First, I wanted to thank everyone for coming here to be with us today
and for showing us your love and support. We have definitely needed you
during this traumatic time. I'll be completely honest with you... I didn't think I would be able to do this today. Coming here and seeing all of you, I thought I was going to break down. But in reality, seeing all your familiar faces and smiles helped me get through this and I couldn't thank you enough for that. Even though there have been a lot of tears this past week, this is not a time for suffering or sorrow. It’s to help us give voice to my father’s memory; because that is the true reason we are here today. We are here in remembrance of a great man. My father was a great man. As a father, he was stern, but he was also very compassionate, loving, and devoted to Chris, Mom, and me. I was speaking to a good friend of dads, and I was telling him a story. I don't remember what story I told him, but we both laughed, and he just replied “George was George.” If you know my dad at all, without explanation, you’ll know exactly what that means. George was George.

As I've gotten older and more mature, I learned that the most important thing to my father was us, his family. He took amazingly good care of the three of us and he loved my mother more than anything in this world. He was known to pamper her by always having her perfect cup of coffee waiting for her by her bedside table before she even opened her eyes, having her car warm and ready for her to head to school on a cold winter day, and always having her gas tank full so that she never needed to know how to fill her own tank. We didn’t live in Jersey, so we actually had to know how to do that. The two of them had an amazing marriage of over 35 years. My parents together have accomplised so much. There were able to overcome anything that life handed them.

He was also a tremendous Father. He was always there for us. When Chris and I were kids, he went to every track meet, every band and chorus performance. He was at every soccer, baseball, lacrosse, football, and basketball game. He even went to our practices. I still remember him plopping down in his lawn chair in the outfield just to watch. Speaking of baseball, my dad LOVED the Phillies. Loved the Phillies. I’m really glad my dad was able to see the Phillies win 2 World Championships. My father also loved the Eagles. Those DAMN EAGLES.  I think I’m going to blame this one on them. My father was a remarkable man like many other inspiring mentors and role models. He was a person of devotion and integrity. EVEN when we didn’t want it, he was ALWAYS there to give us advice. That is one of the things I will miss most about him. I know we are STILL going to need his advice. I know there are going to be events in my life where I’m going to need his help. My father was a man of faith and has raised me to be the same, so I know he'll be there to guide us along the way.

 My father's death was a huge shock to everyone. Even hearing those words, I still don't believe it. But I don’t think I’m the one that's most upset about his passing. It's not my brother, and it's not my Mom either. The person that is most pissed off and upset about this is him. It wasn't his time yet and I know he feels gypped. Over the past couple of years, when my parents retired down to the Villages, I have never seen them so happy, relaxed, and full of life. Now that Chris and I have graduated from college and are out of the house, it was time for them to live their life again. They have met new friends that they are traveling the world with, going on trips to the Caribbean, Europe, and cruises to here and there. I was actually really jealous of them. They were supposed to be in Paris right now, a trip that I know both my dad and mom were super excited about. Dad loved being retired in the Villages and living this new life .At his memorial yesterday, there were over 100 friends there telling us stories about my dad and mom. They were lecturers and Eucharistic Ministers from the church. They were people that played pickle ball, softball, or golf with my parents. They had story after story to tell us about the impact my dad made on them in a few short years. There were many softball and pickle ball stories. One man, whom he played softball with, came over and sat with us. He asked us what time dad had passed on Wednesday and then proceeded to tell us a perplexing story about that morning. At about 9:20 AM, right when the priest had given my father his final blessing, there was a wind storm that came out of nowhere over the softball field where they always played. They actually had a game going on at the time. Suddenly, the flag pole in center field cracked. It didn’t break off, but was bent like it was at half-mast. This friend thought this may have been a strange coincidence since this was about the time of dad’s passing. His team had gotten together once they had found out the news of my father, and knew that it must have been my dad’s last “flyover” of the softball field, making sure he has left a mark on “his field”. If you have talked to him recently, you’d know how his last softball game went. He was batting .800, ran the basses for all the old farts on his team, and had the walk off double to win the game. He was definitely gypped.  He had a lot more fun planned.

It has been said that the loss of a parent is one of life's most traumatic events. I now know the devastating truth of that statement. I never thought that it would be this soon though. When I was 5, my dad ran for County Legislature. I remember this because I remember wearing shirts with his name on it, walking up and down the streets with him trying to get signatures, and getting to dress up in a suit, just like dad. On the night of the election, he came home and told me he had lost the race. As a 5 year old, when he said he lost the race, I thought he had to run a race, an actual sprint against the other guy, and I couldn't believe that he lost. I knew my dad could beat anyone. My dad was my dad. I thought he was invincible at the age of 5. I still think that my dad is invincible at the age of 30, and it's probably the reason I can't grasp him being gone already. I've been told that, in time, the hurt will fade, only to be replaced by positive memories that soothe the soul. Being here with all of you, I can already feel that happening.

My father and I had a simple and loving relationship. I know my father loved me. I know this because every time we talked, he would end the conversation with "I love you." Those were his last words to me. Dad, I know words are not enough, but I hope they find you where you are now. I love you and you will be greatly missed."