My father was an Italian born, American who became a decorated WWII Army sergeant. Hard as nails when it came to politics and his love for our country, he met my mother in New York right before the war and told her on their first date that he was going to marry her.
And while on a three-day Army leave, he did marry her and they shared a binding heartfelt love that endured many hardships. My father would often say that while he was in the trenches in the Philippines, he never feared for his life. He always knew that he would be coming home and that heâ€™d successfully dodged many bullets, but the one injury he had trouble withstanding was the loneliness that constantly surrounded him. The separation from my mother seemed almost unbearable.
And shortly after their 50th wedding anniversary and a lifetime of devoted love, my father passed on leaving us with many stories and beautiful memories. No one could make a person laugh harder than my father. He had a flair for storytelling that kept everyone in his presence, enthralled.
And after my mother passed on, I retrieved his little black book, this binder that Iâ€™d always wanted for myself. In it, there were more than two-dozen poems my father had penned to my mother while serving time in the Army. Written in his own hand and dated, these poems are his legacy to our family.
This was one of two poems that we read at momâ€™s eulogy that speak of their separation at that time.
Dated: April 29, 1941 TWO DAYS Two days weâ€™ve been apart, my love Two days that seemed like ages Two days of loneliness Iâ€™ve known In slow and painful stages.
Two days of rain, of dismal fog Of clouds up in the blue Two days. Two nights. Iâ€™ve been like this Without the love from you.
Two days, two weeks, or centuries It really does not matter For soon will come the moment when All of my woes will scatter
Iâ€™ve served my time in loneliness And now at liberty Iâ€™ll fly right over to your side And give my love to thee.
My father was an intelligent man with a quick-wit and a sweetly sentimental side that he would always show his family. Sadly, he never saw me publish my first book. He never knew of my writing success. But I remedied that from book one. His name appears in all my stories in some shape or form, concealed in unique ways as a tribute to my love for him. Heâ€™s always with me.
Charlene, this story was so moving…I’ve been meaning to tell you what a beautiful poet your father was. I understand the joy that comes from keeping him alive so tangibly in your books. What a great idea!
on February 22, 2006
That’s beautiful. And like Mary, I see where you get your talent, too. I also love that the first time your father met your mother, he knew they were meant for one another. Fate, destiny, kismet–so many of our stories prove they exist.
on February 22, 2006
Your story is very moving and I love your legacy to your father. Such a nice way to remember him.
on February 21, 2006
Now I where you got your talent from! I can’t get enough of all these true love stories.