Fernando Clementino 1927--1994

September 23, 1994



Its is not over for Dad, his journey home has only begun.



When Dad was diagnosed with cancer seven weeks ago, we began our journey through a hot barren, desert. At times, it felt as though we would shrivel from the elements which were thrown at us day after day. Personally, I felt as though getting out of bed each morning was the most difficult task which I encountered. It was as though each day the news got worse. One day at Mass I asked God if I would ever hear good news again. After many hours of prayer and contemplation, it occurred to me that the beauty was there if I only choose to recognize it. Then it was as if a light flipped on. I suddenly realized that we had the opportunity to present my father with the greatest gift of all--the ability to show him an example of unconditional love.

Once I really looked, I realized we could demonstrate to him each day he lived that HE was our greatest priority. We could show him that no matter what, we would make him our central focus. We were able to witness a vulnerability and sweetness about him that was once hidden beneath a rough exterior. I saw tenderness between my parents that erased any bad memories which had accumulated during their 38 years of marriage. These sweet memories would sustain my mother forever. Although my family was thrust into a situation which seemed like a nightmare, we were supported by our friends and family members. In the most difficult of times, we were able to draw upon that strength. The prayers and support of our friends was vital in our daily routine. Yes, we were walking through a hot, barren desert, but often times, there were roses blooming right there in our path. I am so thankful for the beauty we encountered along our way. It was rare and magnificent. During many of the bad days, we would be blessed by a visit from a friend, a call from a family member, a card in the mail or a hug from a loved one. "Friends form a circle of strength and love. With every birth and every union, the circle grows. Each Joy we share adds more love. Likewise, each crisis faced together makes our circle stronger." My dad was most definitely encircled by the love and support of his friends. He was most joyous when in the company of these friends.



The early days of Dad's illness were difficult to accept. It was watching the most vital human I knew slip day after day. While he was hospitalized after the surgery, Dad was given large amounts of morphine for pain control. About four days after his surgery, I called Daddy from my office to check on him and let him know that I would be down to see him later that afternoon. When he picked up the phone, he sounded so weak..so sleepy. I asked him how he felt and he replied in a voice that was unfamiliar to me. "I'm so tired, Buppie...so, so tired.". Dad sounded as though he was falling down into a large black morphine pit and was just barely holding on.

I asked, "Dad, I'm coming to see you in about two hours. Can I bring you anything?"

There was an immediate pause and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. He then began to talk, his speech still tentative, but I could sense his brain was sending a message to his mouth. Then, as though he was climbing hand over hand out of that deep pit of pain and medication, he perked up..

"Yeah. You can bring me something.". By this time he was beginning to sound like himself. "In my office desk, top drawer on the left, there are some business cards which say 'J & D Trailer Sales. Bring me one of those cards."

Thinking that perhaps he was dreaming, I confirmed his request. He informed me that he, in fact, needed this particular business card because he had sold a trailer to one of the nurses during the week. Now, I was the one who was dazed and confused.

I asked, "A horse trailer?"

He replied, "Yeah. I sold a trailer this week and I need that business card so this lady can call these people. I need to call them to give them the specs and to let them know that I'm sending this lady down."

My confused reply revealed the smile on my face through the connection. "So, are you working off commission now?"

He said, "Hell yeah! They give me a hundred bucks for each customer I send them!"

When I arrived at the hospital, with business card in hand, I told Dad that he was the only person I knew who could undergo major surgery and generate a sales commission in the same week.

Dad's reply was one of his favorite sayings, "Hey kid, if you're not first, you're last!".

It was at that point in time I realized exactly how blessed I was. My father was one of a vanishing breed. He didn't possess a formal education and, at times, his common sense overruled his tactfulness. But, he was a survivor. His fortitude, resourcefulness, courage, strength and humor prevailed over everything--including cancer. Defeat was not in his vocabulary. The material things that my father leaves behind are many, but the memory of his vibrant spirit will live far beyond the things we can see and touch.

My father COULD have been a man confined to a 40 hour per week job, with a comfortable salary and a good retirement. But, he wasn't. He was an example of someone who possessed a great passion for his career which helped to create communities for people to live and raise families. He conducted business with an integrity and honesty which is sorely lacking in our present world.

He COULD have been a man who avoided strangers and never cultivated friendships. Instead, he was a man who never met a stranger. There was always an instant connection with each person he met. The guest books from the wine cellar are filled with signatures of people whom others would have considered mere strangers, but Dad considered them friends. He possessed a phenomenal loyalty to those friends and stood by them through crisis, sickness or trouble. He always gave good, sound advice in simplistic terms and helped many people throughout his life establish businesses, build homes, make career changes, post bail, or execute practical jokes.

Dad COULD have been someone with few interests. But, we all knew he wasn't. He was someone consumed with his wine making, his horses, his beautiful home and teaching his grandchildren solid work ethics. The most beautiful memories that his grandchildren will possess will be images of him in the cold, dimly lit wine cellar, raising a sharp knife with his large arm to cut down a stick of salami hanging from the rafters where it dried. I can still see the grandchildren lined up waiting for him to slice the salami and tell them a story. The next generation of Clementino children will hold memories in their hearts of their "Papa" chopping fire wood, gathering eggs, feeding the animals, driving tractors, building barns, moving hay--all the simple yearly tasks in which he included them with great joy. They will always remember Papa and Granny's home as a place where they could run with freedom and be completely safe. They loved to assist with the essential chores which made the ranch a home.

Dad's friends COULD have been the quiet, studious types who contemplated the meaning of life. But, they weren't. We had the joy of meeting some of the most colorful and delightful people throughout his life. Most all of these characters came to be constant members of our extended family. To grow up in a home where laughter, hospitality and friendship was always present was a gift in itself. The friends who entered our home had done it all and seen it all and in spite of it all, survived laughing with huge hearts.

The night my father died Mom and I were by his side helping him to make the journey to meet our family and friends who had gone before him. Underneath Dad's bed was a clock radio which Mom had placed several days earlier. The volume was turned down very low, yet I could hear the lyrics of the song playing, which I sang to my father as I said good-bye. "We'll sing in the sunshine, we'll laugh everyday, we'll sing in the sunshine, and I'll be on my way." As I sang the final verse, Dad took his leave. I was consumed by the warmth of the sunshine from heaven above.


In closing, I would like to say that our parents give us life, nurture us when we are infants, enlighten us as we are children, guide us through our teenage years and sustain us as we are adults. The best gift I've ever received was the opportunity to assist my father in his most important journey--his journey home to the sunshine of God's love. It felt so right to help the one who was responsible for my birth, with his birth to eternal life. It makes the circle of life complete and reinforces my faith in God's plan for us.

You Never Stop Being a Mother

I remember when my Mom was sentenced to the Alzheimer's facility. I'm sure no one can forget the first day they leave their child in daycare or Kindergarten. Well, leaving your parent behind in a skilled nursing facility is a lot like that, only WAY harder. When you leave a child, you leave behind the promise of new experiences and undiscovered adventures the day will hold. Your mind quickly flashes to circle time, snack time, art time, and outside play time. When you leave your parent behind in a facility which you've screened, interviewed and thoroughly inspected, you know it's the beginning of the end. The day we left my Mom was tragically heartbreaking. She was frightened, confused and fought us like a 5 year old. She hallucinated a lot in the beginning, and her dreams were so vivid she really thought she was being attacked in the night. When seeing bruises that you know are more medication related than abuse, you begin to wonder....and quickly change your mind recalling the careful screening you and your family did which exposed nothing negative.

After a few weeks, Mom would exhibit and occasional good day. One day when I arrived I found her following the cleaning cart instructing the housekeeping team. Always being an ultra clean freak, she was obviously over-qualified for her new "consulting" task, but the fact that she was already losing her ability to talk was probably a good thing. Although Mom's speech skills were seriously compromised by this time, I'm sure the cleaning woman learned a few things. They'd give mom a duster and let her do the pictures in the hall. Of course, in mom's real life a feather duster was considered a cop out. Nothing was every really clean unless you did it by hand with a good cloth and some Lemon Pledge or Pine Sol. She was a firm believer that the only thing Feather Dusters did, was stir the dust around. I hate it when she turned out to be right! Every time I use my Swiffer, I wonder what she'd think of it? Of course, I thinks it's the best thing since Oxy Clean! (which sucks, because that came out after too...). When getting warm fuzzies about my mom it's never over the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies. However, let me smell a good dose of pine sol and I'll weep like a Italian widow!

When Mom, however, settled into the "facility" she would be happy to see a familiar face. It goes without saying that was a tough time in my life, and inevitable she would always pick up on my sadness. She would try to find me a clean-made bed among the residents rooms and tell me to take a nap while she watches the kids. She once asked me out of the clear blue sky if I needed money. Funny thing was I really did!

The point is that even though I was now her "caregiver" she still could read me like a book. She may have been wearing a diaper, but she was not going to stop being my mother. Several times she asked about my brother, Gary (who died in 1966). When she asked about my Dad, who had been gone for nearly 6 years, I responded through tears when I told her he was busy making wine. It was the first time I was happy that my Pop wasn't there to witness what was happening to Mom. It was difficult enough to support Mom while Dad was 'sick'. Had the places been reversed, it would have been impossible to give him comfort. He was always the bigger than life guy. You know what they say about the "big guys"...they fall harder. Work hard, play harder. It's funny when you are facing the end stages of your parents' life, you thank God for small blessings.

The diagnosis of my mother-in-law, Anna in 2006, with Pulmonary Fibrosis, was somewhat easy to take since she responded to the treatments so well. Even when the treatments brought on the Diabetes, she pushed through and became vigilant about taking care of herself. She got a little 'sassy' with all the steroids, but it just made her funnier. It was sweet when she would voice an opinion--especially when she was defending the Republican Party during Obama's run. Hearing her strong opinions was something she never really did up until she was older. It only proved that under that demure, sweet, apple-doll face, she was a spitfire.

Recently, Ann was hospitalized with another debilitating realization that this illness would eventually take her life. She was stoic and brave when the docs told her that although she wouldn't die from this latest set-back, this illness would eventually take her life. She was faced with making decisions about her end of life, while she was still coherent and well enough to fight. She is a strong woman, from feisty stock who lived through a lot in her life and never complained--even a little! Yet, when she was in that hospital room, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, she was still quite in charge. She was still the "Mother".

I am forever grateful to God for giving me such a "perfect" mother-in-law. She has always been the Grandma who colored with the kids, never forgot a birthday and who was always there to help. I only hope I can be that kind of Mother-in-Law and Grandma that she has been to all of us.