You never know...

... just how special someone is until they are gone. Sometimes you don't even know how special they are after they're gone.

(Sorry if this note gets a little wordy or confusing... I'm still emotional and I'm tired from a long day)

On November 18th, 2008, my Uncle Tony Martorana passed away after a four year battle with cancer. I know that for my cousin Lindsay and her Mom, and obviously Tony, it was a long 4 years. I have the utmost sympathy and respect for the Martoranas and always will. Lindsay and Barbie, if your reading this... I love you very much and am always here for you guys.

Today was the wake for the funeral. The first thing I thought as I went in there was why people weren't more upset about what was going on. The last funeral I went to was when I was 13. That funeral didn't have much of an effect on my understanding of a funeral and I thought everyone should be sentimental and upset (as horrible as that may sound). As we neared the parlor, there was a table with a video of various pictures of Tony as well as some of his favorite music playing. As I watched the pictures flip through, I couldn't help but wonder why I wasn't more upset. I saw my Uncle Chris beginning to well up and I couldn't help but feel awkward. I wasn't crying, nor was I close to it. I thought I was supposed to be emotional and saddened at this sight. Then I turned around and saw the open casket. This brought back memories of when my Grandma (Mom's side) passed away. I was in such a state of shock when I was looking at the woman who I had seen every year for the past 13 years of my life at Christmas. While I knew she wasn't there, just seeing her made it feel all to life like to me and I couldn't look for to long.

I guess today was a step towards adulthood as I wanted to see Tony. Like I said in the previous note... there is a strange connection - at least to me - between a Godfather and a Godson. It doesn't matter how close I was to him, the word itself creates a bond between the man and the boy. I will mark this section with an asterisk (*) and come back to this point later. As I walked up to the casket I saw Barbie for the first time that day. She was doing okay until everyone was walking up to Tony and began to cry. Then - for the first time - I saw the pain that must come with losing the person you love most in the world. I put my arm around Barbie and then she turned to me, looked me in the eye and said: "He looks like himself still doesn't he?", and she broke down. As I was hugging my Aunt, I couldn't believe what she had to be going through and I know there is still a long road. Regardless, after she left to go to the casket, it hit me. My Uncle, my Godfather, wasn't around anymore. I knelt down and said a few prayers for him (please pray for the repose of his soul and a quick term in purgatory) and as I got up, all the emotion that I was worried I wouldn't be able to show began to unfurl. I cried for about 30 minutes straight, and it was not your average crying. This was the hyperventilating, gasping type crying. As all of this was happening I started remembering the things that reminded me of Tony.

(*) This goes into the aforementioned part of my note. The link was realized as we were driving up to St. Louis for the funeral. I was trying to think about the bond that I had with Tony, and one glaring memory continued to rear its way back to me. Tony loved the drums. My favorite memory had to be when I gave him a tape when I was about 8 or so and I asked him if he could play the drums for the song. I sat in amazement as my Uncle put the tape on, listened for about 15-30 seconds and began to play along with the song. I thought that was the coolest thing ever and always wanted to learn how to play the drums after. He was my inspiration for banging my hands on tables and probably more of an influence on my musical taste than I actually realize.

Where does this tie into the body? I sat in the parlor most of today (with my eyes throbbing and my temples vociferating at me) thinking about how I hadn't taken the time to get to know my Godfather. I talked to my Mom about it as well. I never sat down and heard stories from him. I didn't get to know his sense of humor... how him and my Aunt met... how he grew up... how his religion affected his life? Isn't that what we are supposed to ask of our Godparents? They are supposed to help us in our faith walk and, as an adult male (as other males know), a guide to help me through any questions I might have about anything. I think back on the times I could have gotten to know him and am upset that I didn't take the opportunity. The old adage seems to come into play often in these types of situations: "You never know what you had until its gone".

I will never forget Tony. Not solely because he was my Uncle and Godfather. Not only because he is the father of the cousin who held the generations parties every year (my cousins and I that are close in age have awesome sleep over parties... no one will ever know such fun :D) but because he has made lasting impressions on me. Anytime I hear drums - I think of Tony and will continue to. Every Christmas, I will still think of Tony when we sit down for Christmas Eve or Christmas morning breakfast. Most importantly, Tony taught me how to be strong. He taught me to never give up and no matter the size of the obstacle; nothing should stop someone from living life. "Carpe Diem" right? He also taught me more about faith than I may ever really know or understand.

Anyone who reads this: don't take advantage of things. You may not have them around forever and you might not get the chance to know something (someone) or fully understand something (someone) as much as you truly want to. Arthur Koestler said: "The most persistent sound which reverberates through mens' history is the beating of war drums”. Tony and his war will always have a special place in my heart and the sound of his drums will be my war drums - the ones I hear when I need that little boost of confidence. I know he will always be with me now when I need that strength and I also know that he is now at rest with God. Tony - I love you very much. I am proud to be your Godson and I will always remember you. Thank you for the lessons you taught me face to face, while you were fighting, and the ones that you will continue to teach me as I go on in life. I miss you Tony. More importantly, I love you and see you upstairs.