Wisdom 2.5

I knew it was going to be a bad day when I dropped my coffee mug on the floor as I was trying to leave for work. I have heard my dad say before, “Don’t cry over spilled milk,” but spilled coffee is almost criminal. I did shed a few tears over that coffee and declared Monday, December 14, 2020 a crappy day. Little did I know how crappy it was about to get.

Hi – my name is Deanna and I am Joe’s eldest {and possibly favorite} daughter. As many of you already know, December 14th was also the day my dad went home to be with Jesus, the love of his life, his dear friend Sonni, his parents, and others. My siblings and I really were not happy with his departure, but we are all comforted knowing we will see him again soon.

My dad has always seemed invincible to me. When I looked at him, I always saw him with my ten-year old eyes. I saw him strong, maybe a little strong-willed, and determined. I saw his crooked smile, dimples, and twinkling eyes all ready to speak without words. I saw his compassion. I saw his servant heart. I saw his humility. I saw his zest for life, living his own with no regrets; going after that which he felt led to, and doing everything with joy – well, except maybe the things that involved tools.

I will not rehash all the details – I can’t really. It is still so fresh and terribly difficult to process. But I will tell you my dad sure knew a lot of people. My siblings and I are overwhelmed by the plethora of well wishes, prayers, encouragement, and support found on his social media and email. We can’t help but smile with every conversation that starts something like, “I remember your dad…” We have no idea who most of you are, but I can tell you we are all so humbled and proud of our dad. You see, he was doing exactly what he taught us kids to do. We simply fail to do it as well.

Dad was not a stranger to anyone. He genuinely loved people. He knew how to engage in conversation. He always looked for the best in others. His faith led his every move as he loved and encouraged those in his path. Day by day, he sought out ways to be the light of Jesus and he did it well. He opened his home, his heart, his entire life to anyone who needed anything – an ear to listen, a meal to share, a bed to sleep in. He would give his last jar of peanut butter to you if you needed it. And if you knew my dad, you knew peanut butter was like gold to him. He and mom taught us well – not with words, but in the way they chose to live their lives.

My siblings and I have wondered how others will remember dad and what will happen now that he is on his next big adventure. You see, dad worked hard his entire life, not to accumulate a bunch of stuff {his things will fit nicely into a U-Haul}, but to leave a footprint. His size 9 is found all over – from New Jersey to Illinois, to Ohio, to Maryland, to New York, to Maine – and everywhere in-between. That man made his mark! No, he is not famous. He is not leaving behind wealth and possessions, but rather a path to follow. And it is a good thing, because without a path to follow, I would be lost in more ways than one.

It is often said that parents are blessed with children – but children are also blessed with parents. My siblings and I happen to be five lucky kids, blessed to call Joe and Karen Siccardi our parents. We had a front row seat to the good life – which included a slew of examples, even more mistakes, and lessons too many to count. My dad did a good job sharing all these things – pieces of the past, glimpses of the present, and dreams of the future. We know you all loved his stories, thoughts, and quips as much as we did. So, to keep you all connected with the man we knew and loved, we have decided to keep this blog alive and well, though its owner has gone on to bigger and better things. It will still be wisdom from a father. Afterall, the nuggets of truth we hold in our hearts all come from the wisdom of the man we call dad. It only seems right to continue to share.

Call it a spontaneous grief coping mechanism if you must, but we couldn’t be more excited to share bits of our lives with you and continue this blog as long as we are able. Dad had the desire to share far and wide and we feel there is still work to be done. We’ll call it Wisdom 2.5. Wisdom imparted to five lucky kids who are finally ready to share. We hope you will stick around for the next part of the journey and we hope we will make dad proud in the process.

Thanks, dad – for your love and your example…and your push, once again, to take the next step. We’ll take it from here.    

About wisdomfromafather

I'm just an ordinary guy walking along the journey of life.
This entry was posted in blessings, children, death, encouragement, family, grief, joy, Memories, wisdom. Bookmark the permalink.

30 Responses to Wisdom 2.5

  1. Erin says:

    I absolutely loved being an early reader for one of the books your Dad wrote. I certainly didn’t know him very well but he seemed to be a man of many talents and deeply loved. I share in your grief and pray that these coming days and weeks will soften the burden that you feel. He is in the arms of the father and loving every minute of it.

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  2. I’m so happy to hear this. And if I may, you have inherited your daddy’s gift with the written word, and obviously his big big love. I look forward to reading more of his life’s work in you.

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  3. Deanna, your father’s friendship, through the medium of Five Minute Friday, has meant the world to me. I’m a currently non-deployed military contractor (read ‘mercenary’) with pancreatic cancer, and an unrepentant hooligan (my wife prefers ‘thug’)…

    …and yet, from reading your father’s words, I’m a better man.

    I was in the habit of commenting in Shaespearean sonnets (which Joe said he never really ‘got’), and so I guess it’s fitting to say ‘Cheers, mate!” with one more.

    And now the bond is broken
    and you’re no longer here;
    the last words have been spoken,
    and all that’s left are tears.
    I wish that I could tell you now
    that which I had planned,
    the story of exactly how
    you have improved the man
    who stopped to read your shining prose,
    who saw in it a mirror,
    and in the light of that he chose
    to see a little clearer
    that he could alter what he’d seen,
    and rise above what he had been.

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  4. mariel says:

    My own dad moved to Heaven 2 yrs ago this month and your dad was a treasure to me when I came to five minute Friday this summer. Ever the encourager and he always greeted me warmly on the Twitter fmfparty evenings. He was famous in his own right because he made Jesus famous with his words and joy. As his kids, you certainly have much to be proud of!! May his legacy live on and may his words keep pointing others to Jesus. ❤

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  5. Denise Olson says:

    You have the gift of writing just like your dad. That warms my heart ❤.

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  6. Deanna, thank you for sharing about your dad’s life. I met him in the Five Minute Friday group not to long ago. And, his words have always had meaning, and a take away I could learn from. I am so happy to hear you and your siblings are going to keep his blog alive with Wisdom 2.5. I can’t wait to follow along with all of you in your journey. May peace be with you, and blessings to all.

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  7. chrisbroz says:

    I’m so sorry to hear of your dad’s passing…I’ve subscribed to this blog for a number of years and have always enjoyed reading it…I taught at DBT for 2 years and it was through that connection that I found your dad…he was evidently two years older than I am – Class of ’67 (DePaul) both my brothers graduated from DBT in the late 60s…I’ll keep your dad’s soul in my nightly prayers – as well as you and the rest of his family.

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  8. Beautiful tribute to your dad. You all are an amazing family, and your mom and dad did teach you well. You also all seem to have inherited your dad’s gift for words. I’m glad you’ve decided to keep his blog alive.

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  9. Cheryl Trutt says:

    I’ve known your Mom and Dad through my sister and brother-in-law, the Rippeys. Over the past months, I have read Dad’s books. I had a hard time putting them down and I had waited for #4. I am half way thru this one. They have never been short of a “good read” but not only that. They also provided me with inspiration and hope and reminded me of the truly important things in life.
    I am thankful but more than that I am blessed.
    I’m happy to hear your decision to continue on with your Dad’s vision. God bless.

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  10. Bruce says:

    I haven’t been online that much recently. I’m shocked to learn that Joe has passed away. Joe and I were classmates at Don Bosco Technical High School, in Paterson,NJ.

    I extend my condolences to everyone who knows Joe. I know Joe is just fine in the afterlife now.

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  11. Mary McClenathan says:

    So very sorry to hear of your Father’s passing. I’m just getting around to (never) catching up on my emails. I always look forward to his. I have his books and have met him several times in the SenecaFalls/Waterloo area. He played a perfect Santa at St Mary’s School Festivals! My Sincere Sympathy 🙏😘
    Mary McClenathan
    P.S. Look forward to his children posts!

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  12. Ruthie Young says:

    I feel I’ve lost a friend. I first began reading his blog the year he “walked” us through his grief from losing Karen, and I remember commenting, “I think she and I could have been coffee friends.” I know how he missed her, and now, they are together again. Yes, you and your siblings are so blessed and I know losing him was such a blow. I pray for blessings of comfort for you all, especially during this Christmas season. I’m going to miss him, especially on Wednesday Mirth day, but I’m glad you are continuing. I agree with one of the above posts, Your writing “sounds” like him. you all definitely inherited His ability to communicate straight to the heart.

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  13. musing75 says:

    My condolences – I only knew your Father through his blog – but I liked the way he wrote and the things he wrote about. Reading your contribution just now, I have a feeling that he has managed to pass that onto you …

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  14. Deanna, you write well–from the heart. This is a beautiful tribute to your parents. The legacy you describe is better than any earthly treasures you could have inherited. My condolences and prayers as you continue on.

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