Moving through Grief: My Experiences in June
Last month was filled with the gamut of human emotions from deep sadness to uplifting moments that I wanted to share my experiences as I moved through the unexpected grief of losing my father while appreciating life’s surprises.
The past three months were filled with wonderful personal and community moments, something that my father would have deeply appreciated. I had sponsored the Aloha 5K run to support the Glens Falls Hospital Foundation, got a new bike rack installed on Glen Street, participated in two events with Ascend Mental Wellness, wrote a review of a play for Fort Salem Theater that ended up on their website, finished another freelance article for a small business started by a high schooler, and organized an event to celebrate 100-years of Haviland Cove Beach. Each experience would have filled my father was pride, but grief never asks permission.
I received the call from my mom at seven o’clock on Sunday, May 31st. Michael had just left for a work conference two hours away, so I was alone. After sitting with that sudden shock for an hour, I rode my bike into downtown and attended an early mass at Saint Mary's. During the mass, my father's favorite church song, How Great Thou Art, was featured, along with the closing song, Go Make a Difference. It was so spiritually and personally poignant that I ended up staying for thirty minutes knelt in silence at the altar.
After exiting the church, I walked into the Kitch-A-Vibe cafe for some coffee and read Tell My Sons by Lt. Co. Mark Weber that I intended to give to my dad for Father's Day. I found it by happenstance at Crandall Library's spring book sale the day prior, and it has been very helpful to process the loss of my father. When the barista asked how I was, I moved past the first stage of grief by responding that my dad just died. I received a hug from the owner, Diana, before sitting down on a couch to read. After an hour, I walked around downtown before sitting on a bench in City Park. The memories of my father were rocketing through my mind, so I decided to write in my notebook.
After handwriting dozens of pages, I walked toward the Just One More Chapter bookstore, where I chatted with Ashley, the owner. I learned that she lost her mother two years ago, and after becoming stricken with grief, she transformed her life by joining Emergency Medical Services as well as starting this bookstore. Talking with Ashley was an important reminder that the loss of a parent is a shared human experience. Riding home, I stopped at a bench along the Pruyn's Path trail to transpose my writing into an essay about my father. During the funeral the following week, dozens of people complimented it, pointing out that it helped them process this sudden loss.
When I arrived home after publishing my essay, I decided to watch one of my father’s favorite movies, Disney’s Invincible. The movie premiered twenty years ago and told the incredible story about Vince Papale and the 1976 Philadelphia Eagles team. The movie opens with sepia-toned images of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in the late 1970’s, showcasing the strife in the city, though the children seen were still enjoying childhood. Given that my dad was born in 1960, he was a teenager when Vince Papale became the oldest, non-kicker rookie to join the Philadelphia Eagles. The story of Vince Papale, like the fictional story of Rocky Balboa, mirrors the grit, perseverance, and spirit of Philadelphia. The film ends with an embellished touchdown by Papale where he recovers a fumbled ball and runs forty yards to the endzone. When I saw the movie in the theater with my dad in 2006, I remember everyone standing up to mirror the cheers depicted on screen. Right before the credits, Vince Papale’s father receives a heartwarming message from the bartender at the bar where he was watching the game. It is a message that every prideful father wants to hear after their son accomplishes something great: “That’s your boy.”
Since Michael was away, I invited friends over to talk around our firepit in the backyard. It allowed the day to end with grace and support, whether from Jay, Morgan, Jules, or Jade. Given that the funeral was expected next week, I worked through Thursday at Warren County, where I am employed as a recording clerk. During the week, I also organized a Quality of Life Committee meeting that involved some organizations presenting their Occupancy Tax Grant applications. After listening to thirteen organizations the past three weeks, we finished writing and passing a resolution for the July 14th Common Council to distribute $90,000 of occupancy tax funds, with more distributions soon. It was certainly a strange experience to continue my daily obligations with the feeling of emptiness in my heart. When Michael arrived home on Wednesday, I embraced him with a long, cathartic hug as we talked well into the night.
On Friday, Michael and I ventured down to New Jersey to be with family and attend the wedding ceremony for my cousin Andrew and his now-wife, Shirley. Andrew had been one of a few cousins that have visited us in Glens Falls, New York. Andrew and Shirley were huge fans of the Dave Matthews band, and they have been to the Saratoga Performing Arts Center multiple times over the years. We attended the wedding ceremony before driving north afterward to head back to Glens Falls. It took place at the Madison in Riverside, New Jersey, with a gorgeous, sunny day leading to a night of dancing, connection, and good times. At the reception, they staged a table as a reminder of those that passed, like Andrew’s mom, Loretta, in 2006, his brother Charles in 2013, and our grandfather in 2024. Right next to those photographs was a picture of my father, wearing his kelly-green Philadelphia Eagles jersey with a smile. It was the first physical reminder that he was gone, so I kneeled next to the table in silence before saying goodbye to the family and departed with Michael.
After a rainy night of driving, the morning began with a lovely run in the Adirondack Runner’s Betar Byway 5K, where I embraced the memories of my father and I over the years running together. My friends and neighbors that joined the race were immensely supportive, eventually donating to Catholic Charites in my dad’s honor. After the race, I headed home to shower and snag a print of a poster for the Friends of Crandall Library’s vendor tent at the Pride Festival. The last two years, I convinced the group to allow me to give away books during the festival, and this year, our tent was situated next to the Crandall Library tent. It was manned by Freida Toth who helps community engagement at the library and, over the past year, has become a lovely friend. During the event, she snagged some beautiful photos that were emblematic of the festive atmosphere at the event.
After I set up the Friends of Crandall Library tent with bags of books on a table, I walked over to the gazebo in the middle of Glens Falls City Park to join some dignitaries, like Assemblywoman Carrier Woerner, Mayor Diana Palmer, and Lower Adirondack Pride President Cam Cardinale, for the opening ceremonial speeches. As the first openly gay, elected Glens Falls Councilman, I was incredibly humbled and proud to be a part of the ceremony. My brief speech talked about the dual importance of celebrating pride and remembering those that we lost. During the uplifting march around downtown, I unfurled my thirty-foot pride flag and convinced a half-dozen folks to help me carry it above. It turned some heads as we walked through City Park and along the sidewalks by Spot Coffee, Wood Theater, Mean Max, and Farmacy, creating a memorable experience. I smiled at a young boy behind me who was determined to carry it with his hands stretched high as his mother walked beside him. By the time we finished the mile loop, we folded it back into a Hannaford Pride grocery bag and continued enjoying the festivities.
As I explored, I reconnected with some amazing folks in the community, like Jess Keller from Light and Lens Photography Studio, Jess Monroe of the Fizzy Pup, and Michelle of Ascend Mental Wellness. I even learned about a gentleman, manning the Temple Beth El booth at the festival, that moved to Glens Falls from Tennessee with his husband partly due to an article by Glens Falls Living about Michael and I. When I returned to the Friends of Crandall Library tent, I was happy to see Christine Brenner manning the table. She explained that so many books were given away, gleaming with pride. Before we said goodbye, I made sure to get a picture to commemorate the day to share on the Friends of Crandall Library’s social media. While it did rain for the back half of the event, it did not dim the spirits of everyone. In fact, once the rain stopped near dusk, a rainbow could be seen arching over the city.
The weather precipitated a relaxing evening with Michael and I before we drove back down to New Jersey to spend the week with my family. It began with an evening on Tuesday, and the following morning on Wednesday, at Givnish Funeral Home. Walking into the funeral home was surreal, as it was the same location of the funerals with my grandfather, Charles Palladino Senior, as well as my cousin, Charles Palladino III, in recent years. The images on the television screens cycled through hundreds of pictures gathered by my sister. Around the room with his open casket were dozens of race medals and flowers, with a printed poster promoting a half-marathon group on September 20th to run in his honor. I had also requested that my tiger stuffed animal be placed in the room, with its collar featuring photos of my grandfather and father.
Over the course of two hours on Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning, we met hundreds of people that my father knew in his life. I enjoyed meeting his childhood friends who emphatically talked about their neighborhood escapades. His entire as bowling league arrived, reminiscing about the memories at the lanes in Pinsetter’s Bowling Alley whom my brother was a member. There were dozens of parishioners from Saint Charles Borromeo church, cousins, and friends, including my dad’s best friend, Mike Santucci. It filled my heart with joy, listening to everyone recall their own personal memories of my father.
It was a whirlwind of conversations until the final goodbye when the casket was closed and carried into the hearse. As we drove toward Saint Charles Borromeo, we saw the annual carnival in full force throughout the church and schoolyard. My dad, along with my siblings and I, have volunteered over the years for a big, community fundraiser and carnival. The rides were hauled into the ground every June by Amusements of America, a traveling carnival operator that travels to events from Miami to Vermont. When my siblings and I attended Saint Charles Borromeo Catholic school, we were all get excited when the trailers would begin setting up in the large yard, signaling that summer was about to begin.
The hearse parked in the front of the church, allowing everyone to exit and enter the church. My grandmother led the family up the center aisle, taking a seat at the front. Within moments, my cousin, Tina, somberly began reciting her eulogy. It beautifully led the captive congregation through special moments and relationships in my father’s life, including some humorous notes about his overly positive wishful thinking during Philadelphia Eagles games. Thankfully, he was able to witness his football team become two-time Superbowl Champions in his lifetime.
During the church service, my other cousin, Jennier Blake, and myself, were tasked with reciting Bible readings. My reading was from the fourth letter of the Thessalonians. It talks about hope, specifically about how believing Jesus Christ will allow those to enter heaven. As I walked to the lectern, I solemnly touched my father’s casket and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. As Maya Angelou had said in an interview, I spoke with confidence by cultivating the spirit of every person that had passed including my father. I thought about the last thing that he shared on social media involving a message to God to protect his family. I knew that he would be so proud of the words that I spoke at the altar. Once the mass had ended, we walked out of the church in procession as I saw everyone in the audience. It was heartwarming to see so many people who were able to attend the funeral service that it spurred tears in my eyes.
The procession proceeded to head to the luncheon at a local country club. It was an experience of mixed emotions, as it led to a beautiful gathering of different families coming together for the first time in decades. No matter if someone’s last name was Rauchet, Palladino, or Gramigna, we all gathered to celebrate the life and legacy of a man who spurred brought joy, smiles, and connection to us all. It was an experience that spurred memories of family gatherings in the past. Once the banquet was finished and everyone said goodbye, we headed back to my mother’s home to rest before heading to a local brewery, Doctor Brewlittle’s.
Started in 2020 by Veterinarian Christopher Torre and Jack O’Connell in Maple Shade, New Jersey, it has become a favorite amongst my siblings and father. The brewery prides itself on cultivating an environment of exceptional craft drinks and an inviting environment that caters to humans as well as their furry friends. My father was a part of their annual membership where each member gets a special, large mug to enjoy every visit. When Michael and I arrived, everyone was posing for pictures while holding onto his commemorative mug. Made out of ceramic, the green mug was emblazoned with the brewery logo, a spotted dog, and their tagline, “a doggone good beer". Every photo taken allowed each person to remember my father through a simple cup that epitomized numerous evenings of camaraderie over the years.
The following day, I rose early and laced on my running shoes to race around the local trails. The temperature was humid, but I moved slowly through the sidewalks of Riverside and the trails of Amico Island Park. My earphones played the solemn clips from an audio mission to honor fallen runners during a zombie apocalypse intermixed with my dad’s favorite songs. By the time I finished running four miles, I was thoroughly exhausted but proud. In the afternoon, we all ventured to the Philadelphia Crematory for the next step in the process. My father’s final wish was his ashes spread on top of a mountain in Shenandoah, Virginia, one of his favorite hiking trips with my stepmother, Beth.
The process of cremation is lengthy, but the emotional sensitivity of the staff is superb. Every movement of the body, from a small altar to inside the machine, was carefully orchestrated to ensure patience and grace for the grieving family. After a couple hours inside the machine, the body is turned to powder and placed inside an urn. While I watched my dad’s casket move into the chambers, I knew that this was not the end. Over the next year, we will plan a trip to the Shenandoah mountains and give his spirit one last breathtaking hike to the summit.
On Friday night, after we drove back to Glens Falls, I put on my suit one more time and attended the Lower Adirondack Pride Gayla in which I was representing the city since Mayor Palmer was unable to attend. Standing at the podium, I talked about my father and my mother-in-law, acknowledging the changes that I have seen in both of them toward acceptance of my relationship with Michael over the years. All it takes is our everyday kindness and compassion to change the world.
While the emotional pain of losing my father still hurts, I know that he is always here, whether moving through the wind, disguised as an animal, or behind the eyes of everyone that knew him. As Sirius Black told Harry in Prisoner of Azkaban, “the ones that love us never really leave us.” All I have to do to keep honoring his memory is make him proud every day.
As my siblings and I stand on the precipice of a life without him, I began cultivating a portion of the web dedicated to his life. Over the course of the year, his life, and the memories it encompassed, will be relived for everyone that knew him on in a small corner of the web. Losing a father is a shared experience with everyone, but it doesn't erase the decades of memories. My dad, Dennis Palladino, was a wonderful man, and I want his legacy to continue.
