The Man Downstairs

            My father is the youngest of three boys, in reality though; he’s the youngest of five. My grandparents had two others, who died— a fact I learned through the relative grapevine. The names and situations of the children in between were never shared and it was something that was whispered in little detail except both were infants. Dominic was the eldest, followed by Ralph and then my father. I’d heard that, since Ralph’s birthday was so close to Valentine’s Day, that he was going to be called Valentino. It’s probably safe to assume that everyone involved is happy that never came to pass.

 



     

                                  The Tellas: the little big man, Alfred, Jr. is front and center.





     
           Despite my Uncle Dom living with my grandparents and then remaining downstairs long after they passed away, the man, like his father before him was also a mystery to me. This is I knew: he smoked heavily, was very loud, was the only Italian I knew to not like cheese, seemed to have no direction in life and hardly ever carried on a conversation with me. He was as much an enigma to me as my father and grandfather. What is it about the men in my family? Are we all destined to be puzzles that take years to solve?

     

            There must have been a deep bond between my father and his brother and over the years, I caught snippets of that relationship. To me, my father was the little big man and Dom seemed to set great store by what my father said and did for him. How much my grandfather and uncle relied on him was obvious is so many ways. I think I inherited that take charge attitude from my dad and as much as I wanted to be different from him, as I get older, I’m not too proud to admit that I’m grateful for being so similar to him.

     

            On my visits home, my uncle hardly spoke to me. At times, I wondered if he thought I was my brother. I’d say a quick hello and then he’d disappear into his flat. I always thought smoking would be the death of him, but for reasons I’m not sure, his pack a day habit was suddenly gone one day. It was to be something none of us could have imagined that would end his life.

     

            I don’t know how to write this heartbreak as I knew Dom was going to die on July 27, 2006 almost to the hour. I knew because I let them remove all the life support. Dom appointed me his health care agent, which part of the form states, “If I should have an incurable or irreversible condition that will cause my death, or am in a state of permanent unconsciousness from which, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty there can be no recovery, it is my desire that my life not be artificially prolonged.”

     

            After putting them off for two weeks while Dom was in the V.A. Hospital, the doctors convinced me that they were keeping him alive artificially. I wanted to insist that they let him wake up. But then what? What could I say to him? The tubes are out, you can’t breathe and you’re going to die. I’m sorry? I had no choice. They didn’t know why he was extruding fluid through his skin. It looked like he was moving. They said he passed away of myeofibrosis (replacement of the bone marrow by fibrous tissue) I broke down like I never knew I could. May God forgive me. Better still, Dom forgive me.

     

            My father called me in the days leading up to his brother’s passing and I have never heard such sadness in his voice. He told me to not fly home for the service and as I have come to despise Catholic wakes and funerals, I did not argue. Instead, I found a small chapel on the campus of the university where I was working at the time and at the exact moment of his funeral; I went in and paid my respects.

     

            In all my years, I don’t think I can ever recall seeing my father cry – and perhaps that’s why I do not let the tears flow either. If they begin, can they stop? Is there release from all the pain and sorrow? Does it make you weaker or stronger? When you have no choice, is it easier to let someone you love go? With my uncle’s passing, the house my father loves so much has shifted but yet he gives it all the love that his parents instilled in him. If I can find anything to love with so much passion, I will count myself lucky.

     

            Since my brother, Dom passed, it no longer feels like a single family home. We now have tenants living in the first floor.