Remembering

Richard D. Squillante

1945-1992

Today marks sixteen years since the day my father died of a random and rare illness at the age of 46. I was 21 then and am 37 now, and though muted somewhat by years, I can still feel the loss of him keenly. His absence is still an enormous void in my life. I have been trying to write about him, about us, about how we mostly faltered but occasionally succeeded at liking and understanding one another. When he died I was just on the cusp on an adult life, and I know so much would have changed between us just by virtue of that fact. With him gone these many years, that curiosity to know what kind of adults we would have been to each other has been a driving force behind my need to write him down. As if that kind of pondering, along with the piecing together of so many scraps of memory might continue him for me, and more importantly now, for my kids.

(I'm starting another blog project, in fact, to record the process of writing a memoir about our relationship as viewed through the lens of the food we shared--he was a lover of "all things edible, random & odd"--so please visit in the near future as I get it underway: http://allthingsedible.wordpress.com/)

But for now, a note to my father...

Dad,

I want you to know that I'm happy. I am a writer, a teacher and a pretty damn good cook. I still make excellent coffee, though Paul's is even better. You'd like him--he grew up eating cold jellyfish salad with sesame oil on Christmas Eve. with his family. It's one of the reasons I married him! There are lots of other ones, too. With him I'm running on the hamster-wheel of parenthood. On good days it's like a carnival ride! On bad days, well, I suppose I don't have to tell you. Rudy & Josephine have the same age difference between them as Cath and I do. Exhausting! But then, you were a full ten years younger than I am now when you were in the weeds with us.


How is it that you look so calm in this picture when I am clearly unhappy about something? What super-Zen secret are you hiding behind that smile and could you please find a way to relay it to me now?


I wish you could be here to meet them. They are both named for you and I promise to be sure they grow up to know who you were. Who you are. I wish you were here to see Rudy do his frenetic "Rudy dance" and to see Josephine climb all over the house and up the stairs. She is much more coordinated than her mother.

I wish you were here to tell them stories about your travels, about the plate of Elmer's Glue-coated cookies you devoured (happily!) that Christmas, and about how I used to fall down the hill on the way to the bus stop every winter morning. I really wouldn't mind a little teasing from you right about now.

Anyway, here I am with my children. Your grandchildren. Amazing, huh?


I miss you, Dad, as much or maybe more than ever, but you are very much still with me. I have two soft-shelled crabs straight from Maryland in my freezer. If you were here, I'd dredge them in some seasoned flour and do a quick pan-fry in butter for our lunch. Then I'd brew us a pot of coffee and bring you up to date on everything--and there is so much, and much of it so, so good--that has happened since you've been gone.

I love you,
Sheil

Senior Prom

(Don't laugh. It was 1988. Everyone looked like this.)