Parkinson’s took my uncle November 28, 2017, but he fought it for twenty years because he refused to stop living life. After my husband Curtis played guitar and sang, Amazing Grace My Chains Are Gone, I was one of many privileged to share some words at his Celebration of Life December 2, 2017. I’d like to share my tribute.
Uncle Joe was my favorite uncle. Naturally that made me his favorite niece. And I knew I was his favorite niece because he would twinkle when my aunt announced, “Your favorite niece is here.” But then my sister would walk in the room and my aunt announced, “Your other favorite niece is here.” Cyndi Jo and I would laugh because the gig was up. Over the years it had become a game to try and win the favorite-niece-award but the truth is Uncle Joe has three nieces. He would never show favoritism because he loved us all for who we were. That’s the kind of man he was.
By his siblings or co-workers? Or is it the kind of wife he has? Maybe it’s because he has nieces and nephews, and many friends. Is it because he’s a Christian? Perhaps the fruit of his labor is measured by how many children and grandkids he has. But not everyone is married or has kids. Not everyone has served their country or their town. So how does one measure a man?
I don’t have any grand Hollywood moment memories of my uncle; rather I have everyday life things.
As children, when we’d visit our cousins in Fairfield, we thought we were going into the big city. We called them the city mice cousins. One time when we slept over on Old Stratfield Road, I thought I’d never fall asleep because the room was lit up with the street lamps and the traffic made it noisy. We grew up in Newtown so they called us the country mice cousins. When they’d visit our home, they announced they were coming to the boonies. For some reason they thought we lived in the middle of nowhere.
As children we spent some traditional holidays and birthdays together, and over the years we’ve celebrated weddings, anniversaries and grieved at funerals.
So how do I measure my Uncle Joe as a man?
He grew up in Bridgeport, had a rough upbringing, and was a Marine and a cop.
I thought that was cool and was proud to tell people, “My uncle is a Fairfield policeman. Sergeant Joe D’Addario.” However, it was a rare sighting to see him in his uniform with gun and holster. Either it was because I was a kid, or he was good at keeping work separate from family. Over the years I’m sure he experienced many situations in his line of work that weren’t easy and most likely challenged his character. However, if he was ever cynical or angry, I never saw it.
Ironically, my father was also from Bridgeport, and he too had a rough life. Unfortunately he brought that anger and abuse into our home. I share this to show the value of having had my uncle in my life because he was the positive male role model in my family when growing up.
When I reflect on the years of being his niece, I realized my uncle never made me feel uncomfortable as a little girl, or as a young and grown woman. He never yelled, nor was harsh or critical. His actions spoke louder than words and I always felt safe around him. Honestly, I cannot recall one negative thought I’ve ever had of him.
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| August 1996 Wedding day with my Curtis |
Uncle Joe was a man of few words but his presence was known. He was a really nice gentle guy, but nobody’s fool. Several years back my husband and I joined him and my Aunt at their church for a Christmas concert. When we got out of the car, Uncle Joe put his foot on the bumper and adjusted his ankle holster. My husband didn’t know he could love this man more than he already did. His stature grew before his eyes. And frankly I loved him more too because I got a rare glimpse of this quite man who did not boast but with a mischievous grin he held his head high with confidence and certainty of who he was.
Don’t misconstrue my words. I’m not saying because he had an ankle holster, he was confident. I’m saying he was confident because he knew who he was and he knew how God wired him and he knew what his role was in this world. He was a man whose strength came from grace.
So how do I measure a man who liked to watch Cops, football and Blue Bloods? A man who always insisted on paying for the dinner bill? How do I measure a man who when he’s hungry, is ready for food, and it usually was around 5:00PM. He didn’t have to speak, he just walked or rode his wheelchair into the kitchen. How do I measure a man who served his church and community for years? Who in his declining years of Parkinson’s, participated in small community groups in his home because he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with his symptoms, but would rather have people around and have fun. And when he could walk, he and his wife still had dates either alone or with other couples. His witness to others was literally one step at a time as he fought the fight through hope.
How do I measure a man who just last year, when Parkinson’s was ramping up and making him more vulnerable than ever, he called me on the sly to conspire with him and asked if I would take his wife to Vermont, her roots, so she wouldn’t miss her cousins 60th wedding anniversary.
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| Uncle Joe and Aunt Donnie L-R: Bill, CJ, Mike, Donnie, Joe, Linda, Tammy Sue, Monterey Fairfield, CT May 2016 |
How do I measure my uncle because there is so much to him that I don’t know because I only know a piece of him? Well I guess that’s the piece I get to measure.
This last time Uncle Joe was in the hospital, Aunt Donnie announced, “It’s been a while since Joe has eaten. He needs food.”
I went to the nurse’s station and asked for food. She said, “It could only be pureed.”
I said, “Okay.” To which she said she’d bring him pudding.
“Pudding. The man’s hungry. He needs protein, real food.”
Nurse, “Okay, I’ll bring him a pureed lunch.” Rather proud, I reported the good news to my aunt who balked, “Why did you say no to pudding? What was wrong with Pudding?”
I blurted, “Aren’t you the generation that made us eat our dinner before dessert or we’d get seconds?”
A cousin said, “I guess the rules change when we get older!” We all had a good laugh.
I was privileged to be with our family during the last two days of Uncle Joe’s life during which time Aunt Donnie shared a story. Shortly after Uncle Joe came home from this last hospital visit his hands were swollen. To avoid cutting the wedding ring she tried to take it off. “Every time I tried to take his ring off, he pushed it back down on his finger. I guess he wasn’t ready to take it off yet.”
I thought to myself, wow, in the middle of their storm, he knew who his commitment and promise belonged to after 59 years of marriage.
A couple hours after her husband passed, this woman, who stood by his side for life, cried to her company, “People don’t know how much pain he usually was in.” As we stood with their pastor in her kitchen I said, “People don’t know it because he had a good wife who took care of him and brushed away his pain.”
So how do I measure my Uncle Joe?
The promise that my Aunt and Uncle made to each other is what I’ve witnessed as a long standing commitment that hasn’t been broken. I think many attributes come from that kind of character.
In the ordinary whispers of everyday life, their home has always had a hug, kiss, and an encouraging word for me. Their home has offered peace, trust, and stability. And their home has always been reliable.
I guess that is how I would measure the man of my Uncle Joe.
Thank you for printing this, Tammy Sue. I looked at Aunt Donnie when you spoke about Joe conspiring with you to take her to Vermont; her tears flowed anew. That was a beautiful memory to share.
Well done Sam, well done