Jan.23, 2009
Dear Mr. Vitalo
1400 Golf lane
Heaven
Last night I thought about you, again. I think about you just about every day of my life. Flashes of memories whiz past, and then I slow it down, taking time to remember. I remember the person I knew as a kid to be someone who had to be made in God’s eyes. There were times I wondered, how is it a man such as yourself could be so true ? I’m still in awe of you. So tell me Mr. Vitalo, how are you doing up there? Did God make a special place? Of course He had to. Knowing He has many mansions, I’m sure yours is decorated with golf bags, clubs, and shiny golf balls that sparkle when you hit a hole in one.
Oh Mr. Vitalo, I did go back to the house after you passed away. I sat with Mrs. Vitalo, and your daughter and met two grandchildren. As I came into the house I saw your chair was missing, and right away Mrs. Vitalo knew I was looking for it. She watched my face as I looked around and felt not only my heart breaking, but an emptiness envelop me. She looked sad, yet smiled. I felt her sadness, and promised myself not to cry. How could I let myself cry? Oh God, your house was so empty without you. But Mr. Vitalo, you left a life filled with wonderful people ,and there I sat before them, leaning now on the arm of a chair, as well as your wife‘s strength. Now it was as if I was sitting to your left. Before when I came to visit you and Mrs. V. I always sat across from you. It still hurts.
Now here I was sitting and talking with your wife and daughter trying so painfully to keep the well of water from my eyes, and stop the burning in my chest. Your daughter heard her son come down from a nap, and I watched him wipe away the sleep from his eyes, asking his mom about who I was. Then it hit, and I couldn’t hold it in any more. She said, well this is Nancy, she went to school where Grandpa was a principal. He just barely nodded and snuggled up to his mom. I felt my head lower as tears started to slide down, my heart crushing knowing I was in this house, and your wife sat so supportive and as I apologized, she said, it’s okay Nancy. Then your daughter also said, Nancy, you go ahead and cry, we’ve been crying for months.
Your wife sat where I usually sat when I came to visit. I know, I keep talking about the place we sat. She just looked at me, sad and yet waiting. I stopped, but sniffled like a baby. I just couldn’t get over the empty space, not the house, but that too. The space you left behind in everyone’s heart. How could your wife appear so calm? I was hurting for her. But you know all this don’t you. You know what a great woman your wife is. Mr. Vitalo, I stayed a little while and talked, but that chestful of hurt wouldn’t leave, and all I could think about was, why you? God didn’t need a golfer. He didn’t need a principal, teacher, father, husband, grandpa, friend, and neighbor. God has enough already. Why you? These things went through my mind as I sat with some of your family, but yet I remained quiet about how I felt. My eyes didn’t even want to look as Mrs. V. I knew she had to be so lonely without you. The two of you were a pair made in Heaven, and now she sat alone. Then waves of the rest of your family went through me losing their dad, their best friend, and the grandkids losing you. Too many people lost you. I questioned myself, wondering how they were getting through your leaving ? Suddenly it hit me. They all shared the same faith. The faith they were raised in. That’s what would get them through this painful time.
Then Mrs. V. spoke about how the family all worked together to make it a peaceful time, sharing memories, moving a bed into the living room. She showed me photos. We smiled and tears slipped past me again, almost losing control. She went on with the photos, showing me the grandkids coming to you, the kids leaning over you and all taking turns sitting at and on your bed. She told me how they made a short movie of all the family together. I saw one photo of her holding your hand, leaning over, giving you a kiss. But you knew all of that didn’t you, and you also knew you were leaving, and when. After all you told me. Remember? It was Good Friday.I woke up Good Friday Morning April, nineteen ninety-nine, too early. Sitting on my bed I could feel a wetness around my eyes. I got up, went to the kitchen and Jenny came out. Mom, what are you doing up so early? I asked her the same thing and her response was she heard me. So I told her. I told her about the dream; the way you called me to you to say good-bye. Even in my dream it was Good Friday and I was at your house with other people. You were lying in bed with a soft baby blue blanket, and a white sheet under that folded over the blanket. I was standing close by and you waved your left hand to me to come to you. As I stood closer you waved me down even closer, and
kissed me on the cheek, and said, I have to say good-bye. You closed your eyes, and it was then I woke up.
Jenny told me, mom you have to call the house and find out how he is. You know how you are with dreams. But I couldn’t, and told Jenny that I just couldn’t do that, not now. She pestered me saying, Mom won’t you be sorry if you don’t find out for sure? Yes, I would be sorry. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t bear to know he was gone, not for real. Something inside me felt I already said goodbye in my dream this Good Friday morning. and was too soon to do it again, and I knew they would call me. Mrs. Vitalo said they would call when the time was close, and knowing her, she wouldn’t go against what she said.
Jenny and I went about the day as usual doing whatever we would normally do, and still every once in a while she would say softly; mom, call, you know you want to. I just remained quiet. My own thoughts were enough. That night when I went to bed with my heart as heavy as sorrow could bear, my thoughts took me back to the first time I met him, and as tears quietly slipped down my face into the pillow, I went back to fifty-ninth street, To PS 140 and how I really met you.
But I don’t want to go into that now. All I think about is that Good Friday morning and how I just couldn’t pick up the phone. Later at your house I learned your daughter called but my phone was disconnected. That made sense as that’s how I was that day, disconnected. My heart, chest and eyes ached, not know yet knowing. You were too good to say good-bye to, and I just couldn’t bear the pain your wife and children would be in. I don’t think I’ll ever say good bye.
So long Mr. Vitalo, thank you, my children thank you too. I am because of you.
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