It was a chilly, grey day in March 1974 – March 11^th, to be exact. My brother Tony and I were in high school classes. We were on the morning session. Our sister Lisa was at home, as she was still in Jr. High and they didn’t go to scho ol until the afternoon.

An aide from the principal’s office was sent to get me out of class. As we walked to the office, she said, "Something happened at home this morning. Your father is coming to pick you up." That was all she knew, she told me. My stomach tightened in anxiety. Whatever she meant, I was sure the news was bad. Tony was waiting when I arrived, and we discussed what it was that might have happened.

Our older brother Joe, who was married and eagerly awaiting the birth of his first child, appeared in the doorway. As we walked down the hall, Tony asked, "Where’s Dad? We were told he was coming after us. What’s going on?"

Joe took us aside. "Daddy died this morning. He had a heart attack." "Oh, no!" I cried out. Tony burst into tears. Joe explained what had happened. "Dad and three other men from work were on their way out of town to a sales meeting. Daddy was driving down Main Street when it happened. He slumped over the steering wheel. Glenn Saunders was in the front seat with him and managed to get the car over and stopped. They called the rescue squad who came and took Dad to t he hospital, but they weren’t able to save him."

Tony and I climbed into the back seat of Joe’s car for the 10-minute drive home. Joe’s wife Mattie, uncomfortable at seven months pregnant, was in the front. I reached out to comfort Tony but he pushed me away. We sat in our respective corners, in our own world of grief and shock. I thought about Dad. He was a short, balding, hard-working man of about 48, well known and respected in our community, always ready to lend a hand. "I’m glad Dad and I didn’t fight over the bathroom this morni ng," I mused. My pain would have been greatly compounded by having spoken harsh words to my father as the last thing I said to him.

We had celebrated Tony’s 15^th birthday only 5 days prior. A couple nights later, I found Dad at the kitchen table, working on his stamp collection. He had picked up a stamp with a pair of tweezers and slid it into a special display env elope, then handed it to me. He explained, "You don’t want to touch the stamps since oil from your fingers could get on them and decrease their value. Always handle them with tweezers."

"That’s pretty," I said, looking at the colorful stamp in its protective envelope.

"You’ll enjoy this one," Dad replied, showing me a white business sized envelope with a stamp bearing that day’s postmark. "This stamp was just released today. This is called a `first-day cover’ because it’s been postmarked on the day of issue. Whenever a new stamp comes out, I get four of these first-day covers, one for each of you kids."

"Oh, Dad," I said, kissing the top of his nearly bald head. "Thanks."

Dad slid back his chair and stood up to his full height of 5’4", pinched my cheek and looked at his watch. "Off to bed with you or you’ll never get up in the morning." He kissed me goodnight.

As I sat in the back of the car, still stunned by the news, I felt some satisfaction in knowing Dad got to spend his last days doing things he enjoyed.

The house soon filled up with friends and relatives. Dad’s family from Massachusetts and Connecticut came up to stay a few days. Dad’s sisters were offended because Tony and Lisa were laughing at something. They thought it should be a somber occ asion and therefore laughter was inappropriate. Mom stood up and said, "Leave them alone! They’re just kids."

We went to the funeral home. Dad was dressed in the suit he had worn 6 months prior, at his and Mom’s 25^th anniversary party. I approached the casket. I had never seen a dead person before. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He was so cold and lifeless! I turned away, tears in my eyes.

The funeral Mass is a blur in my memory. Dad was laid to rest later in the spring, when the ground had thawed.

Everyone missed Dad, Mom most of all. She had been in depression since her favorite brother had passed away years earlier, and consequently she had relied heavily on Dad for emotional support and security. She had even given up driving. Suddenly , she was left as a widow with three teenagers to raise on her own. Somehow, through prayer and sheer determination, she found the inner strength to come out of her shell and begin to embrace life again. It was a proud day for us that summer when she ma de the 15-minute drive to Fryeburg, past the spot where her brother had collapsed in his bread delivery truck, on her own. Her long winter was almost over, and for her, spring was coming at last.