born to his parents, Caesare Amicangelo and Carolina Lalama. He is the brother of the late Carlo Amicangelo, Philomena Pompeo and Louis Amicangelo. He was married to my mom, the late Rose Petix, for 61 years. His devoted daughters include Linda (Ismael) Rodriguez, Laura Thurman, Carolina (Franco) Greco, and me, JoAnn (the late Paul Kwasniewski) Amicangelo. He was the proud grandfather of Angela (Anthony) Maicki, Jennifer (Jamie) Thiede, Marisa Greco, Matthew Rodriguez, Zachary (Katie) Amicangelo, Lisa (Steve) Nazoyan, Rachel Rodriguez, Gino Greco, Emilie Kwasniewski and Elise…

Worst day of my life

Today I am honored to share with you an essay written by a young woman who is near and dear to my heart. She is 17 years young and a junior in high school. She wrote this descriptive piece for an Honors English class assignment. I don’t know what grade her teacher gave it, but I give it an A++. I suspect you will, too. Yesterday By Madeline Nickles Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I woke up the morning of this horrid day, my eyes red and swollen from the night before, my silk pillowcase still damp from the unyielding tears that just wouldn’t seem to stop flowing. Looking around my sister’s room, I grimace as the blinding morning sun pokes through her curtains like an outstretched hand. I see my sister, Abby, still fast asleep on her bed, blissfully unaware of the new day mercilessly attempting…

The worst thing to offer a grieving heart

There is so much in this article by Michael Morgan that resonates with me about the grieving heart. Morgan is a man longing to help his wife as she grieves the sudden loss of her mother. She has questions and he wants to offer her answers, but he has the good sense not to. While they masquerade as the desire to ease her pain, of course answers are more about easing mine. A means of pulling her out of the dark without getting my hands dirty. Being present is being vulnerable. This man gets it. He understands that, though grief is a solitary journey, it doesn’t have to be walked alone. He steps into the darkness with her, offering comfort by his willingness to be present. Sometimes, the worst thing to offer a grieving heart is an answer. If someone has been sitting in the dark, the most painful thing…

Celebrating his birthday when he’s gone

I woke up yesterday morning with pain in my sinuses and an ache in my jaw. I knew if I didn’t get up and take some medication right then, a full-blown headache would soon knock me down for the count. With my eyes barely open, I shuffled into the kitchen to swallow two Excedrin capsules. I grabbed some ice packs from the freezer for my neck and head and shuffled back to bed. Still groggy from not enough sleep the night before, it took me a while to figure out what day it was. Tuesday, May 22. Paul’s birthday. I’d been anticipating the day ever since I turned the calendar over to May. Or was it the month before when I wished he was here to celebrate my birthday with me? Yet, in all that time, I hadn’t thought about what I’d do on his special day. I mean, what…