Although my Dad has been deceased for seven years now, I'd still like to recognize him.
My father's name was Andrew W. Loschiavo. He was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was the second oldest of four children. He started working and contributing to his family at the young age of 12. He was a hard worker. He was also a hot head in his youth and young adult life. He was extremely protective of women, especially when it came to his sisters; one older and one younger. From stories I've heard, if any woman was disrespected by another male, that person was sure to catch the wrath of Andy. At 17 he lied about his age to join the Marines. He was a Marine in every way.
In 1947 he married Marion Tripoli, the love of his life. One of my fondest memories of my dad was him carrying me up the stairs and to bed as a toddler. He would throw me over his shoulders and call me his sack of potatoes. Dad had one of the worse singing voices, but every night he sang me a lullaby after tucking me in. That song was The Marine Corps Hymn. (Ho rah!)
Dad was always there for any and everyone. He loved people and helping them in any way he could. He and Mom ended up having four children. I was the first born. As a young child I remember him coming home from work with a toy in hand. When I turned 5 years old we moved across the river to Kentucky. At that time Dad worked for a contractor by the name of Frank Bush. Mr. Bush and Dad developed the subdivision where we lived. It had originally been farmland. I can still remember the sound of hammering during my youth. That, along with the sound of bull dossers, back hoes and the like were music to my years. What wonderful memories!
I still remember the farm lady who would set up a huge picnic table in her backyard. Each day she would prepare this enormous lunch for the construction workers. Every once in a while Dad would come get me and let me have lunch with him and the rest of the workers. The picture is so vivid in my mind. I can still feel the warm summer breezes, birds in the trees and lots of laughter.
Dad and Mr. Bush also built Brookwood Swim Club. As kids, we spent so many summers at the pool. We were on the swim team. I happened to be a diver as well. It seems like we lived in the water. Dad was a very strict Italian father. So when we went to the Club it was for practice. There was no goofing off allowed. We never went there with the intent of hanging out. We were down there to swim or practice.
During the summer when I was around 9 years of age dad and I would go to Church every morning before practice to receive Holy Communion. (As you've probably guessed, we were Roman Catholic.) Dad would then take me to practice. It was so early in the morning, at times he would stay before his work day began. He also became one of my coaches.
As I grew older I was not only swimming and diving for Brookwood, but also diving for the YMCA and an AAU team known as the Cincinnati Marlins.
Dad and Mom went to all of our meets. This was all well and good when we were just at Brookwood. However, my younger brother Mark also swam for the Cincinnati Marlins. There were many times when we were both competing at the same time but at different meets in different states. I might have been at the University of Indiana diving while Mark was miles away swimming in a completely different meet. I don't know how he did it, but Dad always managed for he and Mom to be in both places.
When I was around 13 I remember an evening when we were over at another family's home. Their name was Schaffield. Their kids were also swimmers. They had talked of wanting to have a pool put in their back yard. The very next morning was a Sunday. Since Dad was an usher, he went to the early Mass. After Mass Dad went over the Schaffields house. When they got home from Sunday Mass what a surprise. There was Andy on a back hoe in their back yard. He had begun digging the pool that they had talked about. Of course, no charge. Just a good friend helping another good friend.
When I was a teen I remember everyone referring to Dad as the Godfather. No, he wasn't in the mafia. But he was the one person everyone seemed to go to when they had a problem or needed help in some way.
Dad helped so many people while he was alive. Many of whom I didn't find out about until after his death. I was amazed to hear all the stories where he either helped someone in need, or got someone else started in their business. He built a rectory for one of the poorer priests in the area. He lent money to people never expecting repayment. He built homes for family and friends at cost.
All of my girlfriends had this huge crush on Dad. He was so handsome.
Both Dad and Mom were always there for all their children, grand children and great grand children. They gave so much of themselves both physically as well as financially. They were both extremely hard workers. They would think nothing of driving to Florida for a visit and then spend the entire time painting, renovating...you name it.
There is no way on earth that I could either repay Dad or Mom.
Life growing up with my parents was the most wonderful experience any child could have. I have so many awesome memories. Be it as a nine year old going to work with Dad on the job and having lunch with him. Or as a teenager when he would take me shopping for a special dress and end up buying several. I still remember the Father - Daughter dances we went to when I was in High School. I also remember Dad taking me out to listen to a band play after one of the dances.
All of my friends lived at our house. They actually enjoyed both of my parents. And as a teenager, that was a bit uncommon. Most kids avoided parents like the plague.
Dad would let us have swim parties, etc. at the house. Of course he and Mom would chaperon with the eyes of eagles. No alcohol, no hanky panky just lots of music, food and soft drinks and loads of laughter. For the most part, all of my friends respected my parents, so they never thought of breaking the rules. Once in a great while someone would show up who wasn't familiar with the rules. Dad took no time in taking their bottle of beer and letting them know they were welcome to stay as long as they would abide by the rules.
My mother found out she had lung caner at the age of 75. She was told it was inoperable and she had about 6 months to live. Mom lived for over five years, going through chemo, radiation and surgery. About 3 years into Mom's cancer we found out that Dad had Lung cancer. Yes, he was a smoker. I left my children and husband in Florida and I moved back to Kentucky to stay with them for 18 months until first Dad and then six months later Mom passed away. I wouldn't have given up that opportunity for all the money in the world. If it weren't for my husband and children, I never would have been given that opportunity.
Toward the end Dad was confined to the hospital. One day I took Mom home for a break and gave her an opportunity to call her sisters in Pittsburgh, Pa. While on the phone, Mom calmly asked me to get her an aspirin. She thought she was having a heart attack. I rushed her to the hospital. We later found out she had a brain tumor and had suffered a seizure. That very day they ended up admitting Mom into the same hospital where Dad was. She was going to need a craniotomy. Mom didn't want to worry Dad. That was the very first time I had ever heard my Mother lie. She led Dad to believe that she was being admitted for more tests. In reality, this was only a partial lie as she did have more tests to go through. Mom had decided that she wasn't going to have the surgery until after Dad's passing and funeral. So, she ended up on the same floor of the same hospital but at different ends of the floor. She was so cute. She would be hooked up to an IV and be walking down the hall to visit Dad. As Dad got worse, I ended up sleeping in his hospital room. Dad had managed to stay alive long enough for all the kids and grandkids to get to Kentucky. He would call one in at a time, telling them how much he loved them and how proud he had been of them. He also told my brothers and Son what a **** he had been for smoking all those years. He tried in vain to encourage them to quit their smoking before they ended up like him.
The night before he had died was especially traumatic. I knew he didn't have much longer to live. That morning as he lay unconscious and dying I found myself praying for him. He had had a great devotion to Jesus' Mother Mary. I sang Immaculate Mary for him. I then found myself singing the Marine Corps Hymn to him just as he had done to me as a baby. I found myself getting louder and louder with each verse. Dad laid there still unconscious, but he had tears running down his cheeks. He passed shortly thereafter.
Mom checked herself out of the hospital for the viewing and funeral. The day after the funeral she had her craniotomy and ended up living another 6 months.
I remember sleeping in Dad's bed one night. (When he was alive he had apnea which made him snore loudly. Because his snoring sounded like a train that was passing by, he would sleep in another room to give my Mom a chance at a decent night's sleep.) As I lay there on my side in bed trying to fall asleep one night I felt what I thought was my mom sit down on the bed next to me. When I turned around there was no one there. I immediately went into her room to ask her if she had just been in my room. She said, "no, but I just had the most wonderful dream. I dreamt your Dad had just come in to check on me the way he did before he died." I told Mom I didn't think it was a dream. I told her I felt someone had just sat on my bed but when I turned around to look, no one was there. I told her I thought it was Dad checking up on both of us.
This was one of a few unusual experiences we had encountered after his death.
I had the honor of staying with my Mother the next 6 months. At her end when she went into the hospital I was able to sleep in her room. Again I watched another parent pass away.
I'm writing this not only to Honor my Father, but my Mother as well. I know I will never be able to repay either of them for all they had done for me and our entire family. It's been seven years and I still find myself talking to them every day. I miss them like it was only yesterday. People always say it gets better with time. It doesn't really. But I have so much to be thankful for. So many glorious memories. And being married to a man who has ended up being just like my Dad. Not just in his love for me, but his love for our family. He too is always there to help out whenever there is someone in need. He's the kindest. most understanding, giving man I have ever met other than my Father. Had it not been for my husband Bill, I never would have been afforded the opportunity to spend the last 18 months of my parents lives with them.
God has surely Blessed me. So I would like to wish my Father who is now deceased, God my Father in heaven, and Bill the father to our children for the love I've always known.
