Edith Piaf ~ Non, je ne regrette rien

Beautiful woman, beautiful voice with a tragic life.

Her voice is so soulful it hurts to listen to her. It is hard to image that the painful words that flow tells about her life. I sobbed through Le Vie En Rose as the hours told of the highs and lows that was her life. How very sad. So gifted, but life and her genes played a nasty trick on her, like her father and her mother she was an alcoholic at an early age.

I have never questioned Piaf’s background but the early part of the movie mentioned that she was raised partially by her maternal grandmother Aicha. AHA! Aicha is the name of my grandmother’s sister and it sure as hell isn’t a French name. And Piaf’s features were the same as my mother-in-law’s and so many of my friends. And what do you know, the great French icon was half AlgerianJ who loved an Algerian man Marcel Cerdan – wait, did the French say he was French???

Give us back Piaf and while you’re at it give us back Zizou too. Keep the Chebs.

In memory of my father

Had my father lived, yesterday we would have celebrated his 56th birthday. Almost one year later I thought it would have been a little easier to deal with. But I think we are all still having a hard time. My mom lost her best friend and her partner. My brothers lost their father and their tool time buddy. I lost my dad.

Thinking about it, I probably have a harder time coming to terms with my dad’s death that my brothers. My younger brother has his family and his son to distract him from everything. My older brother is with my mom and my grandmother now lives with them. I am only the one that is truly alone, well expect for my thoughts.

I remember when I was a about eight or nine years old and we were living in Suriname. I remember praying for my mom and dad to not outlive me. It was a heart breaking thought at that age and many nights I would fall asleep crying at the thought of my parents dying. Except for the random nights when my mom would hear me.

The last year of his life was the best year. He wanted to move to Florida so they sold their house here and they moved. He puttered around the new house, and the yard. Looking around the house his touch is everyone. Anything that was broken he fixed. I remember my mom saying that we should be careful with everything because my dad wasn’t there to fix anything anymore.

On weekends he went fishing with my uncles and would stop by and visit with my grandmother [mom’s mom] for hours. He liked his job and the people that he worked with. He was enjoying learning how to use a computer. And most of all he loved his grandson to pieces.

Everyone that knew him liked him, none had anything bad to say about him – in life or in death. My aunts and uncles, cousins and neighbours. Even folks from the old country, from so many many years ago.

One of the saddest memories I have is of my nephew who was about 16 months old when my dad was in the hospital. He thought that my uncle – dad’s brother – was dad, and kept looking at him and pointing outside repeating the words “walk, walk”. My brother and his family had visited a few months prior and my dad had walked my nephew around for hours. Poor Johnny, he was probably wondering why his grandpa wasn’t paying attention to him that time.

I miss my dad. I try not to think about him because when I do I miss him so terribly. I am sad that he is not here to grow old with my mom, to watch my nephew grow up. That he will never see me married or hold my child in his arms.

So many things, it was his time to go. His memory and name will live on in me and my brothers, and my mom.