My Poppa Bear loved music, but especially anything sung by Tony Bennett. When I heard he’d died yesterday, all I could think about was that when the Tony Bennett/Lady Gaga album “Cheek to Cheek” came out, Poppa listened to it all the time. We bought him a CD boombox player and he kept it by his recliner chair on his Florida room sun porch. He played that CD over and over.

“Ever hear of this Lady Gaga?” he’d ask. “What kind of name is that? Well, who cares? She sings great.”

His favorite tune on the CD was “I Won’t Dance.” I can hear him humming it, if I listen hard enough. And I will.

Father’s Day 2023 was the second one without my dad, but the first one for my husband as we welcomed our son in November 2022. Each day that passes reminds me that my dad is no longer with us, however, on Father’s Day I felt a comforting feeling as I know that my dad is extremely proud of my husband. My husband cares for us and protects us just like my father did.

My dad would never want me to sulk and cry on a day that highlights the importance of fathers. He wants me to embrace the moment. I love you Tata!

On a rainy day in May we all got together in a room full of broken hearts, however the room did not feel gloomy, it was filled with loving and compassionate energy. My son, my son-in-law, and my dear friend watched as my daughter took the stage to share a story about our Stasiu — my loving husband and her dear father. He made our lives simple and easy. Jessica stood brave and tall as she shared her sweet memories. We are all very proud of her strength and we know her dad is beaming with pride.

Thank you Martha for this project. It has provided us all with an outlet to start the healing process. We will always be grateful and we will continue to share our loving memories.

You wouldn’t know it from all the rain but it is summer and weekends at the beach. Our grandchildren are growing and now I am making sandcastles and jumping waves with them. It doesn’t seem that long ago that YOU were the one digging in the sand with our children and teaching them how to ride the waves.

The years went really fast but I always thought there would be more time and you would be digging sand castles with the grandchildren. You were a King Island Jones Beach no. 6 parking lot guy but adopted the Jersey shore as your second home because you knew how much the sound of the waves was my peaceful place.

My best friend, my son John, age 52, died Dec. 14, 2021. John suffered with severe rheumatoid arthritis, so his immune system was comprised. We hadn’t seen each other for months due to Covid-19.

We’d talk and text and he always stressed washing hands, masking up, keeping distance from others end not dining out. Yet he knew someone who laughed off Covid as just the “flu” and refused to mask up.

John contracted Covid and developed a high fever. He ended up on the Covid ward at a local hospital in Arlington Heights.

My heart ached to see him, hug him and tell him all would get better. That’s what moms do, right? I was dead wrong. John returned from the hospital and developed a secondary infection. His cough was horrendous

He was eager to return to work, to life. But on the evening of Dec. 14 he had a seizure; then a massive heart attack, Covid related. At the hospital as he lay lifeless on the gurney with a tube in his nose and another in his mouth, I scream-cried. I went into shock. Not my son!

I cry on a daily basis. I touch his baby picture and shake. My life will never be the same. Folks, wake up. This isn’t a political hoax. This is about being humane.

I’m begging you. Think smart. Be smart. Please. Hug your family daily. Tell them you love them. Our lives changed in a heartbeat for the worst.

I wrote this story and submitted it to the Daily Herald Newspaper in my home town, Arlington Heights, IL. They published it on Valentine’s Day, Feb. 14, 2022. I’ve heard from many old and new friends after reading “our story”, our pain.

I wrote the following article in John’s obituary:
John you are the love of my life. You took a piece of my heart with you. I remember your hugs, laughter, and the day you carried me from one room to another saying “Now when you behave yourself you can join us!” I laughed so hard I cried. That’s when you nicknamed me Fred. I am proud you were my son. My gift from God. Rest in peace. No more RA pain. I know you’re seeing the grandparents. No fighting! Love forever. P.S. I learned so much from you. You are my gift from God.

John’s birthday was Aug. 18th so in the following months I purchased several balloons and wrote “love notes” on them telling him how much I missed him on a daily basis but carry him in my heart and soul. I brought the balloons to the local park where we’d meet for suppers during Covid, keeping our social distance. As I released the balloons I sang Happy Birthday and told him stories of the day he was born.

The story that made him laugh many, many year later was what actually happened on the day of his birth. A young RN walked into my hospital room telling me they’d be bringing the babies in soon for their first feeding. I was a wreck but so worn out from labor and lack of sleep. Once he was in my arms I smiled like a Cheshire cat only to have another RN scream and race into the room telling me LOUDLY, “Don’t feed him, he’s not yours!” Yep, they’d given me the wrong baby!!!!

When John was in his “terrible two’s” I’d say, “You don’t look like me, you don’t sound like me, you are going back kiddo” all in jest. His retort was “You’re a bad mommy!” Years later we’d laugh and laugh with tears of happiness streaming down our faces. I’d give anything to hold John in my arms today, just one more time. I don’t think I’d be able to let him go.

I have a shirt he wore, locks of hair from his very first hair cut and a baby book of memories to carry me thru. But it hurts deeply every single minute of every single day!

Folks, look your loved ones straight into their eyes, even your pets, and tell them how much you love and cherish them. Every single day. Life is short.

Thank you for reading my thoughts, my heart and memories, my story.