Lito Floresca

5/23/10

By Ann Floresca

Lito Floresca was born in the Philippines on March 22, 1931 to Paulina and Vicente Floresca, and if he were here today, he would make sure that everyone that’s here isn’t missing work or school to attend this service. He was never one for a big “to-do,” but even though he would never tell you, I think that he would be happy that you are here to say goodbye.

He graduated from the University of the East in 1968 in Accounting and worked in the Philippines as a bookkeeper. When he came to the states he worked for Gerson’s Plumbing Supply as a bookkeeper until 1999 and retired at the age of 68.

He married while in the Philippines and had seven children: Elizabeth, Joselito, Noel, Gloria, Rosario, Thelma and May. He came to the United States in 1972 and eventually married Adelina in 1981. My dad wasn’t anything if not persistent, as he met my mother at a bus stop and with no interest shown and no phone number given, proceeded to track her down the next weekend to ask her for a date. With Adelina he had one daughter, Ann-Marie, and became Stepfather to Christopher and Michelle. His best friends for almost 30 years were Ding San Gabriel and Hector Reboledo, both of whom are here today.

Among his hobbies were fishing, going to Las Vegas, taking road trips in his RV, cooking, fixing vehicles, watching basketball, gardening, playing videogames with his grandson, Nicholas, shopping (you could never tell my dad there was a sale somewhere without him wanting to go and get a new pair of jeans or another shirt that he probably didn’t need) and playing bingo (which eventually became his favorite thing to do). It didn’t matter whether he could hear or keep up with the numbers, he loved to sit there with my mother for hours on end and mark numbers off his 10 cards with the 3000 other people in that hall. Every time I went and visited them in the casino, he always had a look on his face that was alternately happy and perplexed, like he loved what he was doing but wasn’t exactly sure where he was supposed to be at. It was such a heartwarming thing to see.

He always had a routine, and up until recent years, he always had a project that he was working on, whether it was building a doghouse (that the dog never went into), weeding the backyard, rearranging the closets or scrubbing imaginary spots off the counter. He was more domesticated than any man I’ve ever met, and he spent his entire life being a hard worker. His jeans even had iron creases because he was so OCD about his clothes being ironed correctly. When my mom went back to school, he took a heavier hand in the household. When he retired, he took the household over so she wouldn’t be so tired.

Every single night until my mom retired at the age of 65, my dad refused to go to the bed until she was safely home, even though she would get home at 1AM and he would get up for work at 5AM. If I picked up chicken, he wanted to make sure I saved the wings for my mom. If I wanted to watch TV, he didn’t want it to be too loud because my mom was sleeping. It frustrated me sometimes, but looking back on it and how he was like that my entire life, what I really got to witness was how unconditionally my dad loved my mom his entire life. And the way that he loved me. Whenever he knew I was coming home for the weekend, he would always cook my favorite foods and stay up late to make sure he saw me when I got home. When I was traveling for work, he called to make sure I wasn’t out too late and to make sure I picked him up a hat from whatever state I happened to be in that month. Even after I moved out he would still try to offer me the $20 he had in his wallet, concerned that I didn’t have enough money to pay my rent. Sometimes he would have entire conversations with my answering machine because he didn’t realize I hadn’t picked up the phone. He and my mother made sure I wanted for nothing, and I am eternally grateful to them.


When I sat and thought of the best descriptor for my dad, the word that kept consistently coming back to me is the word, “good.” Oh, he was strict and endlessly old-fashioned, but that was mostly due to the generation he was born in. We girls knew better than to try to wear short skirts, wear the wrong colors or ever have boys call the house growing up. Even as strict as he was, it never meant that he didn’t care. One of my brothers, Dong, recently told me a story about how he slept on his pet duck (don’t ask - I don’t know how he had a pet duck either) and how our dad bought him 12 ducks to replace it because my brother cried and cried over the first one. Another brother of mine, Chris, told me stories about how he used to go fishing with my dad and how my dad bought him a bb gun to shoot gophers in the yard (I know – don’t ask about that one either). My favorite memories of my dad are simple ones: how he used give me piggyback rides down the stairs, how he’d be so excited and call my brother Chris on the phone whenever the Lakers were playing to talk about the game, how he used to come into my room as a little girl and kiss me goodbye before going to work and watching he and my mom contentedly sitting on the couch together watching Dancing With the Stars every single week.

As he got older, he became so much more easygoing and lighthearted and always liked to playfully tease my mother. He taught her how to cook, how to drive and he believed in her his entire life. One thing that I will always be grateful to my dad for was how much he believed in me. He thought I could land on the moon if I really wanted to, and he never discouraged me. In fact, I rarely ever heard him say a bad thing about anyone.

He minded his own business, tended to his family and happily went about his life. Facebook was a revelation to him. When he found out I was in contact with my siblings and nephews and nieces, he would periodically ask how people were doing and ask to see pictures, which he would pore over and smile at, content that everybody was doing well. He always wanted my siblings and I to have a strong relationship, and that is a wish that my siblings and I will gladly honor.

He was a very private person that never liked to draw attention to himself, and he would never want me to know if he was seeing the doctor or had any kind of medical problem. He never wanted anyone to worry. In fact, the week before his stroke I found out that he was having surgery for his eye, but when I asked him if he wanted me to take time off work, he adamantly insisted that I not take off and told me that I would see him soon.

On May 9, 2010, my dad had a stroke that would end his life in this world eight days later, and those eight days were the hardest of my life. However, I wouldn’t trade those eight days for anything because not only did it bring my family together, it gave all of us a chance to say the things we always wanted to say, apart from goodbye. They say that stroke victims can hear because it’s the last sense to go, and I firmly believe that. My dad was able to squeeze our hands and respond to physical therapists the first couple days, and opened his eyes a few times before he passed. He fought the entire way, lasting a full 23 hours after his life support was removed, instead of the mere minutes that the doctor had suggested. We promised him that he would not pass alone, and the last night he was here, I sat by his bed and held his hand the entire night and told him that I didn’t think I would be able to handle it if he passed while I was there. I also told him that he needed to wait for my mom before he let go, and that’s exactly what he did. Dad waited until I had left, my other siblings came and until my mom had had a few hours with him before he passed peacefully without pain.

In our culture it is said that when it rains after someone passes that they weren’t ready to go, and a slow drizzle began right around the time of Dad’s passing. I know my dad wasn’t ready to go yet, but his presence is all around us, and I’m sure that he’s here today.

My dad had a passion for my mother and loved every single one of his children and stepchildren unconditionally. I am so blessed to have had him as my dad, and I am so grateful for every sacrifice he made for us. Most lives are not marked by huge achievements but by an infinite number of small ones. Every kindness he did for someone, whether it was one of his children, my mother or other family that came from the Philippines gave his life meaning, and to all of us whose lives he touched and created, he will never be forgotten. And I, for one, am so thankful that I got to spend 26 years with the best man I’ve ever known, and I will miss him everyday for the rest of my life.