My Grandfather's Love

What if the world was really ending?

2011-05-24T11:05:00.000-07:00

So, May 21st was supposed to be judgement day and the world would come to an end except for the 3% of the population that would be saved. For weeks, I heard of this campaign of judgement day on the streets of NYC and in crowded subways. I saw literature line the sidewalks and buildings on how the world would end on May 21st. The person promoting all of this in NYC reportedly spent over $140,000 to spread the word. I wonder what he thought on May 22nd? But I think the deeper question is regardless of his belief, what if the world really did come to an end? How would you feel? I sat back and thought about this as I laughed with my friends about the notion of the world ending. I spent my last night having Sushi at Bond Street with my good friend Karen and then off to an underground, hip, cool lounge in Soho where you have to walk through the actual kitchen to get to the "cool" part. Just a standard night in NYC-no different than any other. Except what if it was my last? I really thought about it- What did I always want to do but never got the chance? What person was I not speaking to or a relationship strained that I could mend and what regrets would I have?

My grandfather would share with me during his dying moments his greatest regret. It was one of love. My grandmother, Beatrice "Bee", died when i was only a baby. I don't remember her. But Bee was my grandfather's true love and soul mate. He would talk about Bee with love in his voice, eyes and heart. You could feel his passion for her. His unconditional love for her regardless of how she was or who she was. But my grandmother was an alcoholic and died of cirrhosis of the liver. She missed our lives because of an illness that even she could not control. My grandfather would cry during these moments and tell me his greatness regret was that he was not stronger with her. That he did not stand up to her and the drinking so she could be around to watch her grandchildren. He was mad at himself for being weak, for ignoring the problem in hopes it would go away, and for never confronting it. But he loved her- good, bad, unconditional love. He would envision how she would look now almost 40 years later- would she be wrinkly, would her beautiful red hair be gray and would she have stopped drinking?

In the diary, my grandfather talks of Bee and the letters she would send him. It was his salvation to a dry, desert day of war. Bee's letters would uplift him and he was able to carry on knowing he would return to Queens, New York one day. My grandfather's regret stayed with him till his dying day. "If only," "I should have," or "why didn't I" filled the hospital room when he talked about Bee.

I think back on my regrets or list of things I always wanted to do. Did I have any regrets? What if the world ended after my night in Soho- did I do everything I wanted to do?

So, I thought about it and listed some of the things I still want to do:

Go to Africa on a 3 week Safari
Spend more time with my family and friends
Volunteer my time with a charity Organization close to my heart
Go to London when Prince Harry get's married
Laugh more
Write more
Love unconditional
PUBLISH this book :)

Now, what regrets do I have in my life(these are just a few):

Never saying goodbye to my good friend Benny before he died
Wasting too much time at odds with my best friend Debbie instead of loving our friendship
not spending more time with my grandfather
not working on this book more and getting it out to the world

I would encourage everything to think about the regrets you have and change them or forgive yourself for them! and then list the things you want to do and DO THEM! My grandfather couldn't change what happened to Bee but he did regret it till his dying day that he didn't do more to help her. But he loved us for two people and I can only hope I have the patience, understanding and unconditional love he had for Bee one day.

Much love

Robin

Taking Risks

2011-05-15T10:24:00.000-07:00

Well I know it's been a while since my last blog but just know that I never forget about this book or any of my readers. As we say all the time, life got busy and time slipped away. Since my last blog or post, I have reflected on the book its purpose. Will anyone care? Will anyone read it? Will it become a best seller and i can speak around the world? But then I realized something.... I care and that is all that really matters. If you do something for yourself to make you feel whole and possibly heal wounds, new and old, then it matters..

I watched myself these past couple of months loose sight of who I really am as a person. Do i try to hard to make something "fit" when it really should just be left alone. Do I work too much and maybe this is all I have in life? Could life really be just that- a job? Then I remember my grandfather and how proud he was of me till his dying day. He was so proud that I made something out of myself. He was the only one that believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. He never stopped asking me or pushing me to excel. Have a better life than he did and always take a risk.

I can only imagine the risk my grandfather took when he stepped forward on that day in 1943 to go half way around the world without any friends or family to Egypt and Tunisia to fight with the British in WWII. What bravery and an enormous risk at 24! I took me till 35 years old to get a passport and leave the country on vacation (thanks Erin and Kala) .. Now I can't get enough of Europe or any other destination. Life is about taking risk- professionally and personally. There are times i have taken a significant risk and it didn't work out. But i learned a little bit more about myself that i would have never known. I opened my heart and let life in. My grandfather opened his heart everyday of his life. He didn't care if people were mean to him, loved him or disliked him. He kept his heart open to lead a better more joyful life.

My grandfather risked it all to go to Egypt and he would tell you today if he was alive he does not have one single regret. The memories of that time was so vivid for him that he replayed some of the war missions to us before his death. I asked him one day" Grandpa, were you scared." He said " of course i was but if i didn't try it i would have been more scared of life." I guess we are a family of risks. My grandfather's father ( my great-grandfather) travel alone from Italy in 1916 on a boat for over a week with $5.00 in his pocket- no family, no friends. He took a risk. And it paid off.

I think about the times today and how my life is evolving. How my friends are evolving and family. And I feel proud of the person i have become today. I am not so sure i was proud of me back then when my grandfather always was. I was a hurt person by painful past scares and I didn't know how to handle them. So, i hurt people in exchange and showed no emotion. Until one day, right after my grandfathers death, when i didn't even recognize myself anymore. I lost my footing in life- cold, unemotional and scared to take any sort of emotional risk. Then I woke up and started to read the diary. It felt like a connection to something warm and loving like my grandfather. As cold as i had become, my grandfather could melt it away with his smile, laugh, words on a page and unconditional love for me. The more I read the diary the more I wanted to change and risk everything that i built to protect me. Life was about more than surface relationships or a big paycheck. Life was about opening your heart and truly being a whole person with limitless boundaries.

Its taken me 5 years or so since my grandfathers death to really understand who I am as a person and show people i have changed. I am so blessed to have the love of my family and friends who just never gave up on me. And I write this today to help shape the book and show you how a diary from so long ago can really change a person for the better. I have taken many risks and opened my heart to only be hurt. That's ok. It made me better because I can feel now and I would rather feel something than nothing at all..

I am starting to work on the book's outline and will be posting more...

if you like this blog, please forward it along

Much Love

Robin

WWII Pictures

2010-12-12T07:31:00.000-08:00

These are just some of Grandpa's pictures from WWII 1943 in N. Africa. He has over 100 pictures along with the diary. enjoy

On Patrol Article- USO

2010-12-10T05:15:00.000-08:00

In case you have not seen this, I submitted my story to the USO magazine and was featured in their Web magazine, On Patrol. I am attaching the article. Please pass it around and post to you Facebook so everyone can read it :)

Happy holidays

Robin

http://usoonpatrol.org/archives/2010/11/30/a-granddaughters-story

November 30, 2010
A Granddaughter's Story

by Robin Garofalo

My grandfather, James Garofalo, was a top turret gunner in a B-25 Mitchell aircraft, also known as the “Desert Warrior,” while serving in North Africa during World War II. He rarely spoke of his time at war but when he passed away three years ago he left me all his memorabilia including a diary, which chronicles six months of the war -- April to September, 1943.

James Garofalo poses next to the tail of a B-25. Courtesy photo.
He was fighting with the British army to push back Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox. He logged 193 hours and 73 missions, and throughout all this time he kept his diary, in which he describes fear, loss, pain, hope, and death. It has become a catalyst and a source of values for me in my life.

In the diary, he writes about the end of the North African War, the invasion of Sicily, being shot down twice, and flying General Patton. But perhaps none of his entries seemed more distressing then the loss of his best friend “Mack.”

Mack was lost over Sicily on July 10, 1943, leaving my grandfather to battle alone without his comrade in the hot Sicilian sun. The diary entry for July 10, 1943 reads:

“This is one day I’ll never be able to forget – It beats ’em all. We went out to bomb the [aerodrome] at Trapani – God what [Anti-Aircraft Gunfire] and lights! We started our bomb run and ran right into 24 search lights – they had us – but good [thing] he put the ship over on its nose and down we went.

“We hit over 400mph. The guns went off – everything went flying. Talk about being scared – man alive – what an experience – took 10 years off my life. We got out at last. Full of holes, but okay. Lucky guys. We lost Mack though [and] Lieutenant Fredd never came back. Guess they got him. Poor Mack. I gave him my cigarette ration just before we took off. Sure does get you."

My grandfather was so sad. His only friend was gone and there was nothing he could do but pray and hope he returned safely. He wrote in his diary for days that he hoped Mack jumped out of the plane in time and was walking back to base with his parachute in hand. But day after day would go by with no word. My grandfather’s pain for Mack’s loss was enormous and came right through the pages, but he continued fighting the war – mission after mission.

There are pictures of him and Mack together right before that fatal mission, and after reading through his memoirs, I began to catalogue all of his pictures, albums and diary entries, but I could not stop thinking about this “Mack.” Who was he, and where is his family today?

To begin my search, I had to find out exactly what happened to Mack on July 10, 1943, if there was any hope of finding his family. I researched everything I could find about “Mack” or “Macarson” as my grandfather indicated in his picture album was Mack’s full last name.

James Garofalo (left) and Alvin "Mack" Macarson (right) pose for a photograph the day Mack was shot down. Courtesy photo.

Eventually I stumbled across a picture of an older woman receiving the Purple Heart for her son Alvin Macarson who was killed in World War II and listed as a staff sergeant on a B-25 Mitchell bomber – same as my grandfather!

I searched more and found a November 25, 2000, posting on Ancestry.com by Alvin’s niece, Sarah Moore. She was searching for information or pictures anyone might have regarding her uncle’s death. I quickly wrote Sarah back, hoping perhaps she might still be on this site after nine years. She was. She is now 82, but she responded instantly – amazed that after all these years that she now had new information on her uncle, Alvin Macarson.

She wrote to me, “It is unbelievable that we can learn something new about Alvin after all these years. His younger brother is now 89 and recently went to live at a care facility. I was a high school student at the time he was reported MIA. I am 82, have mobility problems, but still alert.

After all these years, to be presented with a new photographs and memories – new pieces of their brother and uncle they never knew existed – is just amazing.

“I have often heard of stories of people finding people and secretly hoped that I would be that lucky some day. Now I can say that I have experienced the thrill of finding someone important! Your grandfather is a jewel for keeping all of these treasures. And you are the lucky one to be the recipient of his careful keepsakes. I hope you do write a book about his treasures!” Sarah added.

Alvin "Mack" Macarson poses for a photograph in the crease of a bunker. Courtesy photo.
She called me the next day to talk more about her uncle Alvin and how my grandfather held memories her family never knew existed. She told me how Alvin was a fun-loving, sensitive uncle who fought for freedom in both the Navy and Army during World War II.

As tears came to my eyes, Sarah asked me “Now tell me about your grandfather and his life.” I was numb and quickly felt selfish. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones and he was able to create a life for his family.

I feel like I ow it to Mack and Sarah to do more everyday -- say thank you to people, smile more, tell my friends and family I love them, and above all, give back to others.

That is why I’m writing a book inspired by my grandfather’s World War II diary titled, “A Granddaughter’s Story.” It’s about how a grandfather’s words from 64 years ago can change the course of his granddaughter’s life. It is a way of giving back to one family and hopefully millions more.

Robin Garofalo is a keynote speaker in overcoming adversity and transformation through a memoir she is writing based upon her grandfather’s diary from WWII. She holds a B.A. in Human Relations from St. Joseph’s College and her M.B.A. from the Carey Business School at Johns Hopkins University.

My Facebook Page- Be a Fan Today!!

2010-12-01T05:03:00.000-08:00

I would love for you to be a fan of my facebook page, My Grandfather's Love. I am attaching the link below. I post all comments, pictures, excerpts from the diary on the fan page. Please pass it along to everyone you know.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/My-Grandfathers-Love/105423375460

Thank you for the support and I will be blogging over the holidays

Happy Holidays

Robin

NYC Marathon update-Just one week away!

2010-10-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been a long training season filled with excitement, injury's, upset stomach's, ice packs, fatigue and most of all happiness. I started this journey on August 1st in honor of my grandfather and his best friend, Mac from WWII. I thought to myself what better way to honor these two heroes than to run an event such as the NYC marathon with Hope for the Warriors charity organization. I have raised $3,000 for this organization that helps wounded soldiers transition back from the war. But I still feel a sense of fear for this 26.2 monster that lies ahead in just 7 days. What if my injury acts up? What if I get tired and don't make my goal time of 4:45? What if the pain is just to much? Yikes, what if I can't do it?

All these thoughts run through my mind as I run over the 59th street bridge, turn the corners of Central Park and run up first avenue in practice of the big event. Then it hits me. My grandfather's laughter and voice saying " I'm so proud of you. Wow- a marathon. How amazing" That's when I realize the only fear I have is him not being here to cheer me on. Sometimes I wish I could turn back time and be a better granddaughter to him. Talk to him more, play cards all day, ask him questions about life or go with him on his daily walk. But I was just too busy. Too busy getting my MBA or working for a company that I loved more than my own life sometimes. But when i did call, it was all about me. My grandfather was so proud of me and wanted to know everything that was going on. He was so smart about business and we would talk about the stock market and stocks. You could hear in his voice that he was so happy i was leading perhaps a better life than him and he was able to give it to me. I was financially set and needed no one in my life- except my grandfather. Only I never really realized it until he was gone. The diary has changed my life. It made me reconnect to my grandfather after his death. I just wish i did it when he was alive but I know I am not alone and when I set out to run in 7 days he will be right next to me. Guiding me home towards the finish line.

Here's to Grandpa and Mac! 26.2 is for you!

Happy Halloween and please tune into the NYC marathon. I have submitted this story to the news coverage so you never know if they will run up next to me!

Robin

Running for Mac and James

2010-08-22T15:29:00.000-07:00

26.2 miles. That’s the distance of a marathon. It takes some 3 hours and others 6 hours. It is long, exciting and at times painful miles with one foot in front of the other in sheer determination to make it to the finish line. Doubt creeps in your mind asking yourself over and over again to stop running and just give up. Just give up! Please! But then I wonder if my grandfather even gave up on Mac?

My grandfather was a top turret gunner in 1943 fighting WWII in N. Africa. He was fighting with the British army to push back the advances of Rommel, the Desert Fox. My grandfather was shot down twice, flew General Patton, received several medals and conducted over 193 missions. Throughout all this time, he kept a diary of the above events which was given to me upon his death. The diary accounts for 6 months of fighting as he describes fear, loss, pain, hope and death. This diary has become a catalyst and a source of values for me in my life.

On my 40th birthday this year, I began to read pages of the diary again to feel a sense of purpose in my life. To feel that I have achieved something and I am someone with a deep connection to life or at least I hoped so. It was at that moment I turned to the page of the doomed mission where my grandfather’s best friend Mac was lost over Sicily. My grandfather was so sad and filled with emotions about losing Mac. There a pictures of my grandfather and Mac together right before the fatal mission. His only friend was gone and there was nothing he could do but pray and hope Mac returned safely. He wrote in his diary for days that he hoped Mac jumped out of the plane in time and was walking back to base with his parachute in hand. But day after day would go by with no word from Mac. My grandfather’s pain for his loss was enormous but yet he continued on fighting the war mission after mission. It was then when I realized my pain, procrastination, and agony was nothing compared to my grandfather and Mac. I wanted to do something that would push my limits, test the boundaries of my convictions and challenge me to push my mind, body and soul further. I decided after 4 years I would run another marathon in honor of Mac and James( my grandfather)

I ran my first marathon in Richmond, VA on veteran’s day 2006 right after my grandfather passed away and before I received his diary. It was 85 degrees and HOT. I remember the last 3 miles vividly and passing my coaches as they scream my name with words of encouragement. All I could do was give a “thumbs up” sign because anything else would be more energy than I could give at the moment. The “thumbs up” was my grandfather’s signal that all was OK when I went to visit him in the hospital during his last days. I did not even realize I was doing it until my coaches told me that was the only sign I would give them that I was OK. I can remember the end of the Richmond marathon and feeling elated as I crossed the finish line on Veteran’s day in honor of my grandfather. But I was in pain. My knees, hip and back were throbbing. I felt elated but yet also alone. No one was there to wave me in, hold up a sign with my name on it or give me a hug at the end. It was just me and my grandfather. I swore I would never run another marathon! My body just does not like to run 26.2 miles. I will never do it again! Until the diary came in my life and showed me courage, fearlessness and above all the love of a friendship.

So, I signed up for the New York City Marathon- what better place to test your wits and honor two of brave soldiers. I felt alive at 40 and ready to see if I could do it all over again. But in NYC you can only get a spot in the marathon if you completed a certain number of races the previous year (which I did not) or through the lottery drawing. I entered my name in the drawing and just my luck my number was not called. Rats! How do I get a number to honor Mac and James? Through a charity organization I was told at the New York Road Runners web site. Charities have numbers that you can raise money in honor of that charity and they give you a NYC marathon number. Ok, but I have to feel the charity- it has to be a cause I care about and that can satisfy my goal to my two soldiers. I found one- Hope For the Warriors.

Hope for the Warriors goal is to enhance quality of life for US Service Members and their families nationwide who have been adversely affected by injuries or death in the line of duty. Hope for the Warriors actively seeks to ensure that the sacrifices of wounded and fallen warriors and their families are never forgotten nor their needs unmet. It was perfect! I will be running the NYC marathon for the charity Hope for the Warriors in honor of Mac and my grandfather who will never be forgotten in my heart. Mac or Alvin Macpherson was an honorable soldier who fought proudly for this country. It took me over 2 years to find his family and share with them the diary and pictures. I found Sarah Moore, his niece, who is now 82 and living in N. Carolina. She was astonished that after all these years something was discovered about her favorite uncle. She can recall him leaving to go to war in N. Africa and saying his goodbyes. After hugging and kissing the family, he walked to the end of the driveway turned around and smiled to his favorite niece, Sarah. That was the last anyone saw of Alvin. Until my pictures and diary were given to me and I in turn gave them to Alvin’s family.

On the first Sunday in November, I will line up on the Verrazano Bridge with my Hope For the Warrior teammates and run 26.2 miles through the 5 boroughs of New York City. Through the pain of a reoccurring injury- I will press on. Through the temperatures throughout the day- I will press on. Through the self-doubt- I will press on! And through the excitement of the city streets- I will press on. But most of all I will press on for the friendship of Mac and James. The true heroes of the day!

If you would like more information on the book I am writing about my grandfather’s diary be a fan on Facebook at: My Grandfather’s Love.
And Follow my Blog: http://mygrandfatherslove.blogspot.com/

Hope to see you cheering me on!
Robin

I feel a little Eat, Pray, Love!

2010-08-07T08:55:00.000-07:00

Well, I just returned from Italy (with my mom and close friend Karen) and I feel like Elizabeth Gilbert in the the book Eat, Pray, Love. I spent two fabulous weeks eating my way through Italy and learning about my Italian roots. I arrived in Rome and quickly hopped on a high speed train to Florence. My grandfather always said his favorite city in the world was Florence and he was right. We walked along the Ponte Vecchio bridge, saw the David in all his glory, and had a private wine tour through Tuscany. As I was experiencing all of this and truly trying to be present with the moment, I thought about my grandfather. How did he see this beautiful city? and what about it made him love it? I felt like the craziness of NYC was starting to disappear and I was connecting to my Italian ancestors. We left Florence and headed cross country to Montorio

Montorio is a small town on top of a mountain almost 700 feet about sea level. We drove for over 8 hours from Florence to Montorio with very little expectations. We were going to visit close family friends who were on holiday in their hometown of Montorio. The journey was not easy. We were deep in Italy where no tourist would travel and English was not their first or second language. We got lost, then found our way, then got lost again until we saw a town on top of this enormous mountain. All we could see was the top of a Church. Could this be it? Who lives up there and how do we get there?

From the distance the church was getting closer and closer but still so far away. We finally arrived at our destination and this small town had the most amazing charm, elegance and beauty I have ever experienced. The people's warmth towards complete strangers was something I just was not used to. I started to slowly let my New York guard down and allow them in. I ate gelato in the living room of an Italian women, drank homemade wine,walked the town in complete awe and drank water from a man made fountain. The history was beyond anything I imagined it would be in Montorio. After one day, we all wanted to stay longer in Montorio. We changed our plans and stayed for another 2 days. I swam in the Adriatic sea, had lunch on the beach and danced in the piazza to Italian music. I was free!

I felt free- free from society's rules, works deadlines and above all free from myself. The limitations I put on myself because of fear. I did not have one fear at all for 2 weeks. I allowed myself to just be. It is incredibly hard to maintain this feeling inside of you. A feeling that I can do anything I want. Quit my job, move to Montorio, finish this book and just try to find me. Discovering life and really feeling the joy of who I've become.

I always felt myself and free around my grandfather. He was simple, loved life, loved his country and loved me. He never asked for anything more than he needed. He would say "it's not necessary" and that is how he lived his life. I'm not sure in the end he felt free throughout his whole life but reading his diary he was fearless. I could sense his passion for fighting the war and his feeling of being completely free to carry out his dreams. I pick up the diary just to feel it and remind myself of Montorio and the experience I had. An experience of asking yourself, can I be really free?

The two weeks are over and I am back to reality in a sense. Back to work, the subways being late, training for the marathon, and of course the awful jet lag! But in the end, I ate in Italy and Prayed(meditation mostly on the beach.) I did not find love but that's OK because I feel love and I love the person I am

Ciao

Robin

A Floating Flag

2010-03-02T08:46:00.000-08:00

As I watch the 2010 winter Olympics in Vancover( which I have to admit I am addicted to) I am proud of the American Teams and athletics that have dedicated their lives to a particular sport in order to achieve greatness. One in particular was Evan Lysacek. I watched Evan receive a gold medal for men's figure skating and during the medal ceremony the American Flag was raised and our anthem was played. The pride in his face, the glow in his eyes, and our flag in its glory. It reminded me of a time when I saw the American flag and it was floating in my pool. I am not sure what happened but the flag fell off the flag pole on the deck in the backyard of my home and it dropped in the pool on top of the pool cover in the cold winter of NYC. I watch most of the winter go by and the flag move from back to back in my in-ground swimming pool in a body of water. I watched it through rain, snow, and heavy winds and still it remained on top of the pool covered in water.

Finally, a warm spring day arrived in NYC and everyone was out and about either running, walking or just being outside. I had finished my daily run when I looked out the window to my backyard to see my Grandfather (At this time he was staying with my mother and I in my home part-time while being nursed back to health.) He was leaning over the pool trying to fish out the American Flag that was floating by all winter. At first, I wanted to run outside and tell him to stop I would get it but it just happened so fast. I watched as my grandfather finally got the flag out and sat down on one of the dirty lawn chairs outside. He ran his fingers across the flag with disbelief that it was outside for months. It was dirty and ripped. After looking at the flag for sometime, my grandfather sat up and walked in the house. I thought for sure he was going to yell at me or say something. He didn't. He never mentioned the flag at all to me that day.

Three days later, I was looking out the window into my backyard thinking about heading outside to do some yard work and I see my grandfather again. He was sitting down on the dirty lawn chair with the American Flag on his lap and a needle and thread in his hand. He was sewing the flag back together. It was cleaned and pressed too! When he finished sewing he walked over to the flag pole hanging the flag back up in its rightful place. He never mentioned a word to me. But the pride in his eyes for that flag and what is symbolized needed no words. It was so apparent and clear. He loved his country and his country loved him.

God Bless America!

Robin and James

2010-01-17T07:30:00.001-08:00

Well, I just finished watching Julie & Julia and it had so many similarities to my story and the book. If you have not seen the movie I won't ruin it for you I promise but basically a modern day, 30-something NYC women stuck in a boring goverment job decides to mirror Julia Childs life through cooking. She will cook I believe 600 + recipes in 365 days. Julie, the NYC women, writes a blog everyday describing the ups and downs of each recipe and wondering how her icon Julia did it in France so many years ago. Julie begins to change as a person. No longer shy, timid, or unsure of her being she evolves into a person very comfortable in her own skin through this amazing journey. Well, I felt like I was watching me and my grandfather. It was not until I got the diary from my grandfather and read each page did it move me. It moved me to be inspired! To feel different about my life and be more comfortable in my own skin. Before reading the diary, I felt as if I was moving through life in a very slow pace with two huge buckets of mud strapped to my feet.. There were days I was unsure why I was working 18+ hours in a job that I don't feel passionate about or inspired. I constantly wondered "what is my purpose in life, and is this it? Is this my life, really?" I am supposed to be a single, relationship failure as well a success career women all is one? It can't be. Then the diary came along and every day I read a page from the diary and I did research. I felt inspired and I still feel inspired! I look at the words on the page as my grandfather speaks of life, death and fear amidst of so much uncertainty. I connect to the words and feel the same emotions as I walk the streets of NYC.

I have decided to begin sharing every page of the diary on this blog. So, 6 months of about 20 entires is roughly 120 blog entries. I will be blogging every Sunday and sharing the entry along with my comments. So, project Grandfather and Granddaughter is about to begin........ I really hope you like it...

A Story of Thanks this Thanksgiving Day

2009-11-26T05:11:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving- A Granddaughter’s Story- Robin Garofalo

That is my grandfather, James Garofalo, on the left with his best friend, “Mac” in North African 1943 fighting WWII. My grandfather was a top turret gunner for the B-25 Desert Warrior serving with the British Army in N. Africa. My grandfather rarely spoke of his time at war and when he passed 3 years ago left me all his memorabilia to include a diary which documents six months of the war from April 1943 to Sept 1943. He speaks of the end of the N. African War, the invasion of Sicily, being shot down twice, losing his best friend Mac over Sicily, and flying General Patton. He logged 193 hours and 73 missions receiving the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

My grandfather lost Mac over Sicily July 10, 1943 and was left to battle alone without his comrade in the hot Sicilian sun. The diary entry for July 10, 1943 reads:
"This is one day I’ll never be able to forget. It beats ‘em all- we went out to bomb the air drome at Trapani- god what A/A & lights. We started our bomb run and ran right into 24 search light- they had us-but good he put the ship over on its nose and down we went. We hit over 400mph. The guns went off. Everything went flying. Talk about being scared- man alive- what an experience- took 10 years off my life. We got out at last full of holes but okay. Lucky guys. We lost Mack though. Lt. Fredd never came back. Guess they got him. Poor Mack. I gave him my cigarette ration just before we took off. Sure does get you."

I have been gathering my grandfather’s pictures, albums and diary to put into a memoir for the last two years but my mind cannot stop thinking about “Mac” and who he was or where his family is today. I started my search to find out what happened to Mac on July 10, 1943 and any hope of finding his family. I researched everything I could find about Mac or Macarson as my grandfather indicates in his picture album that was missing in action July 10, 1943.

I find a picture of an older woman receiving the Purple Heart for her son Alvin Macarson who was killed in WWII and listed as a staff sergeant on the B-25 Mitchell bomber- same as my grandfather! I search more to find a November 25, 2000 posting on ancestry.com by Alvin’s niece, Sarah Moore, about her uncle and any information or pictures anyone might have regarding her uncle’s death. I quickly write Sarah back hoping that perhaps she might still be on this site after nine years. I hear back instantly and Sarah is now 82 and amazed that after all these years information on her uncle, Alvin Macarson, is found. She writes “It is unbelievable that we can learn something new about Alvin after all these years. His younger brother is now 89 and recently went to live at a care facility. I was a high school student at the time he was reported MIA. I am 82, have mobility problems, but still alert.”

After all these years to find out and see a piece of their brother and uncle they never knew existed and for that matter I never knew existed is amazing. Sarah writes “I have often heard of stories of people finding people and secretly hoped that I would be that lucky some day. Now I can say that I have experienced the thrill of finding someone important! Your grandfather is a jewel for keeping all of these treasures. And you are the lucky one to be the recipient of his careful keepsakes. I hope you do write a book about his treasures!”

Sarah called me the next day to talk more about her uncle Alvin and how my grandfather held memories her family never knew existed. She told me how Alvin was a fun-loving, sensitive uncle who fought for freedom in both the Navy and Army during WWII. As tears came to my eyes, Sarah asked me "now tell me about your grandfather and his life." I was numb and quickly felt selfish. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones and he was able to create a life for his family and me. I feel like I owed it to Mac and Sarah to do more everyday, say thank you to people, smile more, tell my friends and family I love them and above all give back to others. This book is a way of giving back to one family and hopefully millions more.

I wish you and your family a very Happy Thanksgiving!

Robin Garofalo

Facebook fan page: My Grandfather’s Love
Blog: http://mygrandfatherslove.blogspot.com/

My Grandfather's Diary: An Article for The Distinguished Flying Cross Society

2009-11-17T03:58:00.000-08:00

Below is an article I was asked to write for The Distinguished Flying Cross Society Newsletter. I hope you enjoy and please pass it around!!!

I asked my grandfather as he lay in his white hospice bed, “Grandpa, what are you most proud of in your life.” He turned his head softly to look at me with his piercing blue eyes and said “I am most proud of the Distinguished Flying Cross medal I was awarded in WWII.” I was stunned, baffled and curious all at the same time. I leaned down with a complete blank look on my face and took my grandfather’s hand to let him know I was there with him. I wanted to learn more about this award. As I look again into the blue eyes of my grandfather, I see a different man laying in hospice waiting to die. I see a young solider fighting Rommel in the N. African War documenting his war battles in a black, Italian diary. I wanted to learn more and perhaps now since death is near my grandfather might talk about his WWII time. I squeezed his hand one more time, leaned down and said “Grandpa, tell me more about this medal, The Distinguished Flying Cross.” His breathing was shallow and you could see that every ounce of energy was taken from him through his two year battle with kidney disease. He looked at me and said “I have a diary with pictures, read them and learn about my time but only when I have passed, for those are the beginning days of my life that I will remember always and make me proud to be an American.”

My grandfather passed two weeks later. He was a simple, humble man who sold Fuller Brush door to door to provide for his family with no mentions of the battles he witness in the desert of N. Africa. I need to find my grandfather’s diary buried in storage boxes among his other belongings.

I grabbed the box nearest me and began to open it. I heard what sounded like metal meeting with glass. Reaching in with both hands, I carefully pulled out a glass shadow box framed with bronze around the edges. Inside were the medals my grandfather was awarded in World War II. Neatly arranged to stay in their places, there were seven in total, but the Purple Heart was the only one I recognized. I placed my fingers on the glass barrier trying to touch them and in some way touch my grandfather. How did he earn these heroic medals during his time in the war? Did he get shot down while on a mission? How bad was his injury to have received the Purple Heart? I felt tears running down my cheek. Why didn’t I ask him while he was living? My grandfather’s time in the war went unnoticed by his family throughout much of his life. He was a war hero to the world but to our family he was Grandpa. He never even spoke of his time in the US Army fighting in Northern Africa until the last months of his life. That’s when I learned that my grandfather was a top turret gunner on the B-25, Desert Warrior that flew bombing missions over Northern Africa while fighting against the enemy troops. He flew a total of 199 hours logging 73 missions over Tripoli, Tunis and Sicily.

The final box revealed the smell of musty old papers. A dusty grit covered most of the contents inside the box, but there was a white plastic bag that seemed to be completely undisturbed. I blew off the dust and unzipped the plastic bag that had preserved it all these years. There is was—the little black diary. The front cover was a simple impression of a camel looking up to what resembled a palm tree with words on either side of it. Onestinghel Tripoli. The title of the front of the diary was in English: Agenda 1943-XXI. The months were written in Italian. I found it!

I flipped through the pages randomly eager to read each and every page. I turned to July 10, 1943:

"This is one day I’ll never be able to forget. It beats ‘em all- we went out to bomb the air drome at Trapani- god what A/A & lights. We started our bomb run and ran right into 24 search light- they had us-but good he put the ship over on its nose and down we went. We hit over 400mph. The guns went off. Everything went flying. Talk about being scared- man alive- what an experience- took 10 years off my life. We got out at last full of holes but okay. Lucky guys. We lost Mack though. Lt. Fredd never came back. Guess they got him. Poor Mack. I gave him my cigarette ration just before we took off. Sure does get you."

I closed the diary and placed it back in the plastic bag. I hung my head low and cried. How could I not know what my grandfather did in WWII? How could his whole life go unnoticed without ever mentioning this time in his life?

My grandfather, James Garofalo, was award The Distinguished Flying Cross on August 28, 1943 for “distinguished and meritorious achievement while participating in serial flight against the enemy in the Middle East Theater. As gunner on medium bombardment aircraft, Sergeant Garofalo has repeatedly distinguished himself by his gunnery skill, courage under fire, and unflinching devotion to duty. His alertness as an observer has been invaluable, both in spotting aircraft during missions and in passing the information to the pilot, and in making reports to the Intelligence Officer after completion of operations. His record stands as a goal for the entire combat personnel of his organization.”

Grandpa, I am proud to be your granddaughter.

For more information on the memoir, A Granddaughter’s Story, please email garofalorobin@gmail.com. Follow us on facebook at: My Grandfather’s Love or
blog http://mygrandfatherslove.blogspot.com/

The attached video is the opening to my motivational speech around the book, A Granddaughter's Story. Turn on your speakers it has sound- Enjoy!!

2009-11-14T15:16:00.000-08:00

A Granddaughter's Story

2009-11-01T07:02:00.000-08:00

I have been working on the book and trying to find the right voice as well as title to show the beauty of the relationship between a granddaughter and a grandfather. I decided to open the diary again and re-read a passage in hopes that my writers block might end. This time I focus on the contents of the diary- what exactly was my grandfather saying? who was he with? what battle is he referring to? and how is he feeling? I flip to July 10, 1943 where my grandfather writes about his plane being shot down by enemy fire and crashing. I go to Wikipedia and google the N. African war in 1943 and this is the day of the Allied invasion of Sicily. As I read through the historical account of the invasion on Wikipedia it makes the war seem so black and white. I flip back to my grandfather's diary to see the real fear of war, fear of dying and being hit. I also read about the fear of loss- my grandfather lost his best friend that day over Sicily July 10, 1943 when their airplane was shot down. I could feel his pain and sorrow through the letters and words on the page. He was heartbroken.

I think about the loss we feel today when a love one, friend or parent passes. Last summer I felt an unbearable loss. My first boyfriend and one of my closest friends, Benny, past away on a motorcycle accident. I was numb and really did not believe it could be true. How could this happen? Why did this happen? And again I turn to the diary for strength. Strength in my grandfathers words that helped him get through the war without his best friend. He was alone and left to battle the hot Sicilian sun without his comrade. I feel the same way.

Ever since Benny's death, I have been attending church every Sunday to pray to a higher power and God. I know that Benny and Grandpa are together watching over me and I am blessed to love them both and have them in my life.

The book, A Granddaughter's Story, will be published in the spring of 2010

Summer Times

2009-08-16T07:35:00.000-07:00

This summer has been a whirlwind of travel, work, and above all establishing deeper connections to my friends and making some new ones a bit different than me. I travel to Europe last month with a friend from MBA school who is Hungarian but a Romanian citizen and currently resides in Romania. We enjoyed the days on the beach with our new Dutch friends and nights drinking Sangria by the sea. It was a different experience for me because for 4 days I was the only American, and I loved it. I loved the cultural differences, the language barrier and above all the warmth of meeting new people who embrace you the second they meet you.

I started to think about my Grandfather and his diary on the beach during the day. I thought about the story he would tell me on how he got to the desert fighting Rommel. He was stationed in N. Carolina (I believe) and the Captain of his command asked for volunteers to go fight with the British Army in Egypt. My grandfather told me he was the first to raise his hand not because it offered more money but because it would be an experience of a lifetime. An adventure that he never thought in a million years he would be able to achieve. I have pictures of the Egyptian Pyramids that he took from his fighter plane along with stories he wrote regarding making friends with the locals. It made me think that perhaps I am walking in his shoes by meeting new people, trying different things and above all loving others for the beauty they bring because of our difference.

Today was Easter Sunday.....

2009-04-12T08:13:00.000-07:00

And I made the 9 o'clock mass in Triploi. April 25, 1943, is the first entry into the diary my grandfather kept during his time at war in N. Africa. He still made it to mass, walked around the town and decided to buy a little black book for 7 shilings to write down his accounts of the war. I don't think my grandfather would know on that day in 1943 that almost 65 years later I would have it out this Easter Sunday morning with tears down my face thinking about how impact he was in my life and still is. I turn to the first page in this dusty diary and it reads:

"Today was Easter Sunday and I made the 9 o'clock mass in Tripoli. Beautiful church. I decided to stay in town and get a good look at everything. Bought this little black book for 7 shilings. Also tasted some good old Italian cakes. Stood in line well over an hour to see a show which proved to be another of those day limie jobs. Couldn't understand half of what they were saying but laughed at the jokes anyway. Very hungry and arrived back in camp just in time to miss chow. LT. T.W.V. got a package so I eat candy. I almost forgot the "swell" free for all between the blacks and limies. Boy! what a show. I am very tired from walking all day. No mail today. "

65 years later and I awake this Easter morning to a cup of coffee and making the 12:30pm mass. I think I will walk around Central Park today and find peace in my grandfathers words so may years ago. For me, a Urban NYC women, the diary has been the look back a generation I needed in order to move forward in my life. It is a source of courage, faith and healing I get every time I open the page. I share with you the diary's first entry and it begins a 6 month journey into war and personal times. It symbolizes a bond between a grandfather and granddaughter 65 years later that can not be broken.

I wish you all a Happy Easter!

Lessons of Hope

2009-02-28T09:28:00.000-08:00

As I think about life and especially life after Grandpa’s death, I feel hopeful. I have changed from the person I once was who did not believe that life was grand or even had an ounce of hope. I took my grandfather for granted much of my life and it was only at the end did I realize the real meaning of life. His words from a 1943 war diary represent to me a symbol of hope and courage. He writes about the American dream in his future with patience and hope that his life will be fulfilled.

On his last dying days, my grandfather turned to me and said “you are missing out on the real meaning of life. Life is about loving unconditionally those around you, without rules or limits, and making sure you tell them you love them because sometimes people don’t always know. Real love is not about having a husband and children. It is about loving yourself first and building on the power of all the relationships you cultivate. It’s about being hopeful, patient, humble and above all forgiving."

These words ring true to me every day that I try and focus on being a better friend, co-worker, daughter, and sister. I might not have the traditional family or the love of a spouse but I have learned to love myself first and be hopeful by the words on a dusty, page from a war hero in 1943. My grandfather’s voice lingers in my head with an overwhelming feeling of hope that breaths though me on this day and every day. For that, I say thank you and I am so proud of you Grandpa!

For more information on my book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life, a memoir about the bond between a granddaughter and a grandfather, email me at costarobin@gmail.com

The Fly

2008-12-28T16:41:00.001-08:00

This holiday season felt different for me than the last two years. Of course, Grandpa was not with me to share it with or play cards while the food was cooking but it was as if he was there the whole time in different shapes and people that have entered into my life. I know that he is watching over me and placing blessings in my life that will help me always feel his presence. I felt his presence this Christmas morning.

I awoke Christmas morning reminded of a conversation I had with my grandfather the month before he died. I was sitting next to his hospital bed holding his hand thinking about the afterlife. I wanted to know he would still be with me even after his death. I finally asked, “How will I know you are with me after you die?”

He turned his head gently on the hospital pillow, patted my hand in reassurance, and made a “buzzing” sound through his closed teeth. “I will be flying around looking over you like an angel. I will be the fly circling around that you just can’t swat away!”
“Grandpa, a fly?” I laughed. “How did you think of that?”

This Christmas morning, two years later, I got a call from my Aunt Linda and Cousin Steven to tell me an enormous fly was in their home in cold New York. I simply said, “Grandpa.” Then as I walked into my sister’s house, I noticed a fly circling in the kitchen. I looked up to the sky and said “I love you Grandpa, Merry Christmas.”

Happy Holidays and wishing you a very Happy New Year!

WWII Memories from the Diary of My Grandfather

2008-12-13T07:12:00.000-08:00

My grandfather was a unique man with a history in WWII that most of the family never knew about until he passed. He would speak about his time fighting in North Africa with the British Army very rarely and only if some asked a specific question. He was a top turret gunner on the B-25, Desert Warrior that flew bombing missions over Northern Africa while fighting against the Nazi troops. He flew a total of 199 hours logging 73 missions over Tripoli, Tunis and Sicily. This amount of flight time was unheard of back then based on the morality rate for top turret gunners. My grandfather was different. He could do anything!

During this time he kept a diary of his daily events in war and how he felt during the scariest times of his life. This diary is just amazing to read and hear about all the battles won or lost at this time. He had some amazing times outlined in the diary that I have grown to cherish. It was this diary which was left to me upon his death that has truly transformed my life and helped me heal from the wounds of the past.

I share with you today a passage from his diary on May 7, 1943 as well as an article that was written about my grandfather in February 1991 as the country is fighting a war in the desert. I hope you enjoy this piece of history on WWII and my grandfather.

The book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfathers Love Taught Me Life, will be available in April. Please email me for your advanced copy at Garofalorobin@gmail.com

Article Link:
http://www.lindseywilliams.org/index.htm?LAL_Archives/United_States_Planes_Pioneered_Desert_Tactics.htm~mainFrame

Diary Page May 7, 1943:

God! What a day. This was nothing doing all morning. 8th Army closing in on Tunis. Right after lunch the horn blew and we find ourselves on tap to bomb a heavy Itie cruiser in Tunis harbor. Everyone scared stiff. 9 ship deal and splits. We take off with 6X500lb and head out for target. So scared I was almost sick. As we cross coast A/A starts. Our electric system out. No guns or radio. Very cloudy. We lose formation and can’t see target. Circle about 30 mi decide to bomb Kelibia. Light A/A but no E/A. Thank God! The anticipation on this raid was the worst since our raid on Crete. Never was so glad to set my two feet on ‘ye ‘ol terra firma. Tunis fell our hands. We also had air raid last night. Sure glad this day is over. Very tired. It’ll take a direct hit to get me out of bed before morning. So air raid or not let me sleep.

An page from my new book: The Only Father I've Ever Know: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life

2008-12-08T17:54:00.001-08:00

I thought I would share with you a small page from my book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known, How My Grandfather’s Love Taught Me Life. The piece below describes when I am trying desperately to find this WWII diary, left to me upon my grandfather’s death, in a small, dusty storage unit. I know the diary is there and I am determined to find it but at the same time I am completely broken inside based on the events in my life at this point.

The book is about a transformation journey I take with the diary as my catalyst. It also illustrates my grandfather, an Italian immigrant who was a soldier fighting for our freedom in N. Africa. I hope you like it!

Book Page Excerpt:

I pushed aside the boxes that I had already searched through and plopped down on the cold concrete floor. I was exhausted, but I pulled forward to reach a small brown box. As I ripped off the tape with one hand, I took a giant swig of my water in the other to relieve my throat of the dry dust that had accumulated. The box revealed the smell of musty old papers. A dusty grit covered most of the contents inside the box, but there was a white plastic bag that seemed to be undisturbed. I blew off the dust and unzipped the plastic bag that had preserved it all these years. There is was—the little black diary. The front cover was a simple impression of a camel looking up to what resembled a palm tree with words on either side of it. Onestinghel Tripoli. The title of the front of the diary was in English: Agenda 1943-XXI. The months were written in Italian.

I looked at it for a while wondering whether or not I was ready to embark on this journey at this point in my life. I pressed my right hand against the diary hoping its strength would run through my bloodstream. I rubbed my fingers across the camel’s back hoping this diary contained the healing power I needed to pull my life together. I grabbed the diary forcefully and pressed it against my heart. I felt connected to the book as if it had magically entered my body and was beating new life inside me.

I flipped through the pages reading a few of the entries from 1943. The historical pages began releasing a part of my grandfather that I never knew existed. A part of his life that had been closed off to his family intrigued me, and I had to learn more. I pressed the diary harder into my heart to feel that connection with my grandfather again. My jeans were covered in dirt as a spider made his way up my leg to find his home. As the sun dimmed on that cold New York Saturday afternoon, I felt resurrected by the hope that my newfound 64-year-old gift would heal my deepest wounds.

You can find out more about my book by emailing me at garofalorobin@gmail.com. My next post will be more focused on my grandfather as a soldier in WWII.

Grandparent and Grandchild Bond

2008-12-06T08:00:00.000-08:00

It seems like every day I hear more or see more grandparents raising grandchildren and I feel so fortunate all over again. Last night I had the opportunity to volunteer for a wonderful organization that helps women with breast cancer financial and personally plan for their children’s well being. The holiday party for this organization was last night and it was filled with children, adults, music, food and most of all, love.

I was assigned arts and crafts with the children. About one hour into the party, a very shy nine- year old girl came up to me and just stood next to me. I looked down and asked her if she would like to make a hand puppet together. She shook her head yes so I started to pick up the glue and markers. As we were busy making the best hand puppet of the evening, I asked Alexis, my new nine year old friend, who was she here with? She looked up at me and said my grandmother and two sisters. I felt the bond immediately and now I knew why, we were both raised by a grandparent.

I spent the next three hours with Alexis making a paper hat, playing basketball, throwing a football and trying to see if she would dance. She smiled twice, once when she made a basket at the basketball game and the other when I hugged her goodbye. Alexis and I share a bond even if we are years apart in age. A grandparent stepped in because a parent was no longer part of our life for whatever reason.

I meet Alexis’s grandmother and gave her a huge hug. I felt as if I was hugging my grandfather all over again. I told her thank you for taking care of Alexis. She thanked me right back for spending the whole evening with her granddaughter. As I hugged the family goodbye, I looked around the large room where the party was and felt so incredibly thankful. I felt as if my life was insignificant and the only purpose is to keep paying it forward by helping other people.

As Alexis was walking out she turned and smiled one more time and I told her to listen to her grandmother because she will learn so much. The bond is everywhere and it is amazing what it can do to a person’s life

Being Raised by My Grandparent

2008-12-04T16:49:00.000-08:00

My grandfather has been the only father I have really known since I was 16. He provided me the wisdom, guidance, and love to help me through the tough time in life as well as celebrate the joyful occasions. In the U.S., more than 4.5 million children are being raised by grandparents. In fact, President-elect Obama was raised partly by his grandmother. His bond with her was so tight, that he suspended his campaign for part of two days and went to visit her at her apartment where she was in hospice care. Grandparents raise their grandchildren for reasons such as death, divorce, child abuse, neglect, or abandonment. For me, I was just happy that my grandfather took the time to help raise me. Grandparents raising grandchildren offer them a special bond that will impact their lives forever.

My Grandfather passed in 2006 and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about something he taught me or hope that I have the kindness and compassion that he had his entire life. Grandparents teach their grandchildren the foundation skills of helping other people, being kind to others and for me learning how to develop relationships with unconditional love.

I am writing a memoir about the bond between a granddaughter and a grandfather. The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life is my personal story about how my grandfather’s love profoundly made a positive difference in my life. It is my story of a women who becomes unrecognizable to herself and only through her grandfathers dying days re-establishes the bond they had so many years ago. It focuses on a diary my grandfather left me upon his death from WWII that truly transformed my life. His writing becomes a touchstone for his unconditional love and offers a lesson for creating a fulfilled and meaningful life.

So, for all those grandparents out there, thank you for being who you are and you truly are an angel on earth.

The book will be available soon. Please email me with any questions at garofalorobin@gmail.com