Last year for the first time since November 17, 1979 I went to visit my fathers headstone. I have no idea what possessed me that day to finally try and find my father but like a lot of things in my life sometimes I "just go for it" and figure out the rest later on.
My whole life I have heard hundreds of stories about my father. I was very young when he passed away so I grew up not knowing if the memories I had of him were my own or influenced by a story my mom or one of my older brothers told me. Nonetheless I gathered that he was a great man. My father was a police officer in the city of Passaic (where we lived at the time) and walked the beat. Back then police officers would actually walk around and get to know the people in the neighborhood, and this is where my fathers "greatness" went into action. Besides being about 6ft 2 and 260lbs of all muscle my father stuck out in other ways, he was fluent in spanish, treated people fair, and cared a lot about kids.
He started a program for kids in the city of Passaic to have a way to stay off the streets. It was called "Doin it in the park". Kids would come and play different sports, they d have music playing, give out free lunches, and help people that might not have the means to survive without some assistance. His work in the community was to the point where even to this day the city of Passaic presents a Bobby Thomas award to the officer that does exemplary work in the community.
"When you re gone what legacy will you leave behind? Did you spend your whole life helping or wanting to be helped"?
I've always wondered why we never went to visit my fathers headstone, but I never asked my mom. I felt like she must of had her reasons. Knowing my mom like I do, I assume it was because she wanted to remember my father how he was. So growing up it wasn't discussed. My oldest brother Robert was 17 when my father passed. He's technically my half brother which to me just means we didn't grow up in the same house. He has done a great job filling in some of the blanks for me and It's always amazed me how similar I have become to the man that I barely knew. My way with kids and from what I ve been told the way I interact with people no matter their race, religion, etc is a lot like my dad.
So this one day I decided that I will go alone (not great at being emotional, especially in a group setting) and find my fathers headstone. I didn't know what I was going to say, I wasn't sure if I'd cry (at that point I haven't cried in more than a decade) I just knew that I would go and I guess whatever was meant to happen would happen. When I got to the cemetery there were a lot of thoughts rushing through my mind. My mom and brother went a long time ago to visit (i was away at college) and they weren't sure of the location of the headstone. So when I got there I went inside and talked to the person working and asked if they could look up where my father was buried. It took me an hour to find him, the one thing that I wasn't aware of is there was not headstone for my father. I had no idea, I wasn't told, and I kept going back and forth between the cemetery and the office to get directions. Finally the guy working (who must of thought I was a little on the slow side) revealed this information to me.
He told me that my father was right next to a headstone that read Otto Kumetz. So that's who I went to look for. The name just stuck with me as I walked in the rain. First it was the name Otto which is obviously not the most common name in the list of 100 best baby names. Then it was the thought that this was the person that has been next to my father since his death and will be forever and that's what hit me the hardest. I found Otto Kumetz a short time after I received my last set of directions and saw the space to his left and realized I was looking at where my father was buried. I didn't cry, I just stood there, part of me was angry at Otto for having a headstone and my father not having one. I wondered if Otto knew who he was next to. If he had any idea how great of a man my father was, and out of nowhere I got choked up and a tear came down my cheek. I only stayed for about 20 minutes or so (once I found my way) I mumbled something to my father, got in my car, and started driving home.
On the ride back I turned off the radio and thought about my dad and also Otto. They are roommates for eternity and I know that if my dad ever met Otto they d be friends. It seems like my dad just had that way about him. I got home and looked for Otto online and found some things about an artist etc (obviously with no clue if it was the Otto I was looking for) I'm planning on going down again at some point to say hello to both my father and Otto.
I feel like we don't have a lot of time on this earth, and our parents usually have about a twenty five year head start on us when we arrive. I consider myself so lucky to of had my mom for this long, and despite not having my father around my siblings and I grew up with a lot of love in our house. I don't think a day should go by that you don't tell your parents you love them, because one day you wont be able to.
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