6 FRIENDS

I knew one day I would have to let this out. I guess this is the explanation, the reason I changed. Some have told me I haven't been the same since my Dad died. It's not a very pretty or glamorous change. In fact, I'm not certain if it was for the good or bad yet, but I do know it happened. I've seen so much hurt these past few weeks amongst my friends, it's just kind of stirred all these emotions in my head. Last week's PodCast was pretty deep. Maybe my experience can help someone else understand that it is ok to let tragedy change you. It's ok to hurt. It's ok to let it out. Every holiday that passes it gets deeper. I just never seen it coming, none of us did. It all started the day I got the worst phone call of my entire life.

This would be a movie if I told my father's entire life here. Long story, as short as I can make it, he was a golden hearted human being. He grew up on Shrewsbury St, youngest of 12 siblings. 12? WTF...I always talked some crazy shit to him about being in the Mob. How did you not get in Dad? We would have had nothing to worry about? He would just laugh and say something about never being able to sleep again. He worked hard. He never really had all that great of luck other than the one time he hit the Mass Numbers game and won like 500$ which seemed like a million in the 80's lol I remember my family posing with the cash like we were never going to have to work again. We got a pretty bad ass TV that someone probably wouldn't even take off the sidewalk for free. We were all pretty grateful for it. it happened at the same time our living room TV shit the bed, so it was rather divine feeling. Ha. Shit the Bed. That was one of his favorite terms. When I tell you my Dad was literally my hero, I mean it. First of all him and my mother adopted me. When I came home to my parents I was 4months Old. No one even knows who the fuck had possession of me from the time I was born, till the time I got signed for, 4 months later. My mother recently said they felt bad for me when I got to them because I was in dirty clothes and looked like I came from an alley...at 4 months old. I mean for the fact that they rescued me from that situation in itself, I stay forever grateful, especially uncovering the turmoil of my biological family recently. I was literally gifted these people from above. From the time I was an infant, I had health problems. The Croup. The Motherfucking Croup! Has anyone else had this shit because it was scary as fuck when I was a kid. I would wake up in the middle of the night suffocating. That is not an exaggeration. I would literally wake up and not be able to breath. At the age of 5/6ish this would happen to me, always at night, and I vividly remember running and jumping on my parents bed, scaring the shit out of them but I went right to my Dad. I could always talk to my Dad with just looks. I knew what he was thinking most of the time, and vice versa. He could always tell when I was in trouble. He would pick me up and bring me to the bathroom sink or shower, and run a steam tent so my airway would open. Terror, Yep. I was ok every time though, my Dad gets the save. There was a quick minute when they brought me to a hospital for a Tuberculosis test, and my mom always told me that my Dad was so scared, when they found out the test was negative, he didn't say a word, he just picked me up and ran out of the hospital. He coached every sport I ever played. He was not the "My Kid's The Best" kind of coach either. In Fact, he told me many times not to get too big for my britches lol Always told me to be a good winner, be humble. He was a great coach, fair, wanted us to have fun while learning the game. The funny part was is that my dad was never overly athletic. But he was down to coach anything I did, and even encouraged me to get some of the other kids in the neighborhood involved who had absent fathers. He literally cared about the kids, That about wraps up the good part of this story...

We moved from Shrewsbury St when I was 12Years old. We moved to Webster Sq to have our own house. The house my mother lives in today still. The day we moved into that house the words I never wanted to come true came out of my father's mouth. He said, well kid, I'm never moving again. This is it. I'm not leaving here till 6 of my friends carry me out in a box. He meant it. He said it many times over the years and my reply would be, you don't have 6 friends lol To be fair, when I was bigger, he would taunt me and tell me to get healthy because I didn't have 6 friends that could carry me. Now you have to know my Dads humor, this was all said followed by hilarious laughs. It's just the real humor he had. He worked for Mercadante Funeral Home in his retirement days, I would come by the house and he would be reading the obituaries. I would taunt him often and ask if he was looking for work or friends lol He had no problem with death. At the time I was completely opposite. I have big time problems with death and dead bodies. Always did. Not him, he would always say he looked at it as a job, as work. He would get called in the middle of the night to go pick up the deceased and he made good money doing it. Years and years of him telling me I should have went to embalming school. Yea ok Dad, you can be the UnderTaker, I'm good. He found it comical but was definitely serious.

Tough. My Dad was an ox. Not sure if how, but he knew how to do absolutely everything. He could remodel a kitchen, change a light switch, fix doors, toilets, faucets, cars to a point...Just a beast, did everything on his own. He literally was healthier than me my entire life. I have an Uncle right now who is creeping in his mid 80's and same dude. Still wheel barreling cement, just old durable Italian workhorse genes. My dad was the same way. He believed in himself. He was responsible. He wasn't perfect. But healthy! If you asked me the day before he got diagnosed, I would have told you he was gonna live to be 100. He kept up with his doctor's and followed orders pretty thoroughly as my mother does now. She kept him inline and on top of things. Definitely his back bone. They always ate well, like square meals my whole life. He did smoke but I battled him his whole life on it to the point we almost threw down a couple times over it lol He also worked in machine shops but I'll tell you one thing, never in a million years did I think my Dad would catch the wrath he did. It's not a good story from here on out, but it's the explanation to anyone wondering about my change of path.

I got that call from my mother in May of 2018. They found cancer in your father Michael, and it's not operable, followed by some horrible tears that I'll never forget. I remember the feeling. I remember almost not believing it. I definitely didn't think it was going to go the way it did. At the time I was living in my office on James st, running my telemarketing business. My Dad would come pick me up everyday and drop me off so I could shower and then go back to work or live at the office. He stayed almost flawless till he had that fucking chemo but what do you do? Do you not take a chance? Of course, but it ruined him. I moved home to help my mother out because his exact words..."I don't want hospice in this fucking house" He wanted to die in his house. In his home, with his dignity surrounded by everything and everyone he loved. I was always close with my Dad but how close we got when he was on his way out, I will forever count that as my purpose and why God set me in these people's lives. I witnessed my Dad get so angry, he was just screaming at my poor mother and I know he told a few other people he didn't want to see them or talk to anyone. He would fight and fight with everyone, except for me. I could read his eyes, we communicated that way right to the very end, till he lost his wits. I was very grateful that I got the time with him that I did. I would come home at night sometimes and just sit with him and talk. Even when he couldn't. One night I just came home and made him get up out of the hospital bed in the living room and gave him a huge hug and just whispered thank you in his ear. Just for being my Dad. I thanked him for every time he coached me or saved me, but mainly just for being my Dad. It was honestly the most heartbreaking thing to watch, and I know that's not hard to believe but I have the ability to step out side the box and not look at it as his son, I looked at it like how the fuck is this fair? How did this man that lived his life the right way catch this wrath? Him and my mother saved two orphans. He took care of anyone elderly like no ones business. He was respectful and honest. Heart of Gold, How could it be? To watch the disappointment on his face was awful. When it started he was fighting hard, but depression set in. I don't even think I could finish this if I told the story of his last Xmas dinner, so Ill leave that for another time. It sucked, the happier we made him, the sadder he got if that makes sense. He just loved holidays, and family, an making memories. That's what most of his disappointment was but I told you already I knew what was on my Dads brain every second. His grand daughter. That was the killer. You have never seen a man more proud of his Grand Daughter. My Dad loved us but I swear he loved her more and that's more than OK. I'm eternally grateful that he at least got that time, because there was no chance in France he was getting a grand child from me lol I noticed him staring off into the nowhere sometimes and I knew. He was disappointed that he was going to miss her grow up from down here. Now I know he's still watching but that's what really did him in. The depression.

Now here's where I just explain how bad this fucking disease is and what it did to us. He hit the ground running with stage 4 pancreatic. First thing they told us is don't look up diagnosis on the internet. They wouldn't give him a timeframe. All we knew is that it was bad. He started getting more tired as time went on. It went so fast that I only shaved his head once. The fucked part is that, we realized the chemo wasn't doing shit but making him sick, so when we stopped it, his hair started growing back. He had a full head of silver hair when he passed. But let me tell you what a mindfuck that disease. One day it's like he's getting better, next day not sure if he's gonna make it. My mother and I basically did the job of Doctor's and Nurse's throughout his last days. No sleep for anyone, because he didn't accept not one time that he was bed ridden. He kept trying to get up and do things. My mother and I were physically carrying this man back and forth to the bathroom. Team effort. She couldn't have done it without me or vice versa. I have never had more respect for a human being after what I saw my mother endure through all of this. Woman of Steel. If anyone ever wondered why I was single till my Dad died, then all of a sudden started finding these whack jobs to date, it was because I suddenly realize that I want someone by myside like my mother was there for my Dad. I saw how important that was. Fucking Cancer.

So the day my Dad passed, February 16th, 2019, was a shit show but there was a sliver lining to the entire thing. Those people came there and took an hour of our time to show us how to handle the end, then proceeded to not answer the phone or call us back when the time ended. I lost my shit in typical fashion and I'm fairly certain the lady that came to out to the house 3 fucking hours after he passed away will remember me for the rest of her life lol Three hours. Three hours I sat there with my Dad after he passed. We all did. And I mentioned previous that I've never been comfortable being around bodies or deceased. Well. It all changed. Yes it was my Dad but I didn't know how that would hit me. Now I know I mentioned earlier that my Dad said he wasn't leaving till 6 of his friends carried him out. Well Hospice left and the funeral home couldn't come get him till they did whatever the fuck they do. Mercadante's Funeral Home, his co-workers and friends pulled up and stepped out of the hearse. I was so protective of my father's body, I helped them wrap him up from the bed, to the gurney and long story not so short I guess, there were 6 friends there to carry him out. Lead by me. I know he was proud of that. I will never forget the image of a lot that happened, but I will never forget the image of that hearse taking my Dad away. 6 Friends.