I grew up at airports in the 1970s not because I was flying to and from different places. My mom, sister, and I were always driving and picking up my Dad at the airport. What I will share today will share our stories from 1965 on when my flight arrived.
Pre-Internet – most, if not, all business was conducted face-to-face. Depending on what line of work you were in meant you could be away from home anywhere from one day two weeks at a time to close a deal. As President of an International Export Management company, Daddy was forever flying to suppliers here in the United States or around the world to his company offices in England, Belgium, Sweden, Japan, and Italy. Other various countries were places for deals. In the end, there weren’t many countries Daddy had not worked in.
When it was time for a trip, my mom would help Dad pack his luggage. I wrote notes to hide in the suitcases. I tried to sneak my fave stuffed animal in so that they could see the world. We’d all drive to the airport and at that time could walk to the gate and wave goodbye to Daddy as he boarded the plane. When it was time to come home, we’d return to the airport and grab a quick dinner at an airport restaurant before waiting for Daddy to emerge through the gate. It was so glamorous to me yet all very normal to us as we grow up.
When Daddy was away, we’d go out to restaurants that he hated like Beefsteak Charlie’s or Farrell‘s Ice Cream Parlor. The long trips were hard. I missed Daddy terribly. I’d wait for his calls every day after school. Dad and I had a special bond through postcards. The old-fashioned postcards that were pictures of the country or region where he was. Our Mail Carrier would announce the postcard arrival as he walked towards our front door. I clutched that postcard and read every word my Dad had written in his near perfect penmanship. By the time he retired, I had boxes of these postcards.
When he returned home from each trip, we had a tradition where we would follow Mom and Dad to their bedroom where Dad would empty his suitcase with gifts from the trips. My sister Kathy and I would sit on the edge of the bed and Dad would push us down saying goodbye in various languages. We would pop back up roaring with laughter screaming “more Daddy!” He must have been wiped from the travels but he made us feel like princesses for a few hours!
Each time Daddy would travel he’d return with more stories and tales from these countries. This is how I learned about different parts of the world, the local customs, the currency, food, and the looks from the hundreds of pictures Daddy snapped.
There were years of departures and years of arrivals. Each time Daddy arrived home from a trip he would jump back into our family activities and quickly earned a place in the St Martin of Tours parish community where he served as a church usher, Pre-Cana, instructor, Counter, a member of the Parish Council, and the Bethpage St. Patrick’s Day Parade Committee. Dad threw himself into each role as if it was a full-time job.
Our Dad was involved in it all. He loved to talk to anyone and everyone. You would always come away from a convo with Daddy smiling! He would treat everyone like he wanted to be treated. He was genuine and looked you in the eye. He made you feel special – as if you were the only one in the room. I used to joke that I couldn’t get past my Dad when I called to ask my Mom a really simple question but the truth of the matter was I loved talking to Daddy about anything and everything. He always made time for me. Always. There was one story in particular that I remember so well. I was a Freshman in college and I was just feeling really blue one day. I knew he was busy at work but I dialed Dad’s office from the hall pay phone. His secretary picked up and said he was in a meeting, but she would see if he could speak to me really quick. Dad picked up the line and said tell me what’s happening and how are you are feeling. We talked only for a few minutes but it was enough to pick my spirits up and get me through the next few weeks.
After retiring and spending some time in the Bethpage Sports Center that he purchased on a trip downtown, Mom and Dad enjoyed years of their own personal travel. They became Atlantic City fans, traveling back-and-forth every few months to their favorite casinos. It was so much fun to watch them having fun!
These past few years were very rough for us after Dad was diagnosed with Vascular Dementia. In total, he suffered 10 strokes. Each stroke left him weaker. We watched Daddy slowly slip away. First the memory faded. After that, the words started to disappear. Last year, his faculties vanished, and he was confined to bed. Daddy no longer knew who any of us were. That was possibly the most heartbreaking piece for me. He just didn’t know who I was or what we had been through for the last 58 years together. I would sing to him. We would hold Spelling Bees. I’d feed him ice cream and tell him “Once upon a time” stories. We would relive Daddy‘s life over and over to make him feel comfortable and special.
On Saturday, January 27, 2024, we met at Mom and Dad‘s and spent the entire day and evening watching old family movies. We howled with laughter and cried very hot tears. I thought to myself, I truly did have an awesome childhood and this was proof.
I kissed Daddy goodbye at 7:30 p.m. and thanked him for making my life the best it could be. I left, knowing that would be the last time I would see that twinkle in his eye. Two hours later Kathy called to tell me to return. Daddy was gone.
Today we gathered not at the airport, but at St. Martin’s to say our goodbyes to my Dad, a husband, an uncle, grandfather, father-in-law, and one of the greatest guys you’ll ever know.
Today Flight 27 boarded one passenger with nonstop service to Heaven. Have the best flight Daddy. Please wait for me at the gate when my flight arrives home someday.
I love you,
Karen Anne
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