Mr. Nicholas F. Vitalo

      



This morning I felt like writing most of the day, and have blogged here and there, also tweeted, yet now I just feel a memory. A memory of Mr. Vitalo. It's the weather and knowing how much I wanted to just pop off and drive to New York last night. But I made a prior commitment earlier in the evening to a kid to have a visit with friends, and so I must be available.
      October is a wonderful time to travel, get out and ride your bike, take a drive, take pictures and think about love. Well It's always a good time to think about love. People who know me know all about Mr. Vitalo and I've written about him many times early in my blog. No matter how long it's been since I've seen him, it just doesn't feel that way. It feels fresh. The memories that is.
     At times I can still smell a slight hint of his cologne, but more than that, I hear his voice and I see his walk. I remember the dance, a dance I will never ever forget and will always cherish.
      In the quiet of daylight, a phone call shook my being so much that it felt like an earth quake. As I listened to his daughter tell me of his passing, I crumbled, alone in a small room. But as a person who is usually tries to remain calm, I contained my feelings, but remained sitting for some time. A few weeks later I went to see his wife, daughter and grandson.
     That awful emptiness shattered my insides like broken glass. I tried. I really tried to stay almost stoic. After all what right did I have to break down in front of his wife. But I did and it was she and his daughter who told me it was okay, that they cried enough. He left an emptiness that can't be described, but is surely felt by everyone he touched.
     Before I left that day I leaned from my car seat, reached down as I did other times when my daughter was present, and stole a little rock. Every visit to his home, I took a rock or rocks. My daughter thought it was kind of cute, but for me, in a way, it's adds a bit more to the memories. I have those rocks on the kitchen shelf, one in my car, in  basket and one on my bedside table, and when I leave or enter a room, I softly touch that rock and say, Thank you Mr. Vitalo. You were the person in my young life that made it worth it, made me think I had things to look forward to.
       You Mr. Vitalo, were the biggest rock of all.