Verse

Verse Three o’clock in the morning. It’s quiet and there’s no one around. Just the bang and the clatter. As an angel runs to ground.

Songwriters: Adam Clayton / David Evans/Laurence Mullen / Paul David Hewson.

Stay (Faraway, So Close!) lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Peermusic Publishing.

1 A Preamble

I hoped to collaborate with my Dad on the StOries (Strangers to Ourselves) project, but he sadly passed away on July 4, 2021, at 81 years of age. This piece will honour my family’s migration story that happened somewhere between Pakistan to Canada, ongoing more specifically between Montreal and Toronto.

My Dad, Guerrico Mark Zuzarte, was known as Gerry. His parents, as the case was for many Indian families from Goa, immigrated to Karachi, Pakistan, to give their children a prosperous life. My Mom met my Dad in Karachi and they married in 1972. I was born in 1973 and my sister followed. My parents immigrated to Montreal, Quebec in 1975 during Canada’s immigration boom. My second sister and brother completed our family unit. My parents were eager to set up their family home in Canada and raise my siblings and me as Roman Catholic and Canadian.

Each chapter of this work will celebrate a theme from the gifts of the Holy Spirit. The gifts were interwoven into the catechism when I was in school. My Dad’s role was to illustrate the gifts of wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord during his parenting journey with me as a child. You will also find a photograph that either my Dad has taken, or in which he appears. I invite you, dear reader, to consider each prayer as a reflection point. The piece will begin at my Dad’s funeral mass and then take you on a journey into our shared past where my Dad offered me gifts of the Holy Spirit.

2 Chapter 1: Introduction

Good Afternoon, Father Peter and invited parishioners. My name is Melanie Zuzarte, I am Guerrico Zuzarte’s eldest daughter. My siblings and family thank you for being here with us to celebrate my father’s life.

Instead of a short eulogy, I thought I would share with you a letter that I wrote to my father so he could hear my words alongside all of you.

Dear Dad,

To say that I am missing you would be an understatement. I’m not alone, I have heard stories in the last few days from your friends and family from near and far who also miss you. Dad, please know you were loved, cherished, and appreciated for all your life’s contributions.

It feels like just yesterday when you were driving us to school, work, and church for mass. You worked so hard to ensure that we had everything that we needed and more. You worked long shifts and sometimes we would only see you as you were going to bed or waking up to drive us to school. You never complained. You showed us what it looked like to work hard and be successful on our own terms.

I remember summer holidays when we used to go camping in Albion Hills, trips to Canada’s Wonderland where you would buy us funnel cakes, nachos and fudge, and long drives to Buffalo for shopping sprees. You travelled to Australia and overseas to see family when you retired, and it was the first time you travelled far since immigrating to Canada in the 70’s. I always thought how remarkable it was, that you were never afraid. If you wanted something, you went for it.

In those early days, you used to call my sisters and me ‘your sons’. It may sound funny to some, but to my sisters and I – it felt great. You didn’t treat us like girls; instead, you prepared us to take on life’s struggles with full hearts. Your words stay with me, and they continue to guide me, “Don’t let someone say no to you, go for it. If you don’t try it, you will never know.”

Dad, you truly made a mark on our lives. The gifts you gave us daily were purposefully hidden with the intention that we would discover them when we were ready. Father Lawrence reminded me that you were an accomplished cameraman back home in Karachi and that you had your own crew. You drew from that experience when you documented through your photography every birthday, Christmas Concert, and school production of ours. At the time, I must confess, it was pretty embarrassing seeing you walking around with a massive camera, taking shots of every single student performing. But now, as an adult, I understand that you were capturing beauty, love and kindness, frame by frame. We also have your photographic artwork that we will treasure for the rest of our lives. Thank you.

You showed us what a leader looked like in your work with the union, the church and the Knights of Columbus. You created a space for us to connect with our spirituality and learn what it means to be close to God, to be of service to our community, and to provide the same generosity and selflessness that you showed to friends, family, and those who needed support. It is no surprise that your children grew up to work in fields like social work, education, and technology. Your sacrifices became the guiding posts that supported our growth as successful adults.

When you were sick this past month, I sat with you in the hospital, and you asked me about your brothers, and even your Mom. I know you missed them and wanted to see them again soon – but I, with selfish hope burning inside me, wished you could stay with us just a little longer. But I accept that God was ready for you to come home. I’m grateful to Father Peter for blessing you and for preparing you for your life in Heaven. We can’t wait to see you again, Dad. Please keep the space warm for us.

I love you, Dad.

3 Chapter 2: Counsel

Oh, what consolation, what sweetness, what confidence fills my soul, when I pronounce thy sacred name, or even only think of thee...

Our Mother of Perpetual Help

I dreamt about my grandmother 2 months before my Dad died. I couldn’t understand her words in the dream. I assumed that she was warning me that death was coming. A mere few weeks later, my Mom’s dog passed away unexpectedly.

After the dog passed away, I started to look at my Dad differently. I felt like our time was limited. My Dad had cardiac struggles and diabetes. In the last few years, I had watched him slow down. I thought it was a phase. As a child, I would scramble to keep up with his long strides. He would make us climb hills in the local park and help us learn how to catch tadpoles from the Humber River. Those evening walks were a way to spend time with him, but also an introduction to nature. I remember my Mom saying to him, “there will come a time when these girls will not want to spend time with you, you better take them out now while you still can”. She was right; once we became teens, we drifted away from him.

On the day of my Dad’s second COVID-19 vaccine appointment, we returned home and I watched him enter his apartment, almost unsteady on his feet. He thanked me for coming with him to the appointment as he typically would. In that curious moment, my grandmother must have gently whispered a message into my ear to stay a little longer. I left, but returned quickly, with a meatball sandwich from Subway. Perhaps she was warning me that it would be one of the last gestures I would share with him.

A photograph depicts a father and his two daughters sitting on the steps outside the house.

Photo Credit: Melanie Zuzarte.

4 Chapter 3: Piety

O Blessed Trinity, we thank you for having graced the Church with Pope John Paul II and for allowing the tenderness of your Father’s care, the glory of the cross of Christ, and the splendor of the Holy Spirit, to shine through him.

Prayer for John Paul II’s Intercession

I was ten in 1983 when my Dad took my sister and I to see Pope John Paul II at Downsview Park. I remember seeing the Pope on a big screen while eating my Mom’s homemade chicken sandwiches. My Dad lifted us up from time to time to see the Pope who was standing at an altar. I wonder how my Dad managed to get two kids under ten in a rainstorm for an all-day religious gathering alongside thousands of other pilgrims. My Dad unveiled the importance of holding onto our faith and literally going the extra mile, by subway, to North Toronto for a meaningful, once-in-a-lifetime encounter with the leader of the church.

Every day by 1:30 p.m., as a devout Roman Catholic, my Dad would finish watching an online mass and would be waiting for my phone call. He would then have brunch, watch Border Patrol, Animal Planet, and Just for Laughs. Prior to the pandemic he would be out of the house and visiting with friends at Albion Mall, grocery shopping, checking out Salvation Army, or be present at his local church for mass. In the last few months, I wondered if my grandmother whispered to him that he would be seeing Pope John Paul II very soon. Did my Dad know that the Pope was calling him home?

5 Chapter 4: Understanding

I will let fall a shower of roses, I will spend my heaven doing good on earth.

St. Therese, The Little Flower

Whenever I would visit my Dad on Friday afternoons, he would always give me a gift. These gifts of care consisted of cartons of juice, pudding snacks, or canned food. The last gift he gave me was a wooden TV table. He had lovingly packed the table into a huge recycling bag as I was prepared to leave one afternoon. I happily travelled home with it because I knew it made him happy that I accepted it.

My Dad spent the majority of his adult life working overnight shifts at different factories. Some of these made plastic cups, and others made cookies. On winter nights, my Dad would leave his factory job, and pick me up from my part-time job to ensure that I got home safely. It now makes me sad that I never asked him how the journey back to work was for him.

During summer holidays, my Dad would drive us to Albion Hills and Our Lady of Fatima Shrine. My Mom, Dad, three siblings and I would pile into our Reliant car for summer adventures. Those days were filled with laughter, prayer and baked goods. My Dad took pride in getting the car all ready for the long journeys while my sisters and I would lock into our yellow Walkman, blissfully unaware of his love.

Today, when I look at the TV table, I see his glasses, old photographs, a rosary, and his wedding ring. This makeshift altar provides me with a space to acknowledge all the good he showered upon us as when we were children.

6 Chapter 5: Wisdom

Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion—inexhaustible, look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent, but with great confidence submit ourselves to Your holy will, which is Love and Mercy itself.

The Chaplet of Divine Mercy

In my twenties, I moved to England for a boyfriend. I couldn’t wait to leave Canada. Today, I wonder if my Dad felt disrespected that I was turning my back on a country that he worked so hard to immigrate to. On the day of my flight, my Dad drove me to Toronto Pearson International Airport. He quickly took my precious pieces of luggage out of the car and put them onto a cart. I remember his middle-aged body bundled up in a warm winter coat and his signature woollen hat awkwardly seeing me off. Before we departed, he said, “if anything happens, just come home”. I knew then, as I do now, that Canada would always be our shared home.

When I was in England, I remember receiving a birthday card in the post from my Dad. It was a pink children’s card which, upon reflection, reminded me that I would always be his little girl. My Dad always showed his love through quiet gestures. The biggest demonstration of his love was bringing his family to Canada, which in the last years of his life he never spoke about. I wondered if my Dad reflected on the distance he had travelled, and the sacrifices he made, to provide us with a safe home and a good education, leading us all to pursue purposeful careers. Were the sacrifices he made worth it? Did he have any regrets? Was he proud of us and how we turned out in the end?

A photograph depicts a father holding his two daughters. The daughters are dressed up.

Photo Credit: Melanie Zuzarte

7 Chapter 6: Fortitude

REMEMBER, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly to thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother; to thee do I come; before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful.

Memorare

On June 3, 2021, my Dad was experiencing stomach pain as a result of an ulcer that had burnt a hole into his duodenum. For a month my Dad fought a series of health issues, two minor heart attacks, and a helicopter flight between hospitals. Doctors would often ask, “How is he doing it?”, I would reply, “That’s my Dad, he’s a fighter and he always wins”.

All through my childhood, I observed that my Dad was a fighter. At times, his anger would terrify me (us). As he aged, he became a field mouse and I inherited his roar. Growing up in Etobicoke in the 1980s, my Dad stood up to racism in our Toronto Housing neighborhood. He demonstrated fearlessness when people screamed “Paki”, punctured his car tires, or threw bricks through our bedroom windows at night. We felt safe knowing my Dad was there as we slept on the living room floor as a family at night.

When my Dad was in the hospital, I prayed the Memorare repeatedly. I implored Our Lady to save my Dad. My sister said to me one day, “I don’t know how you are doing this, it takes immense strength.” I replied, “I don’t know how I’m watching Dad die, and yet I am still advocating for his life in the hospital”. My sister replied, “God gives strength to those who need it”.

8 Chapter 7: Fear of the Lord

O Holy Mary, Mother of God, queen of heaven and earth, I humbly beseech you from the bottom of my heart to help me in my needs for there are none who can withstand your grace.

Prayer to Our Lady of Mount Carmel

The morning of July 3rd, 2021 my sister was insistent that we have a priest visit with my Dad and give him last rites. When Father Peter arrived, my Dad’s eyes were closed, and he lay restless in bed with the sound of oxygen whirring. Father Peter anointed my Dad on the forehead and on his chest, and thanked him for his years of service to the church. For a moment, my Dad’s eyes fluttered open. I wondered if he saw me standing over him with the priest, my face full of pain. Did he see angels, or perhaps his family beckoning him to come home?

I held his hand for close to eight hours after the priest left that day. It was warm and his grasp was firm. I knew that he felt my presence. That night before I left, I told him it was okay for him to return home to God, that I forgave him for everything, and that I loved him. Things that I would never have said to him in person. I saw a single tear slide down the side of his face. I hoped that he didn’t feel that I was giving up on him. I went home that night, a heaviness pulling down my mind and my body. Was this the last time that I would see him alive?

A photograph depicts two hands holding each other. One of the hands is bandaged.

Photo Credit: Melanie Zuzarte

9 Chapter 8: Knowledge

Come follow me and I will give you rest.

Be Not Afraid

I arrived at the hospital at noon on July 4th, 2021 and found my Dad like I left him the night before. His eyes were wide open, his hands were limp and his grey hair looked unkempt. Weeks before, he had told me how much he wanted a haircut and a shave. My Dad’s doctor advised me that he had deteriorated significantly over night, and was suffering from kidney and respiratory failure. We spoke about palliative care, and this felt like a signal to me that the doctor was giving up on him. His doctor reassured me that it wasn’t so, and that it really meant that my Dad’s body was slowly shutting down.

I called my siblings and tearfully gave them the update. I still couldn’t stop hoping that we would have him for a few more weeks, that he would somehow miraculously bounce back to life. Instead, within the hour, I was calling them back to tell them that he was gone. My Dad had waited for me to arrive so he could leave when we were together. It was his last gift to me. The heartbreak felt like every window in the hospital shattered at the same time. It was piercing and yet silencing.

I remember feeling a presence in the room after the nurses had confirmed his passing away. My Dad and I weren’t alone. My ancestors surrounded us. I looked up at the ceiling in tears and wondered if he was staring down at me. Was he afraid, or was he finally at peace? Although, I’ll never know for sure, I felt a reassurance that he was being guided to Heaven.

After my Dad’s funeral and burial, my sisters and I cleaned out his apartment. We found prayer cards, religious medals, and rosaries interlaced within address books, prescription receipts, investment paperwork, and old Christmas cards. Faith and family were always top of his mind. When my sisters and I bought his burial plot at the Catholic Cemetery, we found one near a shady pine tree. We also noted that there were three burial plots available right beside his final resting place. Remembering that our Dad did not want to ever leave ‘his girls,’ we purchased the plots so we could one day rest alongside him. A fitting tribute to his immigration to Canada, which as adults has allowed us to contribute his gifts of counsel, piety, understanding, wisdom, fortitude, and knowledge to our communities and professions.

10 Conclusion

I have illustrated how much I love my Dad in this piece, dear reader. But I have a secret; my Dad was a stranger to me up until eight years ago. You see, even though my Dad lived in our family home, there were issues which created a strain in our family. As a result, for many years I barely spoke to or saw my Dad. These days, I struggle with regrets that come and go that sound like, “I wish I could have done more,” and most of all I sometimes wish I had shown him how much I loved him.

When my Dad suffered a heart attack eight years ago and required triple bypass surgery, I made a deal with God that I would forgive him for those absent years. I am so glad that I did. I changed the course for my sisters and I to start to make things right, because we knew he couldn’t do it on his own.

Reflecting back over the years, my Dad showed me his vulnerability when he was sick. His vulnerability brought us back together. I dutifully worked alongside him in mending our relationship. It wasn’t too late. Perhaps it was God intervening, perhaps it was his faith shining through him, perhaps it was me – I was ready to heal and this gave him an opportunity to heal as well. Our relationship was a valuable one, and it was blooming through the path created by the gifts of the Holy Spirit. You see, the gifts were always there between us, teaching us lessons throughout our shared lives as father and daughter. They were silenced at times, perhaps packed away in boxes and buried in a basement during difficult family times. Maybe their lights were dimmed so no one knew they were home. Now that Guerrico, my Dad, is gone, I have found myself putting the lights back on again, opening up those dusty boxes and looking at the photos he took of our life. I am reminded of the greatest gift of all, that it was me that made him a Dad, my precious Dad.