For George...

Today, I am remembering someone who passed away a year ago on this date. His name was George Funtanilla. He was not my father, nor my step father; he is the father of my two older brothers. (My mom gave me his name..long story for another time)
Anyways…George was rarely in my life as a child. He and my mom had been married and had the two boys. Before I came along, they were divorced. His life was a hard one. He treated his body badly with drugs, alcohol and smoking for years and years. He spent some time in prison, in rehabilitation places and on the streets. I don't believe he ever had a steady job of any sort. He was truly on the periphery of my life and someone I held at arms length in my early years because, "he was not my dad."
I believe my mothers death had a big effect on him. Even though they had been divorced for many years, he still had such a crazy thing for her. Perhaps, she had been the love of his life. I'm not sure. They were crazy & wild together and were high school sweethearts.
So, the years passed and I grew up and he and I kept in touch every so often. He was ALWAYS sweet and kind to me. He had absolutely nothing and yet, he was one of the most carefree, loving, non-judgemental, and forgiving people I have ever known. He was silly, like a child. He made jokes and laughed like a little kid. It was such an endearing quality.
When his mother died in the late 1990's and his brothers picked him up off some bad streets of San Francisco, he cleaned up his act. He was drug and alcohol free from that time on. He moved up to an indian reservation in northern california where I talked to him more since we were closer in proximity. (before I moved to GA.) He loved living there with the sweat lodges, the simple people, and the cleaner air. When I graduated from college in 1999, he was in the crowd and I couldn't have been more happy to have him there. That day, he decided to quit smoking.
Then his body took a turn. For the next 5 years, his body just simply broke down. He had a hip replacement. He had by-pass surgery. He had trouble breathing and carried around an oxygen tank. He frequently had to be taken by ambulance or helicopter to the hospital. His organs were slowly shutting down, little by little, one by one. His liver was in bad shape; his lungs were in worse shape. And yet, all throughout, he never lost his ability to laugh, joke, smile, flirt with the nurses, charm everyone in sight or have a positive attitude. Over these years, he and I grew very close. We called each other and shared and mostly, I let him in, instead of keeping him at bay. He was not my father, but he was the only father I knew and he said things to me I always wanted to hear from a dad: "I'm so proud of you". "I love you" "I tell everyone about you and how proud I am of you". He had pictures of me in his house and he would always tell those who came over, "that's my daughter." For me, who is such a serious person, I could never be serious around him because he was such a goofball. What a wonderful thing. In my hallway, I have 2 pictures of he and I. We are sitting on the deck of a house with Lake Tahoe in the background. It is a clear and beautiful day and we are hugging and smiling. They are beautiful shots and I am so happy to have them. I looked at them this morning and smiled.
A year ago, his body just gave out. He died in his home as he sat in his lounge chair. His dog, Little Guy, was near.
I am not sad in this recollection. I feel warmth and I feel love.

Dad, you are in my heart.