Peter and Faith

I attended a memorial service for Peter this past Sunday. Although we didn't see each other regularly since we met in August 1996, I always enjoyed his presence, and, against the backdrop of our canoeing, walks in the woods, New Years Eve and birthday gatherings, diner breakfasts and poetry readings, I think it's safe to say he enjoyed mine as well.

On that August evening, I saw him seated at a table at Dr. Java's, a cafe in Bethel, CT--at the time, the home of the Wednesday Night Poetry Series (WNPS), which is now the longest running weekly poetry series in the state. I had met his wife, Faith, the month before at the Sunken Garden Festival and she invited me to check out the goings on at Dr. Java's.

With his roots in Astoria, Peter was quick to point out that although we may have a New York Italian connection on the surface, Yonkers was not quite the same as being from the city. When I suggested that many Manhattanites felt the same way about Queens, we both laughed at my attempt to bond in not being from Manhattan if I couldn't do it by being from New York.

At first I thought of Peter as Faith's husband--corporate background, now consulting, and occasionally, and then regularly and humorously hosting the poetry series. But then I heard him read his poetry, and got to read some of it myself. The first two, "Friends," about his friend 'Grif,' and "Growing Old in New York," a riveting vignette of his aging parents, beckoned me to see him in a different light. Unfair, I thought, that this fiercely bright, wickedly funny, technologically savvy, table tennis ace (yes, all that and more) could write.

And while I'm tempted to say that the emergence of cancer in his pancreas early in 2006 was unfair as well, I know that it was not. Amid the shock, disbelief and uncertainty of the diagnosis, Peter analyzed the options for surgery, treatment, doctors and hospitals with every one of his talents. He calculated each step with Faith, and made it clear that he was going to be one of the cancer survivors who beat whatever statistical odds there were to beat (which he did, though not quite soundly enough for those of us who love him).

I consider myself lucky and blessed to have known him, although as an avowed atheist, he might cringe a bit at the "blessed" part. I learned that when I feared I might be imposing after his surgery, showing up at their home to chat was exactly the right thing to do; and that when I thought it might be too much, he jumped at the chance to walk in the woods for a couple of miles and then have lunch. When Faith called me after he wound up back in the hospital with an infection unrelated to the cancer, and asked if I could visit, Peter greeted me from behind his lunch tray with a strong desire to clarify if I were there as his babysitter or playdate.

The last time I saw him out and about, we had breakfast at a diner while his car was serviced, and he offered his humble, experienced perspective as a stepdad for three when I shared my own stepdad worries and fears. In response to an email in which I expressed my intention to see him at the opening of his and Faith's photo exhibit at the Newtown library (yes, an accomplished photographer as well), he wrote back that Faith thought it might be best if he not attend, because of, in his words, "You know--germs." I can hear his voice smile, and see his face and the gleam in his eyes as he emphasizes that last word.

The memorial service took place at his stepson, Michael's, home. Family and friends from various times and places in his life, piles of food, photographs, a video, and spoken and written messages of love and remembrance, hosted in an authentic, grounded, honest, devastated and loving way by Faith. More than once, and usually with some ironic twist and a smile, the words "arrogant" and "atheist" popped up. I believe that atheism is a valid stage of spiritual development--way past fundamentalism and not quite mysticism, and that arrogance is in the perception of the beholder.

So, Peter, like it or not, we are New York Italians and poets, you're an atheist who chose to marry Faith, and I love you and miss you.