If this doesn't make you appreciate your life and what you have, there is no hope for you. Not even wife's death can end man's devotion By MITCHELL ZUCKOFF Copyright 2000 Boston Globe BOSTON -- Freezing rain beats down on Roque "Rocky" Abalsamo. An umbrella covers his head, another covers his legs, and plastic bags protect his boots. Rocky sits for hours, cold and damp in a battered beach chair. He is 84 years old, and there is nowhere he would rather be. For the last seven years, Rocky Abalsamo has spent nearly every day, all day, at St. Joseph's Cemetery in West Roxbury. Morning until dark, mourning until dark. Rocky is there because that is where his wife is. He and Julia "Julita" Echeverria Abalsamo had been married for 55 years when her generous heart failed in November 1993. "She is part of me, so here I am whole," Rocky said recently, his English carrying the accent of his homeland, Argentina. "Being here makes me feel better. Not good, but better. I do it for Julita, and for myself." Some might see him as achingly sad, a depressed man in limbo. But Rocky does not ask to be understood. All he wants is to honor a woman so fine it hurts to remember she was his. And yet the power of Rocky's solitary vigil has spread beyond Julita's grave, embracing dozens of strangers who have happened upon it. Two of them have begun a love story that might be as deep and lasting as Rocky and Julita's. Rocky and Julita met as teen-agers in Buenos Aires. Rocky was in a cafe, his back to Julita, when he overheard her speaking with friends. "She was talking about the soul, about life, goodness," Rocky said, brightening at the memory. "I listened, and I said, `This is for me. I must know her.' " Hearing Julita's words without seeing her was a revelation that has lasted a lifetime: "People no listen, people only see. They need to listen, to see what is inside, to be happy." "I became in love not because she was" -- with his hands, he made the universal symbol for a woman's hourglass figure -- "but she was!" he added, making the symbol again. "She was pure love. Her beauty was a gift apart, a reward." He still celebrates the anniversary of their first kiss, Sept. 16, 1937. They married the following April and had a daughter, Angela, and a son, Roque Jr. Rocky did construction work, and Julita tended to their family. As the children grew, they looked north for education and opportunity. Angela and Roque Jr. immigrated to the United States in 1971. A year later, Rocky and Julita moved to Boston. Rocky carries a snapshot of Julita from those days. It shows a smiling, petite woman with green eyes and dark hair. On the back, she wrote: "Today the sky smiles to me. I see you. You look at me. Today I believe in God. With all my love, Julita." The years passed. They spent their days doting on their five grandchildren and walking arm in arm around Jamaica Pond. Their bliss ended in 1993, when Julita's heart began to fail. She was reluctant to undergo a triple bypass, agreeing only when told it was necessary for her survival. She told their daughter she was doing it not for herself, but for Rocky. "Their love was totally beyond time and space," Angela Abalsamo Arai said. "She had to do what she could not to leave him alone." But Julita never recovered from the surgery. She died Nov. 8, 1993. She was 75. Rocky was devastated. Several days after the funeral, he stood at a window, staring listlessly at the rain. A bolt of thunder jarred him. "I thought, `My Julita is alone,' " he recalled. But then he thought: "Ah, I know. People only die when nobody remembers." He began his vigil the next day. Of the nearly 2,600 days since Julita "left," as he puts it, Rocky has missed only about 20 days -- two weeks for heart surgery and a week to visit his dying sister in Argentina. For months, family and friends urged Rocky to abandon his daily pilgrimage. One by one they stopped, realizing it made him happy, gave him purpose and probably kept him alive. "At first it was very hard to know that your father is out in the cold, away from everybody," Arai said. "But I understand his need to do this, and I admire him for it." Tender rituals Rocky's devotional routine does not vary. Before leaving his Jamaica Plain apartment, he puts a framed photo of Julita in a window, facing the world. After breakfast and errands, he catches bus No. 39, transfers to the 37, then walks eight blocks to St. Joseph's. It is a tranquil place, with tombstones in swaths of green, wind chimes in trees tinkling over the bass hum of VFW Parkway. Julita's plot, No. 311, is the most decorated at St. Joseph's. It has flags of the United States and Argentina, tiny scarecrows, plants, pinwheels, ceramic angels and a small statue of the Virgin Mary. On cold days Rocky wears a patched and faded green parka. He owns other coats, but Julita knew this one best, so he will not change. He greets Julita: "I am here!" He unfolds a blue beach chair -- he leaves it every night against her headstone -- and places it on a piece of plywood to keep it from sinking into the soft earth. Then Rocky relaxes. He reads, writes and reflects. For exercise and warmth, he walks around nearby headstones engraved Cicciu, St. Clair, Doyle, Galvin and Daley. He rarely eats or drinks, in part out of respect but also so he will not need a bathroom. On special occasions he toasts Julita with sparkling cider; he will do so Dec. 20, her birthday. Some days he brings a cassette player. On one tape they sing together, a Spanish lullaby. Rocky's strong tenor is answered by Julita's sweet soprano. Hearing Julita's voice brings a smile to his face, a mist to his clear blue eyes. When dark comes, Rocky prays. He sprinkles crumbs on the grave so chipmunks will keep Julita company after he has gone. Sadness returning, he says goodbye. He rubs her name on the red granite stone. The ritual has left an indelible mark. Back in his apartment, he returns the framed picture to the kitchen table. Nothing has changed since the day Julita died. Pizzas she made are still in the freezer. He does not turn the calendar page; it still says November 1993. It hangs near a window and is fading from seven years of sunlight. Meeting of strangers In 1989, Linda Handley moved in across the street from St. Joseph's Cemetery. Middle-aged, never married, Linda taught math in the Needham schools. Out for a walk in August 1994, Linda saw Rocky in his chair. When she saw him again the next day, she decided to say hello. "She must have been a very special woman," Linda told him. "She was a very special person," Rocky answered. Their friendship grew slowly, but eventually Rocky began to trust Linda, accepting rides to or from the cemetery. He taught her Spanish, enough so they could communicate more clearly. Whenever Linda offered thanks, Rocky would laugh and say he charged $2 for his services. "He became so important to me because he was a wonderful adviser, counselor, a very comforting person," Linda said. Linda began to notice a cemetery worker who also looked after Rocky. One cold day in 1995, the worker brought Rocky sweat pants to wear under his trousers. Linda was impressed. When he left, she told Rocky, "What beautiful blue eyes he has." He was John Tobin, known to all as "Toby," a quiet man whom friends and family knew as a rare and giving soul. Like Linda, he was middle-aged, never married. On Sept. 16, 1998, the anniversary of his first kiss with Julita, Rocky played matchmaker: He arranged to have Linda and Toby meet him the next day at Julita's grave. They hit it off immediately. Toby confessed to Linda that for years he had watched her with Rocky, but he thought it wrong for a cemetery worker to approach a graveside visitor. If not for Rocky, he never would have. On their first date, they went to a movie, and Toby insisted on escorting Linda to the restroom. "I said to myself, `My God, it's unheard of in this day or age to find someone this gallant, this respectful to women,' " Linda recalled. On Oct. 17, 1999, Linda and Toby were married. She was 51, he 49. On her way out of the church, Linda slipped Rocky an envelope. Inside was $2. In their wedding program, Linda and Toby wrote: "We are convinced that the miracle of this day is the work of a very special person, Julita Echeverria. ... We are grateful for the lessons of Doña Julita and her beloved husband and messenger, Don Roque Abalsamo. They have taught us that love is a true blessing and that the virtue of knowing how to give is the staircase to heaven. We shall always remember." Circle of love There is a third love story at plot No. 311, and it revealed itself on a recent cold November morning. A Volkswagen Rabbit stopped near Julita's grave, and a dark-haired woman stepped out. "I think about you every day," Debbie Conway told Rocky. "I was shopping, and I saw these, and I couldn't wait for Christmas. It's already cold." From a shopping bag, Debbie pulled gloves, a hat and two scarves for Rocky. She tied a black one around his neck and showed him how to pull it over his mouth and ears. Rocky smiled shyly. "You teach me how to live," said Debbie, a nurse who met Rocky while visiting her parents' graves. Maybe, she said, laughing, he could find a match for her, too. The same day, Ellen Daley of Boston brought two potted plants, one for her late husband, Joe, and one for Julita. Rocky does not decorate her grave -- that is the work of his cemetery friends. They never knew Julita, but they know her love. "Rocky is like the grandfather my grandchildren don't have," Daley said. "I think sometimes we come to the cemetery just to make sure he's OK." Rocky gets several such visits a day. All told, dozens of people have taken him into their hearts. There is the young firefighter who calls out, "Hey, Rock!" when he visits his fiancee's grave. There are the priests who come for burials and ask Rocky to pray for them, the Ukrainian man who came by recently with new boots for Rocky, the young woman who credits Rocky with helping her to quit smoking. "When Julita and I married, we planned to have 12 children, but we only have two," Rocky said. "I think Julita is sending me all these children." Rocky's name and year of birth are already engraved on Julita's stone. When the time comes to add his year of death, with special reverence for a beloved friend, cemetery workers will lower Rocky's casket into the hole. Gently, they will place it atop Julita's. Finally, Rocky will be at rest, with Julita. ------------------ Mmmmmmm. Sacrelicious.
sniff.... wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..... anyone have a tissue....?? rH ------------------ *** THIS SPACE FOR LEASE ***
Well,no hope for me.....j/k ------------------ The National Basketball Association obviously revolves directly around Bob Finn's Fantasy Basketball League!
that is amazing stuff, but probably not something i should be reading two days after my girl friend and I splikt up. Oh well depression is setting in. this prooves that the love of your life is out there. you may never know when you find her, but if even at 51, 49. everyone can have hope ------------------ Hanta-Force Paintball http://www.hanta-force.com
Jeff, You forget this years perfect christmas love story, Manny and Boston. ------------------ Ceo of the Walt Williams fan club. Web site coming soon atheistalliance.org
Jeff- that is a truly wonderul story, about a man I would love to meet. ------------------ - Beck Dream...bring back the goggles
BTW, Rocky is also a necrophiliac. Now you know the REST of the STORY.... -Paul Harvy ------------------
I guess your comment is an example of "compassionate conservatism", eh Ty? ------------------ "Blues is a Healer" --John Lee Hooker
How you got a republican vs deomcrat angle out of that is simply amazing rm. Hats off to ya. ------------------
Thank You...must have been that fine UT edumucashun! ------------------ "Blues is a Healer" --John Lee Hooker
Thought this was appropriate,author unknown The Rose Red roses were her favorites, her name was also Rose. And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows. The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door. The card said, "Be my Valentine," like all the years before. Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say, "I love you even more this year, than last year on this day. My love for you will always grow, with every passing year." She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear. She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before the time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine. She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase. Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair. While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there. A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate. With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate. Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before, The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door. She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock. Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop. The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain,Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain? "I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago," The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know. The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance. Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance. There is a standing order, that I have on file down here, And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year. There also is another thing, that I think you should know, He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago. Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer here, That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year." She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard. Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card. Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note. Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote... "Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone, I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome. I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real. Or if it was the other way, I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife. You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need. I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve. I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years. When you get these roses, think of all the happiness, That we had together, and how both of us were blessed. I have always loved you and I know I always will. But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still. Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways. The roses will come every year, and they will only stop, When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock. He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out. But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him. And place the roses where we are, together once again. ------------------ Now chew through my ball sack
It's not what you think http://bbs.clutchcity.net/ubb/Forum7/HTML/002389.html ------------------ Now chew through my ball sack
I know but it's not my intent,I'll change it when I find something better...truth is though I kinda like it ------------------ Now chew through my ball sack
