Sixteen years ago today, my father died. It was a Sunday, just after Father’s Day. I wasn’t supposed to be home that day, but I had gotten sick the night before. That morning, I still lay in bed. Papà came to check in on me, promising me a dinner of my favorite pastina, guaranteed to brighten my spirits.
That’s who my father was at his core: a realistic, but always optimistic. He could find the proper perspective, the wonder in the everyday, and the humor in the absurd. He was one of those people who brightened a room when he entered it.
On the day he left us, my world darkened. [Read more…]
