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Grief

A eulogy for my father

angel looking down on book in hands

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…

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Grief and Loss

The dream that consoled me

Here’s one for those who enjoy finding hidden meanings in dreams. A few weeks ago, I had a dream about my mom. She came in through the back door of my house and stood on the landing leading to the kitchen. I was doing something at the sink — maybe preparing something for a family gathering. I was conscious of other people in the house — my kids, Paul, my dad — but they were not involved in the moment. I kept doing what I was doing as I turned to look at her. She was young and beautiful, clothed in a 1950’s style red dress — fitted waistline, flared at the bottom. Her black hair was short, framing her face with soft wavy curls. A broad smile made her face almost glow. She moved toward me to kiss me, but I stopped her cold. Don’t kiss me, Mom.…

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Family

Remembering Paul on his birthday

Paul would have turned 70 today. I’d like to think we would have thrown him a party with family and friends, showering him with gifts and messages of love. Instead, I write through the reality that he isn’t numbering his years anymore. He is on the other side, in the presence of God, where time isn’t marked and his often-troubled spirit is finally free. No more pain, sorrow or tears. ——- Last year on his birthday, he was about six months into his battle against the cancer that, after more than two years of hibernation, had awakened famished and hell-bent on taking over more of his body. Uncontrolled pain in his side was a constant companion, interrupting his sleep night after night. The chemotherapy was taking its toll, zapping his strength and, sometimes, his will to fight. My journal entry for that day reads: “Paul’s 69th birthday. I am…

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