In Memory of Geno

My friend and fellow ukulele player Geno Galli passed away yesterday morning.

I got the call from Andy, his very good friend and someone who knew I really cared about Geno and would want to know as soon as possible.

The phone call came on my cell phone and that only really matters because I am out in the country in Pennsylvania right now and cell service is spotty. I sensed I knew why Andy was calling me, but wanted to talk on a land line, as sometimes the cell phone cuts off, and I didn't want that to happen as he told me what I though he might be telling me. It worked however, and I learned that Geno had passed away quietly and peacefully in his sleep that morning.

I listened and thanked Andy for calling me and for taking care of Geno these last months, and told him how sorry I was.

It wasn't until I told Rick who was sitting the kitchen, that my voice broke and a tear came to my eye.

Such a long struggle. Such a great guy.

We weren't as close as some - Andy for instance, who had known him for years and years and had together experienced the ups and downs of life and who together had planned on someday being able to hang out with their wives in Hawaii somewhere, surfing and growing old together.

But I knew and loved him nevertheless. Seeing him at the Uke Club meetings, Saturday morning play alongs, and Sundays when I could make it. 

I asked him if he would play the part of an Italian waiter for a skit in my Christmas show because, well, he was as Italian and would fit the role perfectly. He happily accepted the part and seemed to have such a great time doing so.

It was just a few months ago that I learned, we all learned, that he was very sick with liver cancer. Several trips to the hospital, transfusions, and all the ups and downs of chemotherapy were all part of his routine to follow.

I didn't get to visit him, or should I say, I didn't make the concerted effort to make it happen.

I guess that at first I thought I had plenty of time to visit and that I would later. Then, little by little I put it off, feeling a bit uncomfortable about not getting around to it, and wondering if I were being selfish for not doing so.

I asked Andy often about his health and asked that he be told that I really cared about him.

Then, as I was getting ready to come to Pennsylvania I tried to see him, but he was just not up for it.

I sent him a card, hoping that he would be reminded of me and that I was thinking of him.

All the while I had been reminded of my late partner, Neil, who underwent months and months of suffering with lymphoma. The tests, the chemo, up and down, in and out of the hospital, wasting away with the most positive attitude he could summon, which was by far better than I could manage under the circumstances.

Perhaps that is why I didn't quite bring myself to visit Geno in time. Though it has been almost six years since Neil passed away, the memory is still right there under the surface. That's what I was referring to when I wondered if I was being selfish. I cold have mustered the strength, made time, and not let fear get in the way, as Geno would advise. But I didn't and I must trust that I made the right choice at the right time.

But it is his wife Emily and friend Andy who I think of the most now. Geno is in a better place now - without suffering or worry. But it is those of us living who now must go on without his physical presence, who must wake up every morning and remind themselves that life is forever changed and yet still must go on.

I think of what a wonderful and unique community of friends we, the Ukulele Club of Santa Cruz, have in each other. We are all so blessed.

Geno, I will miss you - your smiling face, leading the group in Capitola, singing "That's Amore" with all the gusto imaginable, and being in my show. Know that you have touched so many people in so many ways and that your spirit will forever be present in all of us.