the chronicles of nicky davi

When tomorrow starts without me,
And I’m not there to see;
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn’t cry
The way you did today,
While thinking of the many things,
We didn’t get to say.

I know how much you love me,
As much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me,
I know you’ll miss me too;
But when tomorrow starts without me,
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name,
And took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready,
In heaven far above,
And that I’d have to leave behind
All those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away,
A tear fell from my eye,
For all my life, I’d always thought,
I didn’t want to die.
I had so much to live for,
So much yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible,
That I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays,
The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we shared,
And all the fun we had.

If I could relive yesterday,
Just even for awhile,
I’d say goodbye and kiss you
And maybe see you smile.
But then I fully realized,
That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories,
Would take the place of me.
And when I thought of worldly things,
I might miss come tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did,
My heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through heaven’s gates,
I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me,
From His great golden throne,
He said “This is eternity,
And all I’ve promised you.”
Today for life on earth is past,
But here it starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow,
But today will always last,
And since each day’s the same day
There’s no longing for the past.

But you have been so faithful,
So trusting and so true.
Thought there were times you did some things,
You knew you shouldn’t do.
But you have been forgiven
And now at last you’re free.
So won’t you take my hand
And share my life with me?

So when tomorrow starts without me,
Don’t think we’re far apart,
For every time you think of me,
I’m right here, in your heart.

-David M. Romano

Today Mom, you would have turned 67. You would still look as if you were in your 40’s, dress as if you were in your 30’s, and dance all night as if you were in your 20’s. It’s Tuesday, so you’d be at work. Your co-workers would have pitched in for flowers, maybe with a balloon or two attached. They would have signed one of those “from all of us” cards and treated you to lunch.

I imagine Renee, Jija and the girls would have come over in the evening. We’d probably pick up some take out. We would have had two bottles of wine down, easy. We probably would have ‘Facetimed’ with Camille and the kids. (You don’t know what that is, but it’s video chatting between iPhones/iPads) Oh yeah, and you probably would have wanted an iPad, ha! Rayna and Kiran would have drawn you pictures, and helped you blow out your candles. 

You would have been happy. Can’t say for sure if you would have gotten that iPad, lol, but I know you would have been happy.

Happy Birthday Mommy, I Love You! <3

So. My mom died. Cancer. It is not important to this story to get into the specifics, but let’s just say it got the point where her state of mind was not very good. She was given a book called “The Secret”. Some of you may have read it, perhaps some have watched the DVD. There are not many things in this life that I hate, but with every ounce of my being I HATE “The Secret”.

Mom, however bought into it. Which is what led me to hate it. She read the book, ordered the DVD, and had me start it for her every morning. For the latter part of this story, I shall refer to “The Secret” as #TS. For those of you unfamiliar with it, allow me to brief you. According to #TS, if you want something, you must just wish it. If you want a sports car, you must wish for it. You must think about it every day. Write it down on a piece of paper and look at it all the time. Then, you will get a sports car. There may be more to this but who cares. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that she began to believe that she did not need treatment. She believed that all she had to do was to wish for her good health and good health she would receive. She began to write herself notes. On the microwave. In her bathroom. “Thank you for my healing” some would say.

She told everyone that came to visit about #TS. She would then give them false hope that she was getting better. She would say “I’ve ordered my healing and put it on the shelf and I’m good now.” What the fuck does that even mean? The woman needed treatment. She now felt that chemo was poison. Maybe to an extent she was right, I don’t know. But I did know that no matter how much we wanted to, none of us could just wish away the tumor in her brain.

In the midst of #TS fiasco, another idea was planted in my mother’s head. It does not matter where this idea came from, but it came. And it stuck. Hard. Mom was told of a place called the Hippocrates Health Institute in Florida. I hadn’t heard of this place before, and did not hear anyone speak of it again after, except once. It was suggested to my mom to try a holistic approach. Had we caught the tumor sooner, maybe I would have gone along with this notion, but that wasn’t the case and we didn’t have time to waste. She wanted to go. She wanted to pass on chemo and throw thousands of dollars at this institute so that she could learn how to juice.

There were plenty of testimonies that spoke of how much better people felt after participating in the program. Well of course they painted a happy picture, how else would they get sick people like mom to give them all their money. But what those testimonies did not say, was how far along these people’s illnesses were, or what they were for that matter. We did not know what that they had previously done or if they were seeking additional treatment along with the Hippocrates program. I was against it. My siblings were against it. Her doctor was against it. We lost.

To this day, and probably for the rest of my life, my thoughts are that this place is a big joke. You go there, sign up for some massages, take a few classes and learn how to juice and eat right and cut certain things out of your diet. Then, after you’re all relaxed from your spa time, you feel better…because you’re on fucking vacation.

Anyone who has been through what I’ve gone through with mom, would know that there isn’t much arguing with a stubborn sick woman who isn’t herself. She finally agreed to consider chemo when she returned. What could we do? Off she went. 

After three weeks she returned, none the healthier. Eventually she agreed to chemo. Eventually she lost her battle. It was just too late. Were those three weeks wasted time that we did not have? I say yes. Could we have had a better chance had she started chemo instead? I say yes.

Anyway, this story is not about mom. It is about a man. I do not remember his name, but I will forever remember the look in his eyes.

Last year, my dad and I went to England. On one night, my cousins had sent a driver to pick us up and take us to their home. The ride lasted about an hour. We made small talk along the way. Normal every day things. At times I would tune out the banter between he and dad. It was unclear to me when or why the topic of conversation had shifted. Our driver came to learn that mom was no more, and that it was due to illness. Not knowing any details, he began to tell me about his aunt. As he spoke, I felt as if his words were only meant for me. I don’t know why.

I should pause here, and tell you that my parents separated when I was young, and my dad did not live with us. During mom’s illness, he was not present during many discussions, he was not involved in any decision making, nor did he know much about that Hippocrates place. Somehow, I think our driver could sense this. I don’t know how.

He spoke of guilt. He spoke of regret. He went on about how we make choices and live with the consequences of our actions, and will always wonder what could have happened had we chosen a different path. At this point it was unclear to me why he was saying these things. I watched his eyes in the rear view mirror, and tried to feel his emotion as best I could.

He told me his aunt had been ill. Cancer. She too, lost her battle. At first I thought he was just trying to relate to me somehow…tell me I wasn’t alone? But no, it was more than that. There was such sorrow and guilt in his eyes. It was with a heavy heart that he spoke, the weight of which I could now feel bearing down on my own chest.

“My aunt had heard of a place in the states called the Hippocrates Institute…she wanted to go there”. I hadn’t heard that name in some time. I was stunned. I sat silently as he continued. “We wouldn’t let her go” he went on, “If only we would have sent her…maybe if we had listened….maybe..”.

He stared back at me in the rear view mirror. Almost as if he was searching for answers, pleading with me to speak. Why me? Why was he telling me? How did he know?

“It wouldn’t have made a difference” I explained. I told him of mom’s journey. I could hear him sigh. I told him that it was okay. I told him not to think that he made the wrong choice. I told him that he could rid himself of the the guilt of his ‘what ifs’.

I could see in the mirror, a tear roll down his face, and then he smiled. “Thank You”.

I don’t know what made me remember that man tonight. But it makes you think doesn’t it? That everyone we come across was put in our path for a reason?