poppyac.jpgMy grandparents lived in an apartment New York City while we were out on the Island. They would visit every weekend, and take us during school breaks. It was never ending the love and affection showered upon us by our grandparents.

Growing up I did not have a father. My real dad is a coward that abandoned my sisters and me when I was five. My Poppy encompassed everything you could want in a dad. He was strong, handy around the house and knew when us girls were just going plain crazy. Plus he was a detective on the NYC Police Department which meant you were not getting away with anything because he knew what you were up to before you knew what you were up too.

He was a die hard Yankee fan. I remember how he would set the black and white TV outside on the front stoops and pull up a lawn chair to watch the game on a warm summer night. He loved to whistle. I can recall every word to the song he would sing when brushing his teeth.

The ol’ family toothbrush, the ol’ family toothbrush the ol’ family toothbrush that hung in the sink. First it was mudda’s, then it was fadda's, then it was sisters and now it is mine.

My sisters and I would always screech at the top of our lungs when he would play FEE FI FOE FUM.

Seven years ago today my Poppy passed away. Seven years. I cannot believe so much time has passed, yet I can recall every emotion of when he passed like it happened hours ago. My sisters, my cousin and I were leaving the Island to get to the city because my Mom called to say he took a turn for the worse.  I was sitting in the front seat of my sisters car with my cell phone on my lap lighting a cigarette. I had taken one pull of the cigarette when the phone started ringing. I answered and all my mother said was he is gone. Her voice was almost to weak to speak. I started to scream into the phone, No. over and over. NO god damit.

A part of me died that day with him, as it did with so many of us in my family. The irony of it all is that God called my Poppy home on my fathers birthday, February 15th. My Poppy’s birthday was on February 17th.

There is not a day that does not go by that I don’t think of my Poppy and wonder if he can see his great grandson’s. If he can see that I finally grew up and realized that life is all about family and nothing else.

The cemetery were he was put to rest is about 45 minutes from home, I have never been there.  It is still something I am not ready to face. Time does not heal all wounds.

I miss you.

*This was the last picture taken of my Poppy and me. We had gone to Atlantic City a few months prior to his death. I was making a silly face because my little cousin was taking the picture.