A Saint Patricks Day Tribute

His name was Patrick. He was born in Ireland on May 18, 1933. He grew up in Ireland and came to this country when he was twenty six years old. He loved America, he loved Ireland, he loved God and he loved his family.

His name was Patrick, but everyone called him PJ.  He spoke with an Irish brogue, his children loved to tease him about the way he said certain things(tings). He was very old fashioned, over protective and strict. He grew up on a farm with no electricity or running water. He didn't understand a lot of the things his children did, and/or wanted to do. "Why do you need to sleep over their house?" He would ask, "you have a perfectly good bed upstairs." "Why do you need to go over your friends house?" "You have brothers and sisters here you can play with." It usually took a bit of coaxing, but he would come around, he wanted his kids to be happy.

His name was Patrick and he worked really hard. He had two or sometimes three jobs, to support his family.  That never stopped him from bringing in his elderly neighbors trash cans, or working on a friend's car. In the evenings on a hot summer day, you would find him playing in the pool with his kids  after being chased and stung by bees while trimming the neighbors bushes. 

His name was Patrick and he was the beloved father to six children. He had a wife that he cherished, and loved the best he knew how. He was a little awkward with feelings sometimes. He lost his Dad at a young age and his mother left when he was just a young teen. His family never doubted his love though and he was never afraid to tell them.  

His name was Patrick, and he was honest and reliable and always there to lend a helping hand. He made friends wherever he went, and would give the shirt off his back to help someone less fortunate. He was hard on his children at times. They learned pretty young, to never say that they were bored. He made them rake and bag leaves, even though the trees still had tons of leaves and they would only have to do it again the next Saturday. He made them clean up the yard and do a bunch of chores, when all they wanted to do was watch TV all day Saturdays. He taught his children to be respectful and honest and that their word was their bond. His children adored him, the first one to hear him pull up from work, would shout "Daddy's home!" and they would run from wherever they were in the house, out to meet him.

His name was Patrick and he was taken from this world way too soon. He was just fifty nine. Pancreatic cancer took his life, it took his hearty appetite, his strong body, his independence and his dignity. It riddled him with pain and suffering in those final months. So much was taken from him, but his faith in God remained strong and the love and support from family and friends surrounded him. He died with his wife and children by his side.  They considered themselves lucky that they had time with him, that they knew it was coming and were able to say everything they needed to say.

His name was Patrick. He loved St Patrick's Day and he loved the parade in New York City.  He marched in the parade many times.  He proudly carried his county's flag in the rain and on the freezing cold days.  He died on St Patricks Day in 1993, about fifteen minutes into the parade, which was playing on TV. He was buried in St Patrick's Cemetery on the first day of spring. The song The Wind Beneath My Wings, was played as the casket was carried in and there wasn't a dry eye in the church. The funeral procession was amazing, it went on for miles it seemed.  It was a fitting tribute to the amazing man that he was.  

His name was Patrick, but I called him Dad.   It's his voice that I hear anytime I am tempted to take the easy way out, or to do something that he wouldn't be proud of.  All these years later, I still miss him more than anything. I have a hard time with St Patricks Day.  Last year was the first year that I was able to wear green.  I know that it's what he would want.  On this Monday, I will wear green again, not only to honor St Patrick and Ireland, but to honor you Dad.