I want to share a story - 08/25/13 11:01 PM
A story about my great uncle: By his son Steve
My father always said that he lived a hard life
As I look back at his life:
I see a young child robbed of his childhood by the great depression. When most children are 7 years old they should be playing baseball or cowboys and Indians, but my father worked at a grocery store trying to earn money to help his family.
I see a young man robbed of his young adulthood when he was drafted to serve his country in World War 2. A war in which he proudly served.
I see a man who arrived home after World War 2 and chose the profession of being a bricklayer. A vocation very hard on the knees, back, shoulders, and hands. It was this job that would carry him into retirement.
I see a man who married my mother who already had 5 children of her own. He accepted these children as his own and provided for them, nourished them, and loved them.
I see a man who loved baseball and would eventually coach his children throughout the years. A man who loved the Cleveland Indians and lived through their joys and pains.
I see a man who when retired, couldn’t sit still and still had to work. I still remember him laying bricks into is early 80’s, helping me dig trenches in my yard, and growing a tremendous vegetable garden.
When the terrible disease of dementia took over, it was hard to watch the qualities that made him the man we knew, diminish into oblivion. But no matter how unstable the dementia made him, he always talked about his love for his family and God.
I watched my father fight death for 3 days. We all wanted him to leave the pain and to go home to be with his Lord. We had all accepted that his time had come. But my father fought and fought and never gave up. It wore us all down, but he kept going and going. We all wondered what was keeping him alive.
On that 3rd day he finally decided that it was his time to go. And as I stood there tired and exhausted, I asked myself, “How could he fight this for these 3 days the way he did”, and as I looked at his lifeless body it finally hit me, what made him fight this battle for 3 days is the same fight that made him survive the great depression, it was the same fight that made him survive World War 2, and it was the same fight that made him survive his profession of being a bricklayer. It was the survival of the fittest that made him a fighter. This survival instinct made him fight the battle of death. I then realized how strong and tough my father really was, even in his weakest state.
He did live a hard life, but I know he enjoyed every bit of it. I hope that I become at least half the man my father became. And I know that he would tell everyone here today, Love Life… Live Life…. Laugh with it…. And share it.
Thank you all for your living support. Steve Brattoli.
I used to love to sit and listen to all the storie's He could tell, I would think, What a life my great uncle lived and all he had seen.But until he went to be with our savior did I know how much he meant to all he touched.
My father always said that he lived a hard life
As I look back at his life:
I see a young child robbed of his childhood by the great depression. When most children are 7 years old they should be playing baseball or cowboys and Indians, but my father worked at a grocery store trying to earn money to help his family.
I see a young man robbed of his young adulthood when he was drafted to serve his country in World War 2. A war in which he proudly served.
I see a man who arrived home after World War 2 and chose the profession of being a bricklayer. A vocation very hard on the knees, back, shoulders, and hands. It was this job that would carry him into retirement.
I see a man who married my mother who already had 5 children of her own. He accepted these children as his own and provided for them, nourished them, and loved them.
I see a man who loved baseball and would eventually coach his children throughout the years. A man who loved the Cleveland Indians and lived through their joys and pains.
I see a man who when retired, couldn’t sit still and still had to work. I still remember him laying bricks into is early 80’s, helping me dig trenches in my yard, and growing a tremendous vegetable garden.
When the terrible disease of dementia took over, it was hard to watch the qualities that made him the man we knew, diminish into oblivion. But no matter how unstable the dementia made him, he always talked about his love for his family and God.
I watched my father fight death for 3 days. We all wanted him to leave the pain and to go home to be with his Lord. We had all accepted that his time had come. But my father fought and fought and never gave up. It wore us all down, but he kept going and going. We all wondered what was keeping him alive.
On that 3rd day he finally decided that it was his time to go. And as I stood there tired and exhausted, I asked myself, “How could he fight this for these 3 days the way he did”, and as I looked at his lifeless body it finally hit me, what made him fight this battle for 3 days is the same fight that made him survive the great depression, it was the same fight that made him survive World War 2, and it was the same fight that made him survive his profession of being a bricklayer. It was the survival of the fittest that made him a fighter. This survival instinct made him fight the battle of death. I then realized how strong and tough my father really was, even in his weakest state.
He did live a hard life, but I know he enjoyed every bit of it. I hope that I become at least half the man my father became. And I know that he would tell everyone here today, Love Life… Live Life…. Laugh with it…. And share it.
Thank you all for your living support. Steve Brattoli.
I used to love to sit and listen to all the storie's He could tell, I would think, What a life my great uncle lived and all he had seen.But until he went to be with our savior did I know how much he meant to all he touched.
for your Uncle...