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« Every Age Has Its Own Poetry | Main | Outsider »

Jun 19, 2005

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Lisa

Hi, I just read your notes on your Dad. I can relate - my own Dad, also an immigrant (from Portugal in the late 50's) died from stomach cancer at 50.

He and my mother worked very hard but the mantra was save save save... He didn't get the opportunity to enjoy the "fruits of his labour" but what gave him pleasure were my brothers and I. It killed him to have to leave us behind.

All I can say is - almost 20 years later - my own family is everything to me... but I do work very long hours - hate to say it I'm repeating the "sins of my father".

I know what is important and money is not it nor the things it buys.

Thank you for sharing your story!

joe

The moon, the blossoms-
forty-nine years wasted
walking beneath them!
-Issa

my dad died at 55. Never knew his granddaughter, never saw his grandson. Kept his head down and worked his whole life.

As a dad now, i try to understand "looking out for them" with "looking up at them". I thank my dad for one, but its the other i miss. I miss him everyday.

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