A Belated

He didn’t leave an estate, nor a will.

He never had an attorney. Not many in our neighborhood did or needed one.

Yet he did leave an inheritance and I must admit I have sometimes forgotten about that.

He died early by today’s standards. He was 59 before the ravages from a lifetime of smoking claimed him.

And he died, despite the joy of three daughters yet without achieving his quiet but desperate wish for a son.

He shared his love of the sea with me primarily, his first born. On Sundays after Mass we would head west toward the “docks” where the ocean liners were quietly resting after their long Voyages.

In hot weather we would head toward the ocean carrying bologna sandwiches and towels on the subway taking us to Brighton Beach. He insisted I learn to swim early, and I have been forever grateful for his foresight.

Often one of my three male cousins would accompany us and then we might stop for ice cream on the trip home to Hells Kitchen.

He never complained about his female offspring rather he constantly embraced us with his love and devotion,

Yet when he left before the birth of his first grandson, I felt certain that they had passed in that unknown corridor between life and death as one was born and the other said adieu.

Two more grandsons came in quick succession, and often I have mourned they, too, had never known their Grandfather. I knew he would have laughed and loved and quietly inspired each of them as he did with his three daughters

And each October as I remember his birthday, I dare to wonder if there had indeed been an inheritance left on that unknown corridor we all must walk.

A Grandfather had left something he treasured for each of his long awaited male heirs, a love of the sea that all have claimed without knowing the source of their inheritance.

And yes I do admit, sometimes there are only questions that yield no answers.