Alfie's light was too bright to let it burn out so quickly. We offer this memorial page as a space to commune, to remember, to laugh and to carry on his life.
Below is a... see moreAlfie's light was too bright to let it burn out so quickly. We offer this memorial page as a space to commune, to remember, to laugh and to carry on his life.
Below is a passage from Alfie's son Dominick -
"Dad passed away yesterday. It was painless and quick. Hooked up to all kinds of machines in the hospital, tubes coming out of all kinds of places around his body, only a day after his sixty-eighth birthday and three days after celebrating forty-three wonderful years married to my mother, anyone would have understand and accepted if he was depressed, angry or even in denial at his predicament. But that wasn’t him.
He was happy.
He was so full of love, of pure joy all the way until the last moment. He was so content, so amazed at the great ride that had been his life. While I’m trying to keep a deluge from leaving my eyes, he’s still cracking jokes and making us all laugh.
I miss him so much. I sit in his living room recliner and shift through the various chicken-scratch hand written notes nearby and try to absorb every last twist and turn from his pen to the page. The sun cascades through the windows and it feels so good on my tired bones. I miss walking into that living room and seeing him in that same position, recliner all the way back, the sun draped across his body like a blanket. You could see his eyes closed and that wide, easy smile shining across the room.
That memory is only from a few days ago. It’s strange how quickly things can change. His life ends and ours continue trudging onward. He wouldn’t want us to dwell in sadness. He’d want a celebration of life, he’d want fun, he’d want a party.
I’m getting there, Dad, just give me a moment.
In the meantime, I’ll have a Budweiser (his beer of choice), I’ll sit in the sun, I’ll listen to some Zappa or Tom Waits or maybe the birthday playlist I made for him that he never had a chance to enjoy, I’ll focus on his endless, all-encompassing love, and I’ll try to get some sleep tonight. Love you Dad."
For the moment, a small memorial will be hosted at The Grillo Farm for a very small contingent of family. In the spring, we will celebrate his life with a larger memorial gathering. less
Alfie's light was too bright to let it burn out so quickly. We offer this memorial page as a space to commune, to remember, to laugh and to carry on his life.
Below is a passage from Alfie's son Dominick -
"Dad passed away yesterday. It was painless and quick. Hooked up to all kinds of... see moreAlfie's light was too bright to let it burn out so quickly. We offer this memorial page as a space to commune, to remember, to laugh and to carry on his life.
Below is a passage from Alfie's son Dominick -
"Dad passed away yesterday. It was painless and quick. Hooked up to all kinds of machines in the hospital, tubes coming out of all kinds of places around his body, only a day after his sixty-eighth birthday and three days after celebrating forty-three wonderful years married to my mother, anyone would have understand and accepted if he was depressed, angry or even in denial at his predicament. But that wasn’t him.
He was happy.
He was so full of love, of pure joy all the way until the last moment. He was so content, so amazed at the great ride that had been his life. While I’m trying to keep a deluge from leaving my eyes, he’s still cracking jokes and making us all laugh.
I miss him so much. I sit in his living room recliner and shift through the various chicken-scratch hand written notes nearby and try to absorb every last twist and turn from his pen to the page. The sun cascades through the windows and it feels so good on my tired bones. I miss walking into that living room and seeing him in that same position, recliner all the way back, the sun draped across his body like a blanket. You could see his eyes closed and that wide, easy smile shining across the room.
That memory is only from a few days ago. It’s strange how quickly things can change. His life ends and ours continue trudging onward. He wouldn’t want us to dwell in sadness. He’d want a celebration of life, he’d want fun, he’d want a party.
I’m getting there, Dad, just give me a moment.
In the meantime, I’ll have a Budweiser (his beer of choice), I’ll sit in the sun, I’ll listen to some Zappa or Tom Waits or maybe the birthday playlist I made for him that he never had a chance to enjoy, I’ll focus on his endless, all-encompassing love, and I’ll try to get... less
