In Honor of Mark Mizzoni

Below is the eulogy that I wrote, and then read at my dad’s service. Writing this and then reading it was so healing. After I wrote it, I couldn’t wait to get to the service to read it. It was as if my dad was communicating through me. It’s something I cannot explain. Grief is a weird thing. But, the strength and spiritual understanding that I’ve found during this difficult time has made this so much… ____________… I don’t even know what the right word would be. Let’s just say that I now understand life in a way that I never did before. (Yes, a long and difficult road is ahead of me, but I know that I’m going to be okay.)

I’m posting this eulogy so that others who were unable to attend the services can know my dad’s story, and maybe feel a little stronger, too. Disclaimer: It’s very long, but please read the entire thing for full effect… Here you go:

I’m Gina Mizzoni, Mark Mizzoni’s daughter… Yes, I had the honor and joy of being raised by a man of truth, integrity, unwavering support, an incredible friendship and unconditional love.

I had my dad on this plane for over 29 years of my life. From as early as I can remember, my dad was there. He was a hard-working daddy, always making sure to provide a good life for his family while instilling values in us that we will hold onto forever.

Now, guys and gals, I hope you’re comfortable right now… because I have a LOT to say…

Never have I known a man who was more humble, hard-working, genuine, with true integrity, the deepest passion and a heart of gold than my father, Mark Mizzoni. My dad always did the right thing. Even if it wasn’t popular, he always did the right thing. He taught me to do the same.

I was raised by a man with an old soul, who knew what truly mattered in life – family, sunsets, nature, music, open eyes, awareness and the evolution that is life.

Going through old (and more recent) photographs over the past few days, I see the evolution process of my dad’s entire life… and it is beautiful. I’m going to talk about that today… but first, let me tell you a little bit about his amazing family… the roots and foundation of his life.

First, there was the handsome little boy with the sweetest smile. The youngest of seven kids, in a big Italian family. (If you had the pleasure of growing up alongside my father, or any of his brothers and sisters, you know first-hand how special the Mizzoni family is).

Mark’s mother… my nana… Angelina… was the most amazing and loving mother a boy could ever have. And, my father, Mark, was her baby.

Like all traditional Italian household’s, my father’s family home smelled like garlic. Every Sunday, his mother cooked a big pasta dinner… and all the family was invited. This didn’t just include blood relatives, but friends that were like family. If you knew my grandmother, you knew she was the most hospitable and loving woman. It was her whom instilled that heart of gold into my dad, and that unconditional love… oh yeah, and that passion!

Aldo, Mark’s father, was a proud and hardworking father, and expected his sons to be the same… even when they were just little boys. I remember hearing stories about how Aldo, my papa, would throw my dad and his friends a shovel or another yard tool, teaching the boys and my father how to work with their hands. I imagine my dad’s love for gardening, artistry woodworking and building came from Aldo.

Mark’s older brother John was like a father to him, in a way, because he was nineteen years old when my dad was born. When I look at John, I see my father. Both men have an old soul. John inspired my dad to be a man… to go out into the world and build a life that he could be proud of… and to be responsible along the way. John was like a role-model.

Next is Lou, my father’s second oldest brother. Though Lou was much older when my father was born, he would be one of my father’s best buddies. Lou inspired my dad to enjoy life, to stop and smell the roses, to work hard and play hard.

My father shared his love for motorcycles and the open road with both John and Lou.

Then, there’s Raymond. Cultured, artistic and renaissance soul Raymond – my father’s third oldest brother. Ray was the cool brother… the one in a band. The hippie, when he was younger. Raymond inspired my dad’s taste in music, his appreciation for his Italian heritage and his sense of humor.

Janet, Mark’s oldest sister, was someone he shared a very special bond with. For years during my childhood, Aunt Janet lived right up the street. My dad was her Marky, her baby brother. She has many of the virtues that my grandmother and my father both had… and, you know, that presence that if you ever had the pleasure of being around, you’d never forget. Like my father and grandmother, she has a genuine heart of gold.

Valerie, Mark’s next sister, has always been around my dad. She was his dear, dear sister. With her, my father shared a love of family, a deep emotional depth, and an appreciation for the good ol’ times. As he did with all of his brothers and sisters, Mark loved Valerie with all of his heart, unconditionally.

Next, there was the brother who came right before my dad, and that was Virgil, the sixth child of Aldo and Angie. Virgil was born only a couple of years before my dad… and he and my dad grew up together. They truly, truly grew up together… from their childhood, through their teenage years, and the entire evolution that led up to the men they became over the last couple of years. Virgil and my dad were buddies. My dad always held Virgil close to his heart.

My dad always held all of his brothers and sisters close to his heart.

And, then of course, there were the friends who were like family. So many of them, I cannot possibly list them all today. But, the one that I must mention, the one who was adopted into our family by my grandmother when he was a growing boy, was Frank Henry. Frank was my father’s brother-in-LOVE. Since the day my grandmother took him in and raised him as her own, he was a permanent part of this family. And, how lucky my dad was to have a brother like Frank. A guy who inspired my dad to dance to the beat of his own drum… and be an amazing father!

As you can see, my father had strong roots from which to grow. His family provided a strong foundation for a life filled with love, happiness and strength. Even though my dad eventually had to spread his wings and go out onto his own path, as an adult man, making a life of his own… his brothers, sisters, mother and father were always an integral part of his life.

Over the years, I got to know my father in a way that I will cherish forever. He’d told me that the hardest time in his life was when he was 17 years old. Like most young adults, my dad was struggling to find out who he was. He did a lot of soul-searching. It was a hard, hard time for him…

But, he got through that hard time… and opened a new chapter.

He joined the insulation trade. This type of construction work was very laborious, but provided an incredible income, benefits, and pension. Plus, Mark’s father and some of his brothers were also part of the trade, so this served as another source of bonding.

Mark, my dad, was about 17 when he joined the trade, and this was the first stepping stone to him becoming a man.

Then he met my mother, Lisa. This sweet little blond bombshell, from Southern California. They met through mutual friends. My mom was a barber at the time, and if my memory serves me correctly, she’d cut his hair the first time they met… I think! Either way, it was love at first sight.

My father married his soul mate in September 1982. They had a beautiful wedding. He was 22, and she was 23. The reception was held at my grandparents’ house. It was a big huge party, with lots of discoey dance moves to Michael Jackson hits.

And, then came Coco. The day after my parents got married… Coco was their first baby – a little tiny brown deer Chihuahua, who they got from Uncle John’s daughter, Lori, as a wedding gift.

Soon they bought a house, and then I came along, my dad’s “little sparkleberry.” I imagine this must have been an overwhelming time for him. A new wife, a brand new baby, a job that often had him traveling… The thought of that sounds so crazy to me. He was only 23. But, it’s what he wanted. That generation was different than my generation… and thank God for that, because I wouldn’t be here.

I’m so proud of my dad. He was such a great father and husband. So hardworking. So motivated to build a good life for his little family. My brother, Marco, came along 22 months after me, a little unexpectedly. But, so perfectly the way it was supposed to be. My dad was so proud of his little boy. My parents now had their girl and boy. Their family was complete.

My daddy taught me how to ride a bike. Encouraged me to do really good in school, so that I could grow up and be successful. But, he always reminded me that NO MATTER what, he would always love me. He used to tell me: “Don’t do it because you want to make me proud. Do it because you want to make YOU proud.”

Growing up, my dad instilled those values that are so much a part of who I am. It was his integrity, his honesty, his no-bullshit/say it like it is/sometimes tough love, but “always, ALWAYS in the best interest of his children” approach to parenting that made me who I am.

When I think of my fiery passion, my deep capacity to feel, my always wanting to do the right thing, my integrity, I think of my dad. I can feel my dad inside of me. My dad and I are kindred spirits.

I’ll never forget the day, in first grade, when my mom came in and told me that my dad had been in a work-related accident. He’d been working from a 20-feet-high scissor-lift, that suddenly caught on fire after a cement truck back into it. He had to make an immediate choice – stay on the rapidly burning raised object, or jump. My dad jumped… and thank God, survived. Although he shattered his heel in the process. But he was alive.

I remember my dad told me, after that accident, that his entire life flashed before his eyes, in slow motion. I cannot imagine what it was like to make a decision to jump off of a high platform. That right there shows my dad’s strong, strong courage… and commitment to his family… and love for life.

After the accident, my dad had to go through rehabilitation. At first, he had to be on crutches. Then he could walk with a cane. And, finally he could walk on both legs, and live a full, full life.

But after that accident happened, my dad was at a crossroads. Because he was still recovering, he wouldn’t be able to return to construction work… at least not for a while. Most people would freak out, wondering what the hell they were going to do.

But not my dad. My dad knew that he was not a victim. That his life was in his own hands. And, of course, he had the responsibility to support his family… So he explored his options.

Luckily, the great work of the labor movement in the United States, post-Hoover Dam, which founded the 40-hour work week, the minimum wage, worker’s rights, holiday weekends and so many other benefits that the middle class enjoys (yet takes for granted) today, my dad had the support he needed while he figured out his next move.

But it took a fight. Getting disability is a real pain in the ass. Many doors were slammed in his face. He was denied many times. But he appealed. Again, and again he appealed, until finally he got the disability benefits that would help support his family during a very hard time in their lives. My dad was and has always been a fighter. And, my dad put his pride aside in order to do what was needed…

For about three years, my dad was in and out of surgeries, in an effort to rebuild his injured heel. During that time, I got to see my dad in a non-traditional gender role. My mom worked, while my dad packed our lunches (I’ll never forget his peanut butter banana sandwiches, summer sausage and mayonnaise sandwiches, chips, and treats). He also took us to school, helped us with our homework, and wore the apron. That was instrumental in my becoming a staunch feminist. Thank you, Dad!!

After the surgeries, my dad was able to walk again without a cane. But, he wouldn’t be able to return to construction at that time. Construction was what he’d done all of his life though. What the hell would he do? How was he going to support his family? Most people would freak out, but my dad focused on number one, which was getting back on track.

Fortunately, there was  program called SSI that retrained people who needed to learn new work skills, because an injury had left them unable to do what they’d done before. My dad found a new path, as a Dental Lab Technician, who created crowns and bridges. He was satisfied with this new path because it allowed him to use his hands. He did this work for three years.

Then in April of 97, he rediscovered a new calling. It was the same path he’d been on prior to the accident, but this time seen in a different light…

He wanted to return to construction. He was finally able to physically do it, and he understood and appreciated the benefits and life that could be built through a good union job like insulation. When he was younger, prior to the work related accident, he’d just seen it as job. A hard, tough, miserable at times job. He even took it for granted. He hadn’t known what he had until it was gone.

But after almost eight years of tough realization and deep awareness, he finally understood the value of the insulation profession. He was physically able to return to it, and so he did.

And, this time, he was grateful… every single day. Chipper and happy. He would walk into work and cheerfully greet, the other workers who were disgruntled about having to do this hard laborious work. My dad understood their attitude because he used to share the same one, but his accident had changed him forever. It made him grateful for what he had… and passionate about the work and union.

In 1998, my dad opened a new chapter, where he would take a more active and eventually central role in his union. He ran for Vice President of Heat & Frost Insulators, Local 135, and won. He served that position for three years… while still working long hard days out on the field.

A few years later, my father ran for President of Local 135, and won. He served that position for a few years.

Then, finally, came one of the most pivotal chapters of his life… my father, Mark Mizzoni, was elected as the Business Agent of his beloved Local 135. This was now his full-time job, and would be the profession he spent the rest of his Earthly life doing. Through that position, he would go out and find work for his union brothers and sisters, fight for the workers, organize the union, stand up to businesses who were trying to cut corners, run undercover, investigative work, and be a hero for many. My father is an integral part of Nevada history now, and of the labor movement during the 21^st century.

When I think of the work my dad spent the last 12 years doing, I get chills. What an amazing, incredible man. My dad was a fighter, a leader, a father to so many. A guardian angel. Just like with his own children, he showed tough love with his union brothers and sisters. But his word was always golden. He had their back always. He always did what is right. He built a legacy of integrity, honor, truth and most importantly HUMILITY.

Times got tough in the economy over the last few years. And, my father’s job grew tremendously stressful. After all, he was responsible for finding the work for his union men and women. So many were out of work, and my dad needed to get them back working again. What a huge burden to carry! But, for my dad it’s what he wanted. It was his responsibility, his duty, his path in this incarnation.

Sometimes, I wished that my dad would quit the job and go back to doing just the construction work. Or maybe even open up his own business because he was so industrious and talented and hardworking, and he was crafty at so many things.

But, no. My dad had his own special calling. It didn’t matter how stressful his job was, or how heartbreaking it was at times, it’s what he wanted to do. Like anyone in that sort of leadership position, my dad had to deal with the bullshit politics, the egos of the weak, the under appreciation of some.

But, he loved his job. He loved his men and women. And, he poured his blood, tears and soul into his work.

All the way up until his Business Agent position was eliminated due to the deep recession that weakened the union. My dad was offered a part time position with the union as an Organizer. This would be a deep cut in his pay… but, God, he loved the union. He didn’t want to leave it… what would he do?

Well, my parents made a hard decision. They examined their finances, and realized that they could, in fact, make it work. My dad could still continue his passion, organizing the union, and leading it as he did previously. At least for a while, as long as he financially could, to get it back on its feet and ensure that the transition that the union was going through would be a smooth one.

But, the union was broken. My dad’s values were no longer aligned with the expectations of the new position…

My dad wouldn’t want me to go off about this in an angry manner. My father was a man of respect, dignity and humility. He wouldn’t want me to rip apart anyone, or place blame. So, let me just say that my father had to make the heart-breaking decision to quit the part-time position due to irreconcilable differences.

 After this happened, I told my dad, “Dad, how could you just quit a job without finding something else first? I mean, Dad, you are the one who raised me to always be responsible, to always do what is right, to think before I act. How come you aren’t practicing what you preached?”

And, my dad said, “Stinkerbug, I fought for this position. I poured my heart and soul into it. I hung on as long as I could. You know what I went through. You’re just like me. Enough was a fucking ‘nough. Wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

And, I said, “Yes, dad. Absolutely!”

My dad was so strong about it. He was also excited about his many options he had in this new chapter. Maybe he would return to the test site and run jobs up there. Or maybe he would reexplore his career options, and take on a bigger role in the labor movement, maybe do something political. Maybe he would go back to school. Through all of his work and training over the years, he was only a few credits away from being able to get an Associate’s Degree in a related field.

“The world is our oyster, baby,” is one of the last things my dad told me.

How lucky am I to have been raised by a father like that. He was a one of a kind, a gift to the world, and the core of my soul.

I’m lucky to say that I had the pleasure of knowing my father, and I mean REALLY, REALLY knowing my father. He and my mother are my best friends.

Growing up, my father and I would butt heads many times… because we are so much like, so passionate, filled with so much conviction, so strong in what we believe.

I remember at times in my life, as a little spoiled teenager, getting frustrated and upset because my dad would limit how much he would give me. I had to pay my way through college.

But the reason for that was because my father was building a nest’s egg for he and my mother. They’d worked all their lives and deserved to live their lives.

Plus, he wanted me to be an independent and strong adult. He had to give me room to grow, to be my own person.

I am so happy that they had so many toys to play with – a Harley Davidson, a beautiful boat, a gorgeous home, so many amazing vacations, delicious dinners, and many, many adventures.

My mom and dad’s motto has always been, “Work hard. Play hard!” And that they did!

And through this journey, he always supported me, and loved me unconditionally – through every teenage tantrum, existential crises and soul-searching I endured in my life. My father never judged me. He held me when I needed him the most, and he was always, ALWAYS there for me.

I’m sad that my dad will never have the chance to walk me down the aisle… see where this photography passion is going to take me… enjoy a special father-daughter road trip through the state of Nevada… go camping at Valley of Fire… visit the Mizzoni ancestral house in our Italian village, that he’d visited long ago, but I hadn’t… take a special father-daughter trip to Canada to see extended relatives… have me care for him in his golden years as a little wrinkled old man – those were all things that I was looking forward to.

But, the sadness I feel can never compare to the gratitude I feel in my heart. My father was there during the most important, pivotal years of my life.

You see, when we’re kids, days drag on slowly, a week seems like forever, a year feels like forever times eternity. As we get older, life goes by a little quicker… and quicker… and quicker… and quicker… until we’re in our twenties and every year seems to fly by faster than the last.

Time doesn’t exist. It’s just a long continuum of infinity.

Through that logic, then, my time with my dad fills up at least three quarters of my entire life. I hope to grow to be a little old lady someday. But, even still, three quarters of my story on this earthly plane was written with the help of my dad.

He was an instrumental part of my life. He will always be an instrumental part of my life.

One of the worst things that I could ever imagine, happened to me this past weekend. I know that it’s going to be a long and difficult road. But, my family is strong and my father left when he was supposed to leave.

I hope that I’m lucky enough to leave this planet doing what I love the most, and pass on instantly, just as he did… in the arms of an angel.

Daddy, I love you. I will honor your life through the way I live mine.

I am so, so grateful that I got to know you so well in my life. That I got that final goodbye. No, I didn’t know that it would be three days later that you would leave this plane.

But last Wednesday, after getting my taxes done, being just six minutes away from your house, I knew I needed to take the opportunity to see you. Something deep within told me to go see Dad.

So, I called you to make sure you were home. You were so, so excited that I was going to come over and spend time with you. We shared a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, I charged my cell phone with your charger (you’d just gotten a Galaxy S3 like me), and we sat in your beautiful masterpiece of a backyard and chatted.

Our conversation was the deepest conversation we ever had. I could tell that you’d been through hell and back over the last couple of months, but I wasn’t worried about you. You seemed so calm and happy and grateful, and ready for that next chapter of your life – whatever that would be. (We all know what that ended up being.)

You were more peaceful than I’ve ever seen anyone. Almost like Buddha. I told you how much I loved you (I always told you how much I loved you, but there was something extra special about this time), and you told me how much you loved me and how proud of me you were (you’d always told me you loved me, and how proud of me you were, but there was something special about this time).

Mom came home a couple of hours later, and the three of us chatted it up for another hour. It was way past my bedtime, but that was okay. Sitting with you on that beautiful deck you built in the backyard was like heaven. It was zen. It was a beautiful memory forever captured in time.

You knew who I was, Dad. You really truly knew me, and I really truly knew you. And, that brings me so much peace. Because the earthly human experience is all about being understood, understanding others, and being interconnected.

And, most of all being aware of the self.

You left your human shell, having understood who you really were. You evolved in a way that is so deep and confirming to my spiritual self.

As Eckart Tolle once wrote, “You are the universe, expressing itself as a human for a little while.”

How lucky we are.

Shine on, Daddy. Shine on!