One more day with my dad James R. Dowden It would be comforting to me if I could spend “one more day” with my father, who died in February of this year. To be able to indulge him with a few of the “little” luxuries he so desperately missed enjoying during the last 9 years of his life would be my gift of love from the heart. My dad’s car was the greatest icon of his independence. I would get him behind the wheel and let him savor that feeling of being in control once again. We would drive out to the ranch where his granddaughter rides and let him witness firsthand her passion for horses that she obviously inherited from him. It would make me so proud to be able to bring joy to both their faces. I would treat him to all the smoked meat, sausage, bacon and salty foods that he so dearly loved to eat but which were disallowed in his diet. My dad’s love for chocolate would find him holding the biggest box of chocolates ever seen and we’d devour them together, he all the soft ones and me the caramels. We would fly to Las Vegas, where everybody knew his name, and he’d play the slot machines. I’d take him by the hand and we’d walk the ‘strip’. And he would reminisce. As our day came to an end, I would hold him close and inhale the smell that was uniquely his. I would squeeze his hand, kiss his forehead and whisper with love: thank you – thank you for being my dad. Maureen Dowden-Talarico v
If I had one more day I would like to take this opportunity to thank PANORAMITALIA for giving me this opportunity to express myself. On January 20th, 2008, an early morning phone call changed my life. My dad passed away at the early age of 71 years old. He was healthy and loved life. Unfortunately, a massive heart attack took his life. If given a chance to spend one more day with him – it would be simple… We would start off by calling one another very early in the morning with our cell phones… OH YA!! He loved his CELL PHONE!!!!! My dad would show up at my house . I would then wash and wax his car (the works!)
Simple Pleasures - Stephanie Castelli When my mother, Barbara Segeleski, was diagnosed with a brain tumor at the age of 48, she embarked upon a journey to teach all around her to slow down their frenetic pace of life and enjoy the simple pleasures. Battling cancer for two years, she adapted to drastic change with grace and perseverance. Rather than dive into a dark abyss of self-pity, she seized the opportunity to spend hours talking to loved ones and passing down memories and wisdoms of her day.There was nothing we couldn’t share; and thankfully so, for when she passed, though filled with a sense of profound sadness, I never felt as though those years could have been passed more joyfully. What remains now is a yearning to once again hear the air punctuated with her unique voice, to fall into tune with the rhythm of her laughter, and to feel the warmth and protection of her embrace. When faced with losing someone of tremendous importance, it is only natural to want to coax back the hands of time and have “one more day”. Given the chance though, I probably would forgo it, for the feelings of loss that would ensue once the day had passed, would catapult me into the same exhaustive grief felt when she died. Instead I prefer to relive my mother with every passing day through memories and the way that I live my life, the philosophy of which was molded through her influence. I take comfort in these simple pleasures and the fortune I feel in having had such a beautiful presence in my life; someone I am proud and honored to call my mother. v Even armor - all the tires. After that he would love to go on a joy ride wth me to show it off . We would pick up my momand return to my home. And then my two sisters and their families would join us for a wonderful lunch. He was a proud father, husband and grandfather of five grandchildren. I would probably stand up before the meal and let everyone know how much I love him. The reason behind that, I feel today, we do not say those amazing words enough.We all miss him a lot. But we strongly feel his presence among us. I love you pops. Sincerely, Joe DIcarlo v
Life Stories
In memory of my hero... my Dad, Antonio Manocchio I often think of what I would do if I had just one more day with my Dad. I start by thinking that I would want to do something really special for him, something that would create a memory so extraordinary that it would last a lifetime. Quickly, however, I realize that of the countless memories I have of my father, the ones that are nearest and dearest to my heart, are the ones where we would just sit, enjoying a good cup of espresso coffee, talking about everything and sometimes just nothing at all. My Dad was the eternal “storyteller”. No one could tell a story with such detail and passion like my Dad. His eyes would light up and sparkle like the most beautiful of Christmas trees. His wartime stories and time spent with his buddies were by far the most enthralling of all. I was always grateful for the stories he shared with me as they allowed me to get to know the remarkable man he had been, before becoming the selfless and doting Dad that I grew up with and adored. We all have our own story and I’m sure everyone will agree that we all think that ours is the most painful. For one to understand my pain, one would have to have known my Dad. He was a truly remarkable man, a good son, a brave soldier, a loyal husband, the best father and grandfather in the world. What can be said of a man who at the age of 21 embarked for the military service and immediately was caught up in a war that had no sense or purpose, a war that stole 5 years of his young adult life. I have no doubt that his experiences in that war would later shape him into the magnificent human being that he became and the man that I had the privilege of calling “Papà”. One more day to tell him how very much I loved him, how proud I was to be his daughter, how I will never forget him. One more day to tell him that he was my hero, my anchor, my strength, my everything. One more day to tell him that if I’m half the parent he was, I will have made him proud. One more day to tell him, as Robert Munsch did so eloquently in “Love you forever”. “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living, My Daddy you’ll be”. Just one more day… Anna Manocchio v
Déjà un an que tu m’as quitté. Si tu savais comme c’est difficile de continuer le chemin sans toi. Tous les jours je pense à toi et j‘aimerais te dire comme je t’aimais. Tu étais si bonne pour moi, nos enfants et nos petits-enfants que tu adorais tant. Tu savais me rendre si heureux. J’ai tout gardé profondement dans mon coeur sans jamais te le dire. Et si aujourd’hui je pouvais passer encore une journée avec toi, je te redemanderais en mariage. Si nous avions pu fêter notre 50 ième anniversaire, je t’aurais offert la bague en diamant que tu désirais tant. Je t’aurais aussi déclaré tout l‘amour que j’avais pour toi. Je te remercirais pour la belle famille que tu m’as donné. Je voudrais tant que tu saches que je ne peux pas t’oublier. Reposes en paix mon amour et gardes-moi une place à tes côtés jusqu’à ce que je vienne te rejoindre à mon tour. Ton marie, Carlo Tarasco
Domenico Mediati 1927 - 2007 Carissimo nonno Domenico, che farei per averti qui con me. Sei partito meno di un anno fà e sentiamo ancora la tua mancanza. Quante volte sei stato male e ti dicevo di non abbandonare perché dovevi ballare una tarantella con me quando mi sarei sposata. Pensavi che ti prendessi in giro peró quando sei partito sono rimasta molto delusa di non poter più realizzare quel mio sognio. Il tempo arriva a grandi passi nonno, però tu non sarai sulla pista da ballo con me. Se avessi un’altra possibilità di starti vicino, sceglierei quella giornata gioiosa per averti con me. Sarebbe perfetto; tutti felici, ballando, mangiando e ridendo... la Tua famiglia per l’ultima volta riunita in torno a te. Vorrei dirti quanto non cambierei per niente al mondo il tempo che ti ho dedicato quando stavi male, perché mi hai fatto conoscere il lato dolce e sensibile in te che non avrei mai conosciuto. Abbiamo creato un legame fra di noi che nessuno potrà mai cancellare ai miei occhi. Presto verrà il giorno che mi sposerò e la tarantella è riservata per te nonnino. Anche se non è possibile avere un’altro giorno con te, ti aspettero, sperando che sarai sulla pista da ballo a ballare con me. Ti voglio un mucchio di bene, tua nipotina Anna Innamorato. v
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