Tallboy
08-07-2005, 12:31 PM
A few close friends are aware of this, and to them I apologize for recanting my tale. For the collective, I share this with you in the hopes it will make me feel better talking about it, and to open the blinds on one window of my life.
A week ago today, at 9:09 AM, my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize, and figured it was a Trilogy install question. I smiled as I answered and said "Hello?". On the other end was a deep male voice, crying his eyes out. I knew in a second it was my cousin Brian. After about 15 seconds of this, he blurted out "Uncle Bill and Mike Adanti were killed in a car crash last night in Italy". http://fox61.trb.com/news/local/hc-ap-adanti-killed-0731,0,2108605.story?coll=hc-headlines-local They had been there on Vacation for two weeks, and were headed to the airport for thier flight home.
My voice cracking, I tried to get as much information as I could. This was bad. Real bad. I finished my abbreviated conversation with my cousin [who I grew up with] and hung up the phone. My exceptionally beautiful wife, Jennifer, bore silent witness to the whole conversation. I knew what was next, but just couldn't do it. I had to tell my Dad. With hands that were shaking too badly to dial a phone, I handed it to Jennifer and said, "Call my Dad, and tell him I'm coming over". [He lives 1 mile away.] She did, and I grabbed a cold beer and drove over there. I was crying like a baby and scared to death. This was my Godfather, and he meant the world to me.
Walking into his house, I came up the stairs and said "Sit down". My Dad started at me. I re-iterated my command. He continued to stare. I said "Dad, this is really bad, sit down. Upon hearing the news he was inconsolable for 5 minutes. [Besided my uncle dying, Mike Adanti was a close freind of the family.] My Mom, upon hearing her husband of 39 years "lose it", came rushing out of the bedroom. Mom got the same command and news. You can imagine the rest. I spent the rest of my day on the phone with family/freinds, and every few minutes would shut the door to my office and escape to cyberspace, and read every thread I could find here, and reply if I could think of something intelligible to say, just to feel something else-even if it was nothing at all. Thanks, all of you, for being there.
I saw my Uncle Bill when I was in Connecticut in March. The last words we spoke were "I love you, Uncle Bill" and "I love you, too, Charlie." [ my immediate family refers to me as Charles, Charile, etc.] Then, as I was walking out the door of his law office on Wakelee Avenue, he shouted out "Call me in advance next time you're in town, we'll go out to lunch!" I replied "you got it!", and closed the door. That was the last time I ever saw him.
So, first thing tomorrow, it's off to Connecticut for a wake on Tuesday and a burial on Wednesday. Just me and my Dad. This will not be pretty. I will, however, afford myself some "me" time, and get together will my friend Billy. We'll hang out at Dunkin Donuts for a few hours and shoot the breeze, and this will help keep me sane.
So, the next time you see an old friend/relative who means a lot to you, tell 'em they mean a lot to you, ok? You just may not have another chance.
Thanks for listening.
A week ago today, at 9:09 AM, my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize, and figured it was a Trilogy install question. I smiled as I answered and said "Hello?". On the other end was a deep male voice, crying his eyes out. I knew in a second it was my cousin Brian. After about 15 seconds of this, he blurted out "Uncle Bill and Mike Adanti were killed in a car crash last night in Italy". http://fox61.trb.com/news/local/hc-ap-adanti-killed-0731,0,2108605.story?coll=hc-headlines-local They had been there on Vacation for two weeks, and were headed to the airport for thier flight home.
My voice cracking, I tried to get as much information as I could. This was bad. Real bad. I finished my abbreviated conversation with my cousin [who I grew up with] and hung up the phone. My exceptionally beautiful wife, Jennifer, bore silent witness to the whole conversation. I knew what was next, but just couldn't do it. I had to tell my Dad. With hands that were shaking too badly to dial a phone, I handed it to Jennifer and said, "Call my Dad, and tell him I'm coming over". [He lives 1 mile away.] She did, and I grabbed a cold beer and drove over there. I was crying like a baby and scared to death. This was my Godfather, and he meant the world to me.
Walking into his house, I came up the stairs and said "Sit down". My Dad started at me. I re-iterated my command. He continued to stare. I said "Dad, this is really bad, sit down. Upon hearing the news he was inconsolable for 5 minutes. [Besided my uncle dying, Mike Adanti was a close freind of the family.] My Mom, upon hearing her husband of 39 years "lose it", came rushing out of the bedroom. Mom got the same command and news. You can imagine the rest. I spent the rest of my day on the phone with family/freinds, and every few minutes would shut the door to my office and escape to cyberspace, and read every thread I could find here, and reply if I could think of something intelligible to say, just to feel something else-even if it was nothing at all. Thanks, all of you, for being there.
I saw my Uncle Bill when I was in Connecticut in March. The last words we spoke were "I love you, Uncle Bill" and "I love you, too, Charlie." [ my immediate family refers to me as Charles, Charile, etc.] Then, as I was walking out the door of his law office on Wakelee Avenue, he shouted out "Call me in advance next time you're in town, we'll go out to lunch!" I replied "you got it!", and closed the door. That was the last time I ever saw him.
So, first thing tomorrow, it's off to Connecticut for a wake on Tuesday and a burial on Wednesday. Just me and my Dad. This will not be pretty. I will, however, afford myself some "me" time, and get together will my friend Billy. We'll hang out at Dunkin Donuts for a few hours and shoot the breeze, and this will help keep me sane.
So, the next time you see an old friend/relative who means a lot to you, tell 'em they mean a lot to you, ok? You just may not have another chance.
Thanks for listening.