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In memory of Frank Chiarini
7/25/33 – 12/13/12

When I was a little girl,
I would stand on my father’s feet;
he would dance me around the kitchen and sing,
We all live in a yellow submarine.

When my brother was a little boy,
we would all go swimming together.
John would jump into the deep water
from the top of my father’s shoulders.
John would jump into the water over and over.
My father would catch him again and again.

When my mother least expected it,
my father would sneak up behind her
and wrap her in a tight bear hug.
Someone took a picture of the embrace;
the photo hung on the wall of our house
for many years.

These are the memories we cling to
as we navigate this new world without
Our Frank. Our daddy. Our papa.
Some memories will make us laugh,
others will make us cry
but all will do the job of
keeping him alive.

It doesn’t get easier: It gets different.

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