What We Keep – It's All About Family

Time and Memory

Reflections on the anniversary of my father’s passing

Friday, March 28th, marked the 15th anniversary of my dad’s death in 2010. In February of that year, after a month of turmoil for us all, he was finally settled into the nursing home after leaving his assisted living with a short stay in the hospital. He’d begun attending the events and, as always, enjoyed the music. My sister Gail said she’d had a nice visit with him, taking him for a walk around the grounds and spending time sitting and talking outside.

It was a Sunday, when I received the call from the nursing home to tell me he had passed away. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast when someone walked by, and when they walked by again, he was slumped over. Just like that. Gail and I contacted the funeral home then headed there and sat with him for a while. It was Palm Sunday and the home left a frond in his room that I took and have in a box with my parents personal belongings.

I’ve written more than once about my mother’s eight week journey from diagnosis to death with Glioblastoma. My dad’s death occurred one week prior to the 23rd anniversary of my mother’s death.

After my mother died, my father carried on. He was 63 and still working in the facilities department at Gaylord Hospital in town. He really loved that job! He was such a people person, he was an awesome painter and wall-paperer, my sister Gail worked there, and the Farms Country Club was next door so he’d look for golf balls during lunch or hit some balls.

He loved “his girls”, his grandkids, golfing, and riding his bike. During my 8 years in California, he visited both with my sisters and by himself and I never had to entertain him. He’d take off for the day on my bike or head to the golf course in town.

I won’t go through the litany of health ailments starting with his 1996 knee replacement, but they were enough to slow him down and significant enough that he was not able to live on his own after 2000. After that, it felt like from late January until April, he, and we, were dealing with one health issue or another.

During this week every year, I think about that. I’ve written about my dad’s childhood, how his mother died when he was turning 3 and his father died the month before his 11th birthday. He and his older siblings were then raised by his 12 years older brother.

What do I think about? I think that he didn’t want to leave his girls alone. I think that he wanted to be with us, to be our dad for as long as he could even if that meant fighting through whatever pain he had. I may sound crazy, but I think after 22 years and 51 weeks my mother said, “Honey, they’re going to be fine, come home” and with that, he went home.

A Cousin’s Passing

I found out earlier this month that one of my cousins passed away in Oregon on July 15th. If you know me, or read my posts, you know that I am the Keep of All Things Family so I wanted to share my memories and thoughts on him.

My cousin, Malcolm James Bellafronto Jr, was born in October of 1942. He was the son of my Aunt Judy, my mother’s next older sibling and her husband, Mal. He was nicknamed Butch (I don’t know how he got that name). They lived on North Orchard Street when he was born.

When he was a year old, my Uncle Mal went into the Navy and my Aunt Judy and Butch moved in with my grandmother, grandfather, Aunt Tootsie, and my mother. He was a big little kid! He shared a few stories with me and although he doesn’t recall much of living on Clifton Street, he did remember this story:

During the war my mother and I lived with Gram when my father was in the Navy. I don’t have any specific memories of that period. I do have some vague recollections of Grandpa P.

There was one incident that my mother told me about later. Apparently, I used to spend time out in back with Grandpa. You remember how big the garden was. There was a gate leading into the garden that you had to lift up to get in and out. Well I wandered into the house one time and everyone wanted to know how I got out of the garden. So I showed them, lifting the gate with a loud grunt. Evidently, Grandpa always grunted when he lifted the gate. Mal was 18 months old at the time of that video!

*Aunt Judy holding Butch and sister in law Millie 1944*

He was the center of attention while living on Clifton Street!

In 1945, while his dad was on leave, the three of them drove cross country to California where his ship was docked. Aunt Judy and Butch were planning on staying with her Tante Lizzie and Uncle Ben while Mal was out to sea but he got back on board ship and was told he fulfilled his service and so was done and they came back home to Connecticut.

His brother Bob was born four years later and they eventually moved around the corner from us on Lincoln Drive in a home that Uncle Mal built with help from the students in the Wilcox Tech carpentry program where he was an automotive teacher.

The majority of males in our family attended Notre Dame High School in West Haven, CT. He played football there and relayed the following story to me:

“For the 3 summers of my high school years I would live with Gram for the two weeks before school started. My dad had August off and the family would stay at the lake in Moodus. I started early for football, 3 a day drills. Walk to the train station in the morning, train to New Haven then 2 buses to West Haven. We were on the field by 8 and finished up around 4. Then buses, train and walk to Gram’s. What I remember was how long her hair was and how she would brush it every night while we watched TV. And she was an absolute fanatic about wrestling, pounding the couch and yelling at the TV. For the 3 summers of my high school years I would live with Gram for the two weeks before school started”

Also – “But the main memory is of Gram’s cooking. The pastries she made on holidays. Her cheesecake was out of this world. Tootsie got the cheese part right but could never get the crust. As far as regular meals, I remember everything being overcooked and pretty well tasteless.”

He also told me that when they were building the stairs for the cottage in Colchester, he was the free labor! He said it was a lot of hard work and it kept him in shape for football.

He also told this story about staying at Gram’s house during the summer and the trains that passed along the side of the house going from the steel mill to the main railroad tracks:

“I also remember picking up coal that the engineer would throw into the yard when they stopped at the street. You remember the train tracks going to the steel mill behind the house.

I slept in the front bdrm by the tracks. I distinctly remember one night when I was staying there for football waking up in the middle of the night to the most god-awful noise and most brilliant white light filling the room. Had no idea where I was and what was happening.

When I finally came around enough to look out the window, I saw that the commotion was a very large steam engine stopping at the street with its carbon arc front light shining in the window. Scared the hell out of me.”

*Cousin Charles Jakiela, my parents, Butch at their wedding (altar boys)*

I hope you don’t mind if I end this here. After graduation from Notre Dame High School, Mal was heading to the Naval Academy in Annapolis Maryland.

To Be Continued….

Family Treasures

The topic for week 8 of 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks is – Heirlooms.

The definition of a Heirloom is a valuable object that has belonged to a family for several generations. Since my great-grandmother was the farthest back generation to immigrate in the early 1900s, I’ll have to go with what I have, but I still think they are pretty important!

Pictures. I have a lot of pictures! Professionally taken including family groupings from the early 1910s, first communions from the early 1920s, weddings, and family photos collected in multiple albums by my mother growing up in the mid-1920s and early 1930s, and beyond. In addition to those, I have videos from the early 1930s through the 1970s which I wrote about in an earlier post here.

When I started research in 2000, my Aunt Tootsie (Antoinette) was the Family Historian. She was the oldest Posluszny sibling and lived in the family home on Clifton Street from the purchase in 1925 until she moved to a Judd Square apartment in 1989. I often sat with her to discuss the family and the people in the pictures. Dates and seeing how far your lineage stretches back are fun, but my interest has always been the stories and photos. Who they were as people and as a family. Who we most resemble. I try to imagine what life was like in Yonkers and Connecticut in that time frame. I guess that’s why I love where I live so much because this is where they lived their lives.

I’m grateful over the years to acquire more photos from my Jakiela cousins, through my ancestry contacts, and through unexpected DNA matches! I’ll continue to share more pictures and stories as I create some order to my accumulated files and notebooks.

The World Series Chauffeur

In 1950, my dad was 26 years old, living with his older brother, sister-in-law, and their 2 boys, and working as a house painter.

It was early October and the New York Yankees, defending champions, were in the world series against the Philadelphia Phillies. The Yankees were up 3 games to none and game 4 was on October 7, 1950, at 2:05 pm with Whitey Ford on the mound.

Since my dad’s beloved New York Dodgers were out with an 89-65-1 record, there wasn’t much left for him to cheer about but that never stopped him from watching a game. He just loved baseball and that day was his lucky day.

His brother Steve asked him to drive him and his friends to the game so they could have a few drinks without worrying about driving home and as payment, he would give him a ticket to the game. How could he resist!?

They all saw Whitey Ford, “Chairman of the Board”, emphatically shut the door on the Phillies season pitching 8.2 innings, giving up 7 hits, 2 runs, 1 base on balls, and 7 strikeouts and a 5-2 Yankees win to repeat as World Series Champions.

I think my dad had a very special relationship with his oldest brother, Steve because when their father Charles Jakiela died, Steve was 23 and my dad just turning 11. Steve and Eddie (21) were born before their dad went into WWI, and Helen (15), Walter (13), and my dad were born after. If you want a look back, here is the story of my dear grandmother, Antonia Liro Jakiela. Steve became my dad’s surrogate father and certainly helped to make my dad the wonderful dad he was to us.