My dad deeply loved music. He introduced us to good music of different genres including jazz, classical, big band, and opera. But most of all, he loved Frank Sinatra.
Many hours of my childhood were spent in the living room listening to music and playing cards or talking. The other hours were spent with my sister playing the piano, my brother and I playing whatever instruments we had at the moment, my mom singing and my dad just smiling. My mom, by the way, actually sang with a well-known Big Band before she was married and still has a great voice.
Dad loved music but had absolutely no musical ability. None. He could not even play a cowbell. We were lucky to get my mother’s genes for playing instruments but all three of us developed a deep love of music from my dad.
Some business associate gave dad “Frank Sinatra Live at the Sands with Count Basie” double record set. I could sing along with every song, know which song was up next, recite all the banter and jokes, and loved it for the first 1,000 times. I joked with dad that I HAD to get married. He knew something was up and started to giggle, “You had to get married?!” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. “I was driven from my home by ‘Frank Sinatra Live at the Sands with Count Basie’ double record set. Just couldn’t take it one more time!” We had a good laugh.
Years later, we were with them for a visit. Mom and I had been shopping and arrived back to their house. As we came in the door, IT was playing. We talked in the kitchen and I tried to ignore it. I remembered all the songs, I knew which ones were coming up and I even remembered the jokes.
We said our goodbyes, got about two blocks down the street when Michael said, “Your dad played a great Frank Sinatra CD recorded in Las Vegas. I’m going to pick it up.”
Oh, No! I said, “You have to make a decision right now. It is either that album or me. I had to listen to it at least 5,000 times and don’t ever want to hear it again.”
My dad was a smoker. He quit a few times and ended his affair with tobacco in his late forties. Later, he developed emphysema. During the 8-week rehab class, I learned so much about emphysema and was saddened that my dad had not participated in a pulmonary rehab program. I don’t think they even existed back then. It could have provided him a better quality of life as he grew older. We just didn’t know about it.
Twelve years ago today, my wonderful dad died after a month in ICU following same day elective surgery. He was 74-years old.
Mom asked if there was anything of his I wanted. There was only thing: “Frank Sinatra Live at the Sands with Count Basie” double record set.
I was in such deep grief that it was well over a year before I could even listen to it. It was much too painful.
We now listen to it often and all the wonderful memories of my dad embrace me like a hug. Tonight, we will listen to it again. I still deeply miss him.
Next: Lung Transplants
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