It’s a tough subject to be fair, and quite frankly, I’m not even sure how to write it down. I’ll talk to you about my dad. His name is or was Paul Leone. He was 86 years old. He never looked old despite his age. Retirement wasn’t his thing, in fact, he hated it. He needed to do something, anything to be busy. He loved the sea, women, contemporary French music, Latin-American music, food (Couscous and Spaghetti being his absolute favorites), politics, and his kids. He was an adventurer. He was born in an Italian hospital in Tunisia in 1937. His parents were travellers in a way. His mom was a beautiful Argentinian woman, and his father was Italian, but dad barely talked about him. Apparently, his father walked out on them when they were kids (dad being only 3 y/o). Dad wasn’t the oversharing type of guy, so I don’t know much about his family. I was never particularly curious to ask him questions about it either. From what little he did share with me, he often mentioned that when he was 6 years old, he witnessed the bombings during WWII from the top of a tree in his garden. He and his brothers would mistake those explosions for fireworks. Or maybe his brothers knew, and they simply kept his innocence until time would tell differently.
His mom would make soap and sell it on the black market to ensure they could afford to eat well. Dad’s childhood wasn’t perfect. He grew up amidst World War II and witnessed the aftermath of the conflict. According to him, we were spoiled because we were born in an epoch were everything is easy and we’re so willing to throw items that can be reused. That’s why he would always tell us that anything found could be reused, whether it was a wooden board or a used nail. That’s also why our garage looked like a mess. His motto was: we never know maybe there’ll be another usage for it later. It’s funny because I was always so ready to throw things away, and now I hesitate, I keep things just in case.
When he was very young, Dad grew accustomed to travelling with his family, either in France or Argentina. He would often tell me that when he was 17, he travelled to Algeria by hitchhiking with a young girl no older than him. I don’t think I ever fully understood how dangerous it was for him to do such a thing. In Algeria in the 1950s, there was tension between nationalists and French colonisers. I know my history lessons, but now that I’m reading documents and testimonies of what happened in Algeria between 1945 and 1954, I’m mortified of what could have happened to him and his young companion. Afterwards, dad fought in the Algerian War. He wanted the independence of Algeria. I will not go into the details of why he was forced to participate in this war, but he was traumatised by it; I could tell it in his eyes. He was even wounded, but the French government never acknowledged his war wound. He saw colleagues die, mutilated soldiers, blood, and enough things to give you nightmares for decades.
Amidst the chaos, he fell in love with a young nurse. Stories diverge here somehow. But dad always said that he stumbled upon the most beautiful creature, and his eyes would often fill with tears when he spoke about her. He married her at 22 and had three kids with her. He would often talk about how he regretted cheating on her. I never saw such sorrow and sadness in someone’s eyes. He often blamed his youth and girls, which, of course, was hilarious to me. But that’s mainly because I have a different view on the matter. Either way, after the Algerian War, he settled in France, where he started a new life. He became a successful businessman and then owner. He divorced his first wife, and he had problems he never really told me about. I blame both parties for being unable to communicate in their relationship. He met another woman and married her. With her, he had a child, a baby girl. They travelled to Argentina, but things got sideways, and they separated (but never divorced). Dad carried on his life and kept travelling around the world. He travelled around Europe, America, Argentina, Chile, and Paraguay, where he met my mom.
Here again, I will not go into the details, that’s a story I’ll eventually write one day.
When he was in South America, my dad became a singer and astrologer. Do not ask me why; it simply happened. The stars were his obsession. He learned to read the signs and became famous because of it. In 1992, he made a stop in Paraguay. For some reason, he met my mom, and then I was born, quite literally. My sister was born in 1995. At that time, Dad started painting. My parents divorced. In 2007, my dad met another woman and flew back to France. But that relationship didn’t last either. I arrived in France in 2011, and my dad was focused on his painting and his exhibitions. I helped him countless times. His very last exhibition was in Pontivy in November 2022. He was 85, and he was tired. But he still wanted the media to know about his work and his art. His tiredness, however, didn’t come from age, but from cancer (bone and lung cancer). He lived a long life, and yet I’ve only known him for the last 30 years. For some, it might be a lot, but to me or even my little sister, it simply wasn’t enough.
The last few days and maybe weeks before (because he didn’t know the severity of his cancer), he was being strong for me. He was scared too, but he never showed it to me. In spite of his flaws and his human nature, he was the bravest man I ever knew and that I loved.
If there’s one thing I have to say, it’s that grief stinks. Not because it’s ugly, but because there’s so much love with nowhere to go. We don’t talk much about grief. Or how to deal with it. We all deal with it differently. I used to think my dad would live to be 100 and that I’d have all the time in the world to ask him all the questions that I had for him. Now there’s an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. My days are dull and empty. I read history books, trying to understand who my dad was and what he went through. He did keep a lot to himself, so I know there’s so much to uncover and learn.
My dad, Paul Leone was born in March 1937 in Tunis, Tunisia, and he passed away in April 2023 in Douarnenez, Brittany, France.
Melenaleonina 