Another one bites the dust.

In this case, my dad.

Even if only in the relative youth of his seventies, he was very unwell, and this turn of events was not unexpected: years of bad dieting and obesity, six or more endless weeks in hospital after a rotted away gallbladder, getting progressively worse, until -bam, septic shock, ITU, decline a few more weeks, and it's over.

And, he was abroad, living there and whatnot (at least not alone, bless his partner of fifteen plus years): not just in Milano, but in Rimini when it happened, so even more inaccessible for everyone to be with him.

Oh, we kept in contact, as regular as the terrible hospital signal allowed, and once he deteriorated to ITU, I made the arduous trek to possibly talk one last time face to face, unconscious as he may have been. The kids even did some lovely get well soon cards to leave with him...

Was it enough? No. Over the years, there was always a valid excuse not to visit more: the money, the family...but, truthfully, I should have been there more often.

We spoke almost daily before his latest illness, but they were swift video calls, a quick update from me, some words from him, peace and love we said to each other, and that was that.

But, the being there, to see him, perhaps every couple, or even every three months...I was lucky if I went once a year.

And, thusly, we became distant, me more likey than him: the leagues separating us, and the heart not pulling hard enough to reunite us.

And now, he is gone, onto the next adventure: (un)funny how we always think of what needs doing once it's too late.

I'm happy that he's in the beyond, meeting his dad, nonno Albino, and I'm happy that he's no longer in pain, tethered to the dying husk of his chrysalis...but, I'll miss those little five minute talks we had, those little snippets of connectivity.

Dad, I'll miss you: take care of yourself, don't be afraid, and see you when the time comes to join you.

Until then, live on in my heart, and let us remain connected by the forever thread of love.

In love and memory of Giuseppe Ronchi

Your tearful fool,

Stefano Ronchi