It was the week before I would be admitted into Hahnaman Hospital for the process and procedure that would hopefully save my life. There was so much to do to be able to make this a possibility with no real idea of how things were going to work out. My business would have to be left in the capable hands of the young ladies that made up my crew. A huge task in the fact that their experience was basically in sales and customer service, not completely running the show. That was my job. President, buyer, bookkeeper, problem solver, negotiater, merchandiser, major sales, quality control…you name it. When you are a Jeweler and own the business, you are the business. But this was different. I had to put my faith in my people…and my Dad…not a Jeweler. Thank God for him. I would need to make it through the transplant and take care of me. Then, I would be able to go back and take care of business.
I completed all of the aforementioned testing required to secure my admission and tried to mentally and physically prepare. Lori and I went over everything we could think of to be handled during the time that I would be away. Lori’s parents would be coming down from New York to help her with the house and take care of Nick. Eight months pregnant, working full time and having to do both of our domestic chores would be daunting. Then add in driving into the city for many of the 58 days that I would be imprisoned in my plastic and glass bubble to visit me. In the eighth and ninth month of her pregnancy! I couldn’t imagine what she would have to go through or how she would handle it. I felt so bad.
So… a few days before I was to go into the hospital and my head was really about to explode, I realized that I needed to get on the ball and do something that I promised myself I would do. Make a video in case I passed. A video that would let my boys and Lori know how very much I loved them. A video that they would be able to see me and to hear my voice. A video that would teach them about being kind, about doing good in school, about never being afraid to be themselves and about taking care of their mom. I filled them in about girls and how they would fall in love. And fall out of love. And fall back in love. I talked to them about me, my life, my family and my friends. About how wonderful life could be and how sometimes it just wasnt fair. About how meeting their mom changed my life and how our lives changed when Nick was born. How proud I was of my Nicky. How I wished I was there to see him graduate Kindergarten and how I knew he would be so successful. And I spoke to Joey. How I couldn’t imagine that if he was watching this film that we would never have had the chance to meet. I introduced myself…” Nice to meet you Joe, I’m your Dad”. I told him that I knew he was probably handsome as hell like his brother and how great and successful I’m sure he turned out. The only connection he would ever have to me would be a camcorder video. I did the best that I could.
The videotaping went on for about two hours in the low lit dining room of our home. Just me rambling on and trying to impart as much wisdom as a father possibly could in a short amount of time. This for my boys when they would be old enough to watch and absorb the reality of having lost their dad, so young. I have to admit that it was so fuc%#ing emotionally charged. So intense. And it was tearful. So full of pain and regret. It would be a testament to my life and hopefully a comfort to theirs. It drained me. It also put a fire in me so strong, so deep, to fight so hard….that they may never have a reason to view it. That I’d survived. Finally, I said goodbye to my parents, siblings, family and friends. Thanked everyone that loved me and that they knew I loved them back. I signed off….and hoped for the best.
Those tapes have remained… unwatched and buried in a box in our basement, for twenty four years. For now, we’ll keep it that way. An Oscar worthy performance waiting to be discovered… for the ages.
Next up: Times Up.