Remembering our Late Brother Michael & Happy Birthday in Heaven to our Late Mother Maria

“Those we love don’t go away, they walk beside us every day…unseen, unheard, but always near, still loved, still missed, and very dear.” —Unknown

The older we get the closer eternity seems. You never know when the sand is going to run out of the hourglass.

For our brother Michael the sand ran out when he tragically took his own life four years ago, on "All Saints Day,” observed on November 1st by the Roman Catholic Church. It was nine days before his 61st Birthday. Formerly, of Hoboken, NJ., where we grew up, he lived in Beachwood. He is survived by his beloved sons Micheal Jr., Andrew, Brock, and Alex, my sister Josephine, and brother Steve, as well as all his nieces and nephews. He was a well liked Construction Manager for Shauger Group in East Orange. In his youth he loved to play hockey, and was a proud Eagle Scout. My fondest memory of Michael is the time my brother-in-law Joseph McAllister and I invited him to join us on a camera safari in Kenya and Tanzania for a well-deserved, long overdue vacation. I never saw him so happy. Michael lived with Cecile and I in California, went to West Valley College, worked for Pella Windows for a while and later moved to San Diego. After he died our brother was cremated and our nephew Michael Jr., gave us an amulet containing some of his ashes. The one I was gifted is a silver amulet of an elephant. I keep it in my bike bag on top of my bike rack behind my so my brother Michael is always with me during my rides.

Wednesday, November 2nd, is our late mother Maria’s birthday. She passed away on Mother’s day, May 12, 2013. While Cecile and I were in New Jersey before our Fall Foliage Cruise on the Hudson River, we visited my parents, Marie and Frank's gravesite at the Holy Cross Cemetery in North Arlington. We laid a flowering plant at the foot of the headstone and took a photo together to mark the occasion. Mom is best remembered for her beauty, her loving presence, her sharp wit, and contagious laugh. When we were visiting family in Sicily she loved to take the red ripe fruit of a cactus plant, carefully cut the thorny skin off and eat the fruit. Seven years ago when we downsized to a townhome, I realized that I could see a grouping of cactus plants from my home office window. It was another way to keep her memory alive. Happy Birthday in Heaven mom, from all of us!

Postscript: Happy Birthday to our brother in law, Joseph McAllister seen in the photo with Michael and I during the East Africa safari we took together. While brother Michael died on All Saints Day, Joe was born on All Saints Day. The evening my brother left us, Josie, Joe, Cecile and I were near the Hudson, still in shock that the sand had run out of Michael's hourglass.

Pleasant Serendipitous Encounters with the Late Senator Dianne Feinstein We'll Never Forget & Heartfelt Condolences to Family & Friends

“Famous people are always shrouded in mystery…and we’re always curious to know what they are like…and most importantly whether they’re people just likes us.”

—Justina Ciapaite

“Life is filled with defeat and you just pick yourself up and you go on.”

—Senior Senator Dianne Feinstein

Cecile and I were surprised how emotional we got when the breaking news from all media outlets announced

that that Senator Feinstein had died at the age of 90. She left behind an incredible legacy that began

with the tragic 1978 assassinations of Mayor Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk in San Francisco. She emerged as the first female mayor of the city by the bay after serving as the first female president of the SF Board of Supervisors in 1971. In 1992 she went to Washington after winning a special election and became California’s first female senator along with Barbara Boxer. She was known for her pragmatism and reaching across the aisle.

Cecile and I had encountered Senator Feinstein many times. Cecile had frequented the same hair and nail salon in Union Square. She chit chatted with her a few times on a few occasions. A little over two years before her 1992 special election to fill the spot vacated by Pete Wilson who beat Feinstein in a gubernatorial race, I had spoken to her briefly at the salon while Cecile was preparing to get a manicure and pedicure. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I turned to my left and saw her seated very comfortably with curl rollers in her hair and getting a mani-pedi. She was very friendly and accessible. I told her I was getting a massage while Cecile was getting a mani-pedi. I prematurely congratulated her as the next would be governor. Of course, as mentioned above, Pete Wilson prevailed, and despite the loss, her political career blossomed.

Another serendipitous encounter included seeing her at the SF airport for our trip to Maui while she was preparing to board on a flight to one of the other islands. She had a ton of baggage that our young, little, curious son Jason was only too happy to climb upon. The last time we saw Feinstein, was at a celebration for His Holiness the Dalai Lama in San Francisco for being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989 for his non-violent struggle to regain sovereignty in Tibet. There was a very moving interfaith service afterwards. Cecile and I had invited a rabbi and his wife to attend. Feinstein and her husband were long time friends of the Dalai Lama. Her late husband Richard Blum brought her to Dharmsala to meet His Holiness in 1978. As Senator she was involved in Institutionalizing the United States support for Tibet. Her husband, a long time Bay Area businessman was the Founder and chaired The American Himalayan Foundation to improve education and health, preserve Tibetan culture, and prevent girl trafficking, causes Cecile and I have supported on and off over the years.

Honoring the Fond Memories of Our Late Fathers at the Crepevine Restaurant in San Jose

“My father didn’t tell me how to live. He lived, and let me watch him do it.” —Clarence Budington Kelland

Sometimes a bike ride is not just a bike ride. My friend Bill and I decided to ride to San Jose on the Los Gatos Creek Trail. We elected to eat at the Crepevine in the Willow Glen area. We were seated outdoors next to a man who had ordered lunch for himself and his elderly mother who hadn’t arrived yet. More on that later.

While my dad Frank Augustine, died on December 18, 2017, in Hoboken, NJ, just shy of 101; Bill’s dad Irving Rothenberg, died on August 21, 2023, in Cleveland, Ohio, at the age of 94. It goes without saying, that Bill’s loss is more acute and raw than mine. I sensed he wanted to talk about his father as I did before and after my father died. In fact, we had been speaking about Irving for some time before and after the many trips Bill took to Cleveland to check in on him. Without having met Irving, I felt I got to know him a bit through Bill’s memories.

As most of you know I have had the privilege of honoring my late dad and mom on Facebook a few times a year: On their birthdays, the anniversary of their passing, Mother’s and Father’s Day, and Veteran’s Day for dad. So, other than saying that dad was honored for contributions to his community and country by the City of Hoboken’s former mayor, The State Senator of NJ, The NJ Board of Chosen Freeholders, the Civilian Conservation Corp Legacy Journal, the Office of Senior Affairs, and for being a Boy Scout Leader for 25 years, with Bill’s blessings, I am going to focus on his dad, Irving who was a graduate of Ohio State University, became an Architect, served as an Air Force 1st Lieutenant, became a private pilot, and worked a full career in the construction business.

However, what is equally impressive about Irving, were his many hobbies. Bill described his dad—whom he affectionately calls, Irving—"a man of many interests and activities, with seemingly endless energy.” At different stages of his life, Irving was a boater, sailor, canoeist, swimmer, tennis player, water and snow skier, racquet ball player, runner, and camp counselor. He also engaged in Israeli dancing, fencing, bicycling, water coloring, SCUBA diving, and was a world traveler. As for those professional sports fans, Irving was a Browns, Indians, Cavaliers, and Buckeye fan, through and through. Last but not least, he was a passionate violinist who played from the age of five, until shortly before his death. As you can see in the photo this brought him pleasure.

More importantly, Bill describes his father as having been a kind man, at his core a good, and a gentle man, who was really interested in the well-being of others—A real “mensch" (Yiddish for someone who is kind and considerate). Thanks to Irving, Bill involved himself in most of the activities listed above. He participated in virtually every team sport, became a boy scout like myself, attended countless summer camps, became a big sports fan in his own right, did Polar Bear swims, ice skated, and participated in 10K races with his dad. He is a true “son of Irving,” proud and grateful for being given a birds-eye view on how to live life to its fullest.

Back to the man we met at the Crepevine Restaurant. His mother never arrived. Apparently, her caregiver had to take her back home, as she had an unpleasant mishap, and fell asleep. The dutiful son was going to bring the food he had ordered for her to her home. He told me his mom is 88, the same age as my mother Maria, before she passed away. His father, he added, died at 94, the same age as Irving. May they RIP.

Memorial Tribute to a Dear Friend: AL Nakatani Who Accepted his Mortality with Grace & Wisdom

Yesterday, June 14, at 9:50 AM, our dear friend, Alexander Nakatani, retired social worker for the Veterans Administration transitioned to the heavenly realm, with his beloved wife, Jane, a retired elementary school teacher at his side. He was 86. The cause of death was cancer of the spine. In the face of heartbreaking tragedy they had lost three sons, Glen, Greg and Guy. Two from AIDS and one from a gunshot wound by an illegal immigrant over a parking space. The story is told by author Molly Fumia, an expert on the grieving process, in “Honor Thy Children” (Conari Press). The book tells the story of the family’s trajectory from homophobia and denial to emotional healing. Initially horrified to learn that Guy, their youngest son, was gay, the anger and shame they initially experienced was replaced with unconditional love. I had met Al and Guy, their last son to die of HIV when I attended a talk they had given at a local high school, that Cecile recommended I attend. Guy died in 1994 a the age of 26. Cecile and I became supporters of the Honor Thy Children Foundation. Al and Jane moved to Maui, and we would make it a priority to have them join us for lunch on Kaanapali Beach where Cecile and I took our annual family vacation.

Back in the day, I decided to do a silent 10-day meditation retreat at the Silver Cloud Ranch on Mt. Haleakala. At the end retreat we were gifted a beautiful Lei. I managed to get two more and had the privilege to place them on the tombstone of Al and Jane’s sons: Glen, Greg and Guy.

Not too long ago, I received an email from Al, stating he had stage 4 cancer of the spine, and he was going to have Hospice come to his and Jane’s home. We spoke by phone and it was the most intimate conversation I have ever had with someone who was dying. Al, shared with me he wanted to chronicle his dying experience. So Cecile and I became one of over 70 people within his circle that had received status updates. It turned out to be tutorial of sorts of how to accept one’s mortality.

Al, Thank you so much for courageously, lovingly, compassionately, consciously, and transparently sharing the stages you went through in your final journey. We will treasure them always. You showed us how to "Die The Good Death.” Ars moreindi—a Latin term meaning—“the art of dying” was coined in 1415 when a Dominican friar published a book instructing its readers how to achieve “the good death.” This amounted to spending one’s last days reflecting on triumphs, surrounded by family and friends with a sense of fulfillment rather than despair. For centuries, a “good death” was considered the ultimate culmination of a successful life and was diligently sought by many. Today, a clear obstacle stands in the way of those of us who would do the same—a deep aversion to death. By failing to confront our own mortality and by consistently avoiding difficult conversations with those who are terminally ill, we are doing ourselves a disservice and making “the good death” nearly impossible for those we cherish.

We are so grateful for your willingness to share your final journey with all of us with such candor and openness. it is a true gift and blessing to us all. When we spoke by phone awhile back, I was humbled by the fact that you had made peace with your prognosis, and was preparing for your passing. You were essentially saying goodbye, letting us know you love us, that you feel a spiritual connection to us all, and that you were ready to follow the natural progression and evolution of all living things.

E ho’omaha me ka maluhia (Rest in peace!)

Dennis and Cecile Augustine

P.S. Jane, we are sending hugs and love your way. We are so happy to hear that Al was able to complete the HTC (Honor Thy Children) Sanctuary and do the Ken Fong Podcast in early May while he still had the strength too do it.

A MOTHER’S DAY Ode to our Sicilian-Born Mama Maria who is Always with Us

“She was an independent woman of stature and grace. She had beautiful eyes and a lovely face. An audacious strength from deep inside. In her I knew I could always confide.”

—Sharlynn N. Manning

It was Mothers Day 2013. I had taken a red-eye flight on United Airlines from California to New Jersey, not knowing whether mom would be alive when I got there. Even though a sibling believed she was rallying back, I felt a strong silent prompting to be at our mother’s bedside. As it turned out, she passed away in the afternoon in spite of heroic efforts by doctors to keep her alive. My siblings Josie, brothers Michael and Steve at her bedside, taking turns holding her hand as she transitioned to the heavenly realm.

The following poem by Deborah Culver called “Your Mother is Always with You was adapted in our mother’s memory.

She’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.

She’s the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick,

The fragrance of life itself.

She’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not feeling well.

She’s your breath in the air on a cold winters’ day.

She’s the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep…

Your mother lives inside your laughter.

She’s the place you came from, your first home on earth.

She’s the map you follow with every step you take.

She’s your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy [when you didn’t get your way].

But nothing on Earth can separate you.

Not time.

Nor space.

Not even death.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama!

He is Gone But Not Forgotten: Celebrating the Life of Longtime Friend Mark Brodsky

After valiantly battling a life-threatening illness, our dear friend Mark Brodsky died Tuesday, May 2, at El Camino Hospital in Mountain View just minutes before Cecile and I went to sit vigil at his bedside. Mark can best be described as a mensch, which in Yiddish means to be supportive, to be a friend, and to have a caring heart. He also had desire of giving back to his community. He was a former mayor of Monte Sereno, and much beloved by the Rotary for all his mitzvahs (good deeds). He was also a policy advisor for the Santa Clara Valley Transportation Authority (VTA) who advocated proposals to reduce congestion on local freeways and reshape development. When Cecile and I downsized to Rinconada Hills seven years ago, he and his beloved wife and our dear friend Marleen followed our lead by moving into our gated community. It wasn’t too long before Mark became a board member of our HOA and got involved with the Tennis group.

A graduate of San Jose University with a degree in Mechanical Engineering, Mark worked in the semi-conductor industry for many years, before deciding to start his own business called Laser Mark’s LLC, in 1988. It became the technology leader in Laser Processing Services. He also built custom lasers. Lasers were something we had in common, as I used a carbon dioxide in my podiatric medical practice back in the day. He also once made me a laser engraved business card, and other novelty items.

Mark loved his family, and his friends. He was a social butterfly, and never turned down an opportunity to attend a party or celebration. He had an endearing smile, a positive attitude, loved ball room dancing with Marleen. He also loved his Jewish faith and tradition, and loved telling jokes and stories. We were both born in 1950, and our birthdays were two months apart, his on July 26 and mine on August 26. Our respective wedding anniversaries were a day apart, and our favorite place to go to eat Italian food was Aldo’s, and Asian food at Mint Leaf.

Our favorite group activity with our circle of friends was our annual barbecue at Seabright Beach in Santa Cruz that Marleen would organize for us sometime during the Jewish Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. One of the favorite rituals Mark and the group loved was a ceremony called Tashlich. We would each take a morsel of bread and cast it into the ocean. It represents letting go of our mistakes, errors in judgement, regrets, and guilt in the hope that they will be washed away, like the bread in the current, our hearts would open to blessing and gratitude for the new year.

Rest peacefully Mark, and know your life was and is a blessing to all.

Postscript: Friends and family including our daughter Michelle and husband Kyle attended the gravesite burial service at Los Gatos Memorial Park yesterday and a repast luncheon afterwards at Rinconda Hills

HAPPY BIRTHDAY & HAPPY NEW YEAR IN HEAVEN: IN MEMORY OF MY LATE DAD FRANK AUGUSTINE

“We never lost our loved ones. They accompany us; they don’t disappear from our lives. We are merely in different rooms.—Paulo Coelho

One in every 5,000 people in the United States is a centenarian, someone who’s 100 or more years old.15 percent are men, and my dad was one of them, having left the "Train of Life" in 2017 at nearly 101 years old. One could ask, what was his secret? Science tells us that centenarians age slowly, delaying age-related diseases to much later in life. But, the only disease my dad died of was “old age.” He did not have any life-threatening illnesses. So what did dad have in common with other centenarians? He stayed positive. He liked to joke around. He loved seeing people laugh. When difficult situations arose, whether a death in the family or a sibling was ill, he stayed resilient, he adapted, and remained optimistic. Considering the average life expectancy of a man at birth was 78.6 years, my family and I were blessed to have him in our lives, over 20 years beyond his life expectancy.

It is important to honor those who have passed away. It allows us to celebrate a life well lived and share your loved one’s story. I have three opportunities each year to remember my dad whom we affectionally called Frank. His birthday, which is January 5; his death, which is December 18, 2017 and Veterans Day, November 11. By doing this I get to recall his presence vividly, especially when the remembrance is accompanied by photos of him. The relationship I have with my late dad is best defined by the Paulo Coelho quote above that ends with…"We never lost our loved one...We are merely in different rooms.”

Postscript: For anyone who has lost a loved one you’ll find the words that come to life on the youtube clip called, “The Train of Life” with Susan Boyle singing *Auld Lang Syne in the backdrop very inspiring. The Train is a metaphor of how we travel through the different stages of life, meeting new friends, reconnecting with old ones in the same train after so many years. Each year, we say goodbye to those who have left us behind, sharing our dreams, hopes, sorrows, and laughter during those precious moments in our lives. The very essence of this reflection on life is what did we learn from our companions, and our loved ones on this journey. How much did we love, give, cared for, and shared, and, when our time is up, what treasured memories do we leave behind for those still on the train. Cecile and I want to thank those who are on our train, and remember those who departed for the heavenly station.

*Auld Lang Syne: lyrics are in Scots language: can be interpreted as since long ago or for old time’s sake.

The Train of Life:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmtyvQw5ROk

Remembering & Celebrating My Dad on the 5th Year Anniversary of his Passing

“Those we love don’t go away, they walk beside us every day. Unseen, unheard but always near,

still loved, still missed and very dear.” —Author Unknown

It was on December 18, 2017, eight days before Christmas that my dad died while we were vacationing in Maui. Cecile and I had taken him and my late mom, Marie—who passed away four years prior—to Maui in years past with our son Jason and daughter Michelle as seen in a couple of the photos included with this post. My siblings and I were blessed to have dad in our lives just short of reaching a 101. He was a gentle soul who loved wine making, gardening, reading about history, and hiking while being a scout leader for 25 years.

Whenever my mother announced that someone they knew passed away, my father would often say, “We all gotta go sometime.” It sounded so fatalistic, but the truth is, dad was a devout Catholic. He was a lay brother in the Maryknoll seminary in upstate New York, falling short of becoming a priest. Lucky for me, for had he gone on to take his priestly vow of celibacy, I wouldn’t be telling this story. However, he practiced his faith in other ways like volunteering to pass the long handled collection basket in the pews to parishioners at Our Lady of Grace Church in Hoboken, NJ, where I grew up. He was also a chaplain’s aide in the US Army in Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas, and again at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, MD, working under Capt. William Walsh, who was his friend and mentor. After retiring he became the Grand Knight of the Knight of Columbus, a fraternal organization, and for many years tended a small shrine in the bay window of a storage room on the first floor of his and mom’s five-unit apartment building. He wasn’t at all preachy about his religious beliefs, but rather lived his faith. This caught the attention of a local pastor who wrote about my dad in his column called “Faith Matters,” in the Jersey Journal.

Birdseye View of the Veterans Day Parade & Honoring Those Who Served

"We don't know them all, but we honor them all for there service."

My friend and biking partner Bill, who is out of town visiting family recommended I ride my bike to downtown San Jose

to attend the Veterans Day Parade, which continues a 104-year old tradition honoring those who served in the armed forces. The 21-mile loop, mostly done on nature trails unimpeded by car traffic was an excellent idea. It allowed me to get some exercise

and celebrate Veterans Day in honor of those who served, including my late dad, Frank, and late uncles, Anthony and Joseph Augustine who were all stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas. Not having to worry about parking, I managed to get a birds-eye view of the celebratory event on the street side of the security guard rail. U.S. Navy Rear Adm. Anne Swap, served as the grand marshal. She is the National Capital Region market director at the Defense Agency, which includes Walter Reed National Military Medical Center where my dad served as a chaplain’s aide to U.S. Army Captain, William Walsh, who was also his mentor and friend.

The procession included military units, elected officials, vintage vehicles and scout troops, along with marching bands and first responders. The parade was preceded by a ceremony at the reviewing stand across from Plaza de Cesar Chavez.

Postscript: Dad, who was 97 at the time, received a two distinguished service medals and a Citation Certificate along with 80 other vets in the grand rotunda of the Justice Brennan Courthouse in Jersey City, NJ on April 15, 2014. The event was a joint effort by Hudson County Executive, Thomas A. DeGise, the Office of Veteran Affairs, and the Hudson County Board of Chosen Freeholders, Chaired by Anthony Romano. During the same event he also received a Proclamation from the Office of the Mayor of Hoboken at the time, Dawn Zimmer that was presented to him by his 6th ward councilwoman, Jennifer Cattino.

Happy Birthday In the Heavenly Realm to Our Late Brother Michael & the Memories We Shared

Even though our brother Michael no longer walks on this earth, everybody in our family agrees that our relationship with him is not over, by any means. At the beginning of the month we remembered the third anniversary of his death. Today we celebrate the anniversary of his birth and memories we shared while he was alive. Each of us remember Michael in our own way and keep in close to our hearts.

Happy Birthday in Heaven to My Sicilian Mama Maria

“A mother is a son’s first love.

—Denzel Washington

“We are born of love; love is our mother.”

—Rumi

Life was not easy for my dear mother. She grew up in a poor village in Roccalumera, Messina (Sicily). She left her mama and papa, and and three siblings in 1947 to settle in Hoboken, NJ, in a strange country with a different culture, language and a society that often rejected her kind. She left her home for a better life, even though my grandfather, a fisherman had insisted she didn’t have to leave, they would make do. Like many immigrants who came to this country she was looking for the American Dream, and hoped to help the family she left behind.

My dad had to post a bond with the US government to assure officials that he and my mother would marry. I never realized it at the time but it was an arranged marriage of sorts. A friend served as a match maker and showed her a photo of my dad. Even though he was Italian he didn’t speak the language and my mother struggled to learn English. My dad worked at Jansens Dairy and she found work in the garment center, essentially a sweat shop. Later, she was able to work from home doing what was called piece work—sewing fur collars on coats. I was born in 1950, and three siblings, Josephine, my late middle brother Michael and brother Steven would follow. In 1957, mom and dad bought a five-unit apartment building in a nice neighborhood in Hoboken, leaving behind an apartment in a tenement building which would eventually burn to the ground. I was seven years old at the time and my sister was two.

My friends loved my parents. My mother had a sharp wit and a infectious laugh, and was a beautiful woman. She was my first love. I owe my career as a podiatrist to her. I was going to quit college and she encouraged me to consult a family friend that she grew up with in Sicily by the name of Carmine Sippo in Union City. He was a dean at Wagner College in Staten Island. He became my first and most consequential mentor who laid out a viable career path for me.

Our mother ran the roost. She took care of the bookkeeping and was instrumental in convincing our dad that they should become homeowners. I will always remember our trips to Sicily that began when I was a young boy and continued making those trips well into adulthood often taking my mom with us. We lost mom on Mother’s Day in 2013 at the age of 88. We were blessed to have her so long.

There are a lot of cactus plants in Sicily. When Cecile and I downsized to a townhome in a gated community in Los Gatos,

CA, there was a cactus garden with familiar oval cactus fruit right outside what would become my home office window. Every time I look down on it, I think of mom and all the sacrifices she made for me and my siblings. Buon Compleano, Mama. I love you.

Remembering My Late Brother Michael & The Amulet that Keeps us Spiritually Connected

My brother died unexpectedly on November 1, 2019, nine days before his 61st birthday. It was a shocking blow to all of us. There is an old wisdom saying that says “If you don’t remember somebody out loud, they die twice." People live on in the memories of those people around them, whose lives they influenced or affected. Speaking of good memories of a loved one, Michael is not just up there in the big sky, he’s right here in my heart and mind every hour I ride my bicycle which is about 60 to 80 hours a week when I’m in town.

This was made possible by my late brother’s oldest son, my nephew Michael Jr., who gifted me a silver amulet of an elephant on a silver chain with some of my brother’s ashes in them. My nephew thought I might enjoy taking the amulet with me on my bike rides. It was a brilliant idea and a way for me and my late brother to stay spiritually connected. I will forever be eternally grateful for this kind and loving gesture. In many ways the elephant amulet reminds me of the time Michael and I (along with my brother in law, Joe) went to Kenya on a camera Safari. He loved nature and wildlife, especially the majestic elephants as I do. The following poem is dedicated in Memory of our brother Michael.

The Train of Life:

At birth we board the train of life, and met our parents,

Believing they will always travel by our side.

However, at some station our parents would step down,

Leaving us on this life's journey alone.

At some point many significant people will board the train,

Siblings, children, friends, co-workers and our life’s partner.

Some of them eventually step down,

Leaving an empty seat no one else can fill.

This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasies,

Expectations, hellos, and farewells.

We don’t know at which station we ourselves will step down,

So we must live in the best way we can,

And offer the best of who we are, loving, giving and sharing.

When the time comes to leave our seat empty,

We must thank our Creator for the journey [we were given],

Praying [that] we too left behind beautiful memories,

For those who continue on the train of life.

Postscript: I adapted this poem from the author, Jean d’Ormesson, a famous French philosopher and write, who died in 2019

I Never Saw Your Wings: Ode to My Late Mother Marie on Mother's Day

[Mom saw me take my first breath on August 26, 1950, and I saw her take her last breath on Mother’s Day May 12, 2013]

There are Angels God puts on this Earth to care for us and guide us.

You can feel their love and gentleness

As they walk through life beside us.

They do great things for us each and every day

They whisper in our ears,

And hold us in their hearts

When we are filled with fear.

They are always there to give a hug

And try to make us smile.

They treat us with respect and love,

They treat us like their child.

God Blessed me with an Angel,

I’m proud to call my own.

She was with me throughout my life,

Until I was fully grown.

She guided me the best she could,

She taught me like no other,

And though she is no longer here

I am grateful she was my mother.

Postscript: The shrine at Lazise, Lake Garda is typical of many seen in Italy as a tribute to the Madonna. In 1957, 50 years after the institution of Mother’s Day in the United States, a priest in the hill town of Assisi decided that the day should be used to celebrate women and their contribution to family and community life. It was so popular that the following year, a petition was presented to Parliament and the second Sunday in May was declared officially “La Festa Della Mama [Mother’s Day].

Farewell to the Celebrated Vietnamese Zen Master Who Helped Pioneer the Mindfulness Movement in the West & My Encounter with Communist Rule

"One of the most influential spiritual leaders of our times.”

—Oprah Winfrey

Thich Nhat Hanh, whom I've ways considered one of my teachers, was a revered Zen master, peace activist, author, poet, and founder of the Plum Village Monastery in Southern France. "Thay," as he was often called which means teacher in Vietnamese, who helped pioneer the Mindfulness movement in the West passed away peacefully at his villa on the grounds of the 19th century Tu Hien Pagoda (temple) in Hue, Vietnam. Born Nguyen Xuan Bao, the ailing monk who was exiled in the 60s for opposing the Vietnam War had a stroke that in 2014, that left him speechless. At the time, it was believed he wouldn’t survive. But on October 28, 2018, he returned to Vietnam to live in a room with sparse essential furnishings in the very temple where he took his vows at the age of 16. Framed above his head in his own brushstroke were the words tro ve, meaning “returning.” In 1961, he went to the United States to study, and later taught comparative religion for a time at Princeton and Columbia universities. His reputation grew among the hippies of my generation who set his antiwar poetry to music. He was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King, Jr., referring to him as “this gentle monk from Vietnam.”

Nhat Hanh taught a simple form of meditation and mindfulness that was approachable to those interested in peace and tranquility. He published over 70 books, many that have passed through my home library over the years. He told anyone who would listen that you didn’t have to spend years on a mountain top to benefit from meditation. He also taught his students and readers how to live mindfully, focusing on being in the present moment. This was appealing to Westerners who were seeking spirituality without the trappings of organized religion of their youth.

That being said, he had his detractors. His highly publicized visits enraged other Vietnamese exiles when he toured the country in 2005 and 2008, and held well-attended services, giving the impression that the ruling Communist Party permitted freedom of worship. I can tell you from personal experience following a tour of North and South Vietnam with my son Jason in 2004 that religious freedom is heavily curtailed in Vietnam, and the official Buddhist Church of Vietnam is controlled by the state (VBC). This surprise revelation occurred to me following my visit to the Venerable Thich Vien Dinh, who was under house arrest at his Pagoda outside Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). His only crime was that he belonged to the United Buddhist Church of Vietnam (UBCV) and not the Vietnamese Buddhist Church (VBC) under control by the Communist Party. I discovered that there was a mole in the Pagoda reporting to the communists, and whatever photos I took and sent back were confiscated. The authorities also inquired how much money I donated to the pagoda. As of 2017, Dinh’s brother Truman Nhu, a real estate agent in

San Jose and friend who left Vietnam in 1984, informed me that through peaceful resistance and sheer political will, that his serene brother Vien Dihn who he hasn’t seen in 35 years is still a leader of the UBCV. While still under house arrest, he was living peacefully in a 800 year old countryside pagoda in Binh Dihn Province.

Postscript: Thich Nhat Hanh liked to use the lotus flower as a metaphor for life. It reminds us that like the lotus, in order to reach our potential, we have the power to rise above the murky, muddy water-which represents life’s challenges-to bloom into a thing of beauty ("No Mud, No Lotus)

Happy Birthday to My Late Dad Who Lived to Be a Hundred (1917-2017)

“Take one day at a time and go along with the tide.”—Gilbert Herrick

It is an amazing feat when I think about it. My dad, Frank Aloysius Augustine whose birthday falls on Wednesday, January 5, was not a vegetarian. He was somewhat overweight. He may have qualified for having been on a quasi-Mediterranean diet since he and my late mom Maria were good Italian cooks. But by God, he loved his sweets. Yet, in all those years he only was hospitalized once and his mind was sharp as a tack. Living to 100—in his case, just a tad shy of 101, remains a rare occurrence. Individuals who are blessed to reach that age are referred to as centenarians, and make up less than one percent of the US population. So as a family, my belief is we should celebrate his life rather than mourn him. He beat the odds, and as a family we benefited from it. Dad would have loved Gilbert Herrick, attributed to the quote cited above. Not only did he love to rhyme but he lived one day at time and didn’t take life too seriously, especially after retirement. He was, what the local newspaper referred to as an 'Urban Gardener.' He loved to make wine in our back yard shed, he was active in the Hoboken Elks lodge, Grand Knight of the nights of Columbus for two terms, and a Boy Scout Leader for 25 years. Back in his early years he was a lay brother in the Mary-knoll Seminary in upstate New York. Fortunately for me I wouldn’t be here to tell this story had he continued on to become a celibate priest

When it came to death, dad would say, “We all have to go sometime.” If my mother was around when he said this, she would say, "Frank, what’s the matter with you in her charming Sicilian accent?" In her mind any irreverent mention of dying was bad luck. But, when he knew the time was near, he said: “Your mother is calling me to join her.” Shortly after he uttered these words he left this world as we know it on December 18, 1917.

The following poem by English clergyman, and Professor of Divinity at University of Oxford, Henry Scott Holland (1847–1918), wrote this insightful, humble and beautiful poem about the ‘unbroken continuity of life’ after death. "Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?” In one verse father Holland affirmed why I write to remember and honor my father on the anniversary of his birthday and his passing as if he were still here.

Death is Nothing At All

Death is nothing at All

I am I, and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other,

That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.

Speak to me in the easy way

Which you always used.

Put no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed

At the little jokes we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word

That it always was.

Let it be spoken without effect.

Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same that it ever was.

There is absolute unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind

Because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.

For an interval.

Somewhere. Very near.

[Up a spiral staircase through the clouds]

All is well.

Note: Some photos of remebrance

Mourning the Loss of a Great and Dear Childhood Friend and 911 First Responder: John "Jack” Dempsey

“When a childhood friend unexpectedly leaves us, a piece of our heart is forever broken.” —Author Unknown

When someone suddenly disappears from our lives, as it always does in this impermanent life of ours—in this case the loss of my close and dear childhood friend from Hoboken, NJ, named John “Jack” Dempsey—we can see the precious value of that friend more clearly as it forces one to reflect upon that friendship. John passed away peacefully on Thursday morning, December 23, 2021 at the age of 72. He grew up on 9th and Bloomfield Street and I grew up on 5th Street between Garden and Bloomfield. We both went to the former Our Lady of Grace elementary school just across from Church Square Park near my family home. It was because of John, a very popular young man that I was introduced to new friends on 11th and Washington Street. It was our turf, if you will. We played a lot of street games such as stickball, stoop ball, slap ball, miniature football, whiffle ball, and basketball to name a few. We also played poker and Acey Deucey for money on the steps of the iconic Masonic Lodge when it was closed and other venues. No one made me laugh more than John. He had great sense of humor coupled with a sharp wit. We played electronic football and Monopoly at his parents’ home and vacation home in Budd Lake and we loved to go to Schnackenberg’s Luncheonette for cherry cokes, egg creams, tuna melts, milkshakes and cheeseburgers and meet up with mutual friends. This gem of a hangout operated since 1931 was officially closed on January 28, 2019, and replaced by a new owner under the name of Alfalfa. We also hung out in the abandoned warehouses and piers with our friends where the movie “On the Waterfront” starring Marlon Brando, Eva Marie Saint, Rod Steiger, Karl Malden, and Lee J. Cobb was filmed. Now the waterfront has been replaced with sparkling high-rise apartments, condos, restaurants, retail outlets, commerciall buildings, and the W. Hotel. The street is now known as Hoboken Waterfront Walkway. There is also a Frank Sinatra Park, named after Hoboken’s favorite son.

Even though we played other sports, in the end, our all time favorite game growing up became basketball at various municipal parks around town. John and I went to St. Michael’s High School in Union City for two years before transferring to Hoboken High School for our remaining two years and graduated with the class of 1968. We played basketball at both schools. He was a star forward and team player who had a jump-shot that was pure poetry. He also ran track and later in life took up golf . From the first time we met, John and I were inseparable. We wore the same black leather and beige Parker jackets. To make this point see the attached yearbook photo of our St. Michael’s Junior Varsity Team. In the top or second row, John wore a number 51 T-shirt and I was number 22. Someone, who I don’t recall, wrote at the top of the yearbook photo “What happened?" You’re not together!" We also began college at Northwestern State College in Alva, Oklahoma for two years, leaving for different personal reasons. In John’s case it was the unexpected passing of his dad. This is where our paths began to diverge. He decided to attend Rutgers University, and I entered pre-med at Wagner College in Staten Island, NY, after which I decided to attend the Illinois College of Podiatric Medicine in Chicago. After graduation in 1975 Cecile and I moved to California. John decided on a path of law enforcement, and enrolled in the Port Authority of NY/NJ Police Academy. Before he could graduate, he was drafted by the United States Army and was set to serve in Vietnam. Luckily, upon completing his military Police training, he was reassigned to serve in Stuttgart, Germany at the United States European Command in the Military Police Honor Guard. Upon being honorably discharged he began his career with the Port Authority and was assigned to the George Washington Bridge where he served for the next thirty years. He was also a Port Authority racquetball champion two years in a row. John was a first responder on the September 11th attack on our country. The loss of 37 fellow officers, and attending most of their funerals and memorial tributes had a profound impact on his life.

John married his St. Michael’s High school sweetheart, Sheila Ferry on November 16, 1974, while I married my beloved Cecile whom I met in Chicago on March 25, 1977. My parents Frank and Maria Augustine loved John and treated him like a member of the family, and he loved them. It was so comforting having him present at their wake and memorial mass as he was for my late brother Michael. John was a real mensch and much beloved. He adored and was devoted to his wife, children and grandchildren. Cecile and I offer our heartfelt condolences to his wife Sheila, their children, William, Sheila Cooper, and Deirdre Flores, grandchildren, Molly, Owen, and Kieran, and John’s surviving sisters, Maureen (his twin), Eileen, and Kathleen. We love you John and may your Rest in Peace dear friend.

Please check out the obituary of a real patriot who served his community and his country with honor and dignity. It has been visited over 1871 times and counting.

https://www.vandermay.com/obituarydetail.html#/20961

Postscript: The photos of John and Shiela were taken at my dad Frank’s 100 th birthday dinner Trattoria Il Cafone in Lyndurst, NJ, except for the last two of me with John holding my godson William with Sheila by his side and John with his arm around my late mother Maria and Sheila looking on, respectively.