Blue Moon
Saying goodbye.
With him here, we could act like kids.
Loose-limbed and carefree.
We could pretend a small part of us was still young.
Until now.
Now he’s gone, and we have to be our very best grown-up selves.
My father-in-law.
He’s ninety-one! We’d announce this proudly to anyone who’d listen, as if we had anything to do with a heart that beats for so long.
Ninety-one years, yet the last five days felt like an eternity. I guess that’s what happens when you watch someone’s light dwindle. The clock ticks more slowly.
We thought he’d live forever. We thought there was always more time for another story, another joke, another twinkle in his blue eyes.
The first time I met him, he was sitting at the kitchen table in the house in New York – the one with the woodpile in the back yard and pictures of the family on the walls.
It was Sunday dinner. I walked in and said hello. I was nervous. I was in love with his son.
Fast-forward almost thirty years.
Our son Charlie. A 20-year old college student.
He made it home with a few days to spare.
For twenty-seven hours, he sat in the hospital room.
He lifted the straw so his grandfather may take a sip of water.
He played Frank Sinatra on his phone.
He talked to him about baseball.
As one voice weakened, the other grew stronger.
At first, I worried he should be studying for the end of the semester - preparing for final exams, not listening to the doctor explain hospice care.
But watching my dark-haired son, I realized.
There is life.
And then there is life.
And for one single moment, everything I ever I wanted to know came true.
Today, we say goodbye.
The man who shaped the man with whom I built my life.
The leader of the band.
He is gone now, yet we see him in the most unexpected places.
The bottle of wine in the back of the refrigerator, made with the grapes he crushed himself.
An errant Tupperware lid, left over from a container of biscotti pressed into our hands.
Blue Moon on the radio, the smell of freshly cut wood, a silhouette in twilight after the ninth inning.
Grandfather.
Grandson.
He is gone, and still the sun rises.
It rises because it doesn’t know what else to do.
It rises because everything must come to an end, no matter how sad, broken, restless, unsure we are.
For now, we are all of these things.
In time, we will understand. Even the darkest night ends with light.
Until then, we will remember the man who made us kids.
Dearly, we will miss him.
Dearly, we will miss ourselves.
Wow. What a prolific article, Ms. Cariello! Thanks ever so much for sharing about your father-in-law, your son Charlie, and yourself of course. It’s such a pleasure to hear about you and your family, the intricacies of life, especially when altered at a moment’s notice. I know exactly how you feel because I have lost many family members in my life. So yes indeed, I had to say my goodbyes to every single member of my family except for my aunt and uncle, who are fortunately still on this earth. One of them, my aunt, is in my life, so she is the closest family member, no question about it. My uncle lives in Ethiopia, and has been here for a number of years. I am simply thankful and grateful that I still get to have current moments of togetherness with my aunt, at the very least.
Much appreciated and much respect, Ms. Cariello! 🥰🙏🏽✌🏽🤩❤️
Beautiful farewell. I'm so sorry for your family's loss.