Holding on for Dear Life

There is the story Dan Mazzeo tells about his father, “Pop,” a first-generation Italian American who was struggling with metastatic liver and lung cancer. When doctors gave him less than a year, Pop bravely said he wasn’t afraid to die. After all, his wife was already gone and his children grown.

But then he learned that his only son, Dan, was going to be a father. When Pop heard the news, he sat up and resolved, “I’m gonna make that.” The chemo tortured his system. Some days it was all he could do to mumble, “Bad day,” to those who phoned. But when his granddaughter was born, he insisted on going to the hospital.

The ninety-minute ride tormented him. Dan wheeled him to the maternity ward. Pop’s arms were too weak, so Dan had to hold the baby for him. But Pop did what he came to do. He leaned over, kissed her, and said, “Sheila Mary, Grandpa loves you very much.” Within seconds, Pop dozed off. Within an hour he was back in the car. Within days he was dead. What is this love that endures decades, passes on sleep, and resists death to give one kiss? Call it agape love, a love that bears a semblance of God’s.