Blog subscribers, please don’t worry: this isn’t turning into a memorial blog. I have a post drafted that’s specifically book related. I hope to share it soon.
But first, I need to share the words I read at my Father-in-Law’s memorial and celebration of life last weekend.
The first time I met Richard he said, “Hi. Nice to meet you. Don’t call me Dad, and don’t call me Dicky.” I stood there stunned. I was eighteen and Rick and I were about to go on our first date. Not calling him Dicky was fine with me, but I couldn’t fathom why he thought I would call him Dad. I couldn’t even remember Rick’s last name at that moment, so calling him Mr. Cusolito wasn’t an option. I know I looked at Rick, seeking an answer for how to address him. We finally settled on Richard, and that’s what I’ve called him ever since.
Despite our confusing first interaction, from the moment I entered Richard’s house, he always made me feel welcome. It didn’t take long for me to think of him as family, even before Rick and I were married. We had many family dinners around his dining room table sharing stories, debating politics, and always having lots of laughs.
Richard lived with us for the first time in the mid-nineties, after he got divorced and they sold the house on Wareham Street. During that time, Rick worked a noon to nine shift in Canton, so he wasn’t usually home for dinner. Richard and I got to spend a lot of time together, just the two of us, during that year. We’d cook dinner at home most nights, but we also went out to dinner together. I remember some people thought it was odd that I’d go out to dinner with my Father-in-Law, but it never felt weird to me.
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Richard was thrilled to become a grandfather. Most of you know that Dante was born prematurely and spent the first seven weeks of his life in the hospital. Richard visited Dante in the special care unit nearly every night after work. Rick and I didn’t always see him, because he often arrived when we had already left to get dinner, but the nurses would tell us that he had been there, even if for a short visit. Once Dante came home, Richard visited us every Saturday morning. When Dante was still an infant, Richard would rock him and read to him. Later, he’d get right down on the floor with Dante and play in the baby “floor gym.” Then, when Dante was three or four, he and Grandpa would take trips to the garden center to buy flowers for our garden. Richard loved flowers and planted them in our yard each year for many years.
Of course, Richard was just as excited when Alia was born. He and the other grandparents had breakfast with Dante that day and then came to the hospital to meet Alia. As soon as we got Alia home, he started putting our rocking chair to good use again.
Richard initially continued his Saturday visits to see both kids, but shortly after that, he moved in with us for the second time. He no longer slept in the upstairs bedroom. Now he slept in “The Coop” a former chicken coop that we converted to an in-law apartment with a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette. The kids loved to go over to Grandpa’s. Richard would hang a sign that said, “I’m up” on the door handle when he got up each morning. The kids could see the sign from our house, and they’d run over to see him. Richard also liked to invite them over for breakfast some mornings. He’d set the whole thing up the night before and the kids would race over in the morning, often before Rick and I had gotten out of bed.
As the kids got older, Richard attended all of their school concerts, plays, and art shows. He also helped us out by driving them to music lessons on weeks when I was busy. He loved the impromptu music sessions that happened in our living room with Alia on piano or ukulele and Dante on one of his stringed instruments. He especially loved hearing both kids play the banjo that his lifetime friend Richard Dailey had given to Dante when he first started taking music lessons. The banjo had belonged to Richard Dailey’s father.
I’m sure Richard bragged to all of you about his grandkids. He was immensely proud of them.
The last year has been difficult as we watched Richard struggle with more and more confused moments. There were gut-wrenching days when we had to make difficult decisions in order to keep Richard and others safe. To be honest, we had some rough patches. But even as Richard’s memory failed, he stayed himself. He asked about how Dante was doing at college and how Alia was doing in high school. He still laughed easily and told outrageous stories.
The last time Richard and I were alone together, I had brought him an iced coffee. We had often enjoyed iced coffee together on summer afternoons when he lived with us. During this visit, we sat the beautiful courtyard that Richard loved at the nursing home. The hydrangeas and rose of Sharon were in full bloom. Hummingbirds zipped between feeders while songbirds flitted through the trees. A nurse happened to deliver meds to him in one of those tiny plastic cups. After he took his medicine, he poured the tiniest amount of coffee into that little cup and drank it like a shot. He looked at me and laughed one of his big belly laughs. We both did. He drank his entire iced coffee that way, one shot at a time. That’s how I want to remember my time with Richard: drinking an iced coffee in the shade on a warm summer’s day, being silly and laughing.