Thomas James Semponis

Tom was born April 16, 1954, in Lynnwood, CA, to James Semponis and Dena (Kotichas) Semponis. He married Dimitra Pozirekides in 1990, in Northridge, CA where they lived and raised their two loving, attentive and dedicated children, Constance and Frank. He graduated, with Honors, with a Bachelor’s Degree in Journalism from California State University Los Angeles and was a Certified Purchasing Manager working in contracts for the United States Government. Prior to this he was a reporter and photographer for the Palos Verdes Peninsula News and Editor for the Lomita News. In 1976, he was honored by Sigma Delta Chi, the Society of Professional Journalists for his dedication and integrity.

His love of baseball transpired through his numerous articles of historical sports figures and countless outbursts towards the love of his Angels Baseball team (no matter the city they called home).

His love of classic cars culminated in his restoration of a 1969 Camaro. He had an impressive knowledge of music history and his hearing loss was an attribute to his love of loud Rock and Roll.

Regardless of his illness, Tom did his best to make it to most of his son’s baseball and football games, as well as his daughter’s opening night performances. He was a very proud Dad.

Tom is proceeded in death by his father and mother, James Semponis and Dena (Kotichas) Semponis, and his sister, Virginia Semponis.

Tom is survived by his wife, Dimitra, children, Constance and Frank; his sister Debra Jean Weidbusch of WI; and his loyal pets, Stitches (predeceased), and Luna.

Funeral services will be Wednesday August 31, 2016 at 10:30am at Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church Northridge, CA.

Interment will follow at Oakwood Memorial Cemetery, Chatsworth, CA

Memorials may be given to Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in Northridge, CA.

The basics do not tell the story of this man’s life.

A wife’s lamentation:

Tom endured a horrid journey for more than 20 years as he fought illness after illness in pursuit of that organ transplant that never transpired.

In his last weeks he lamented struggling in a nursing home fighting infection and then finally passing away in a hospital room we knew too well. A room filled with an orchestra of machines beeping, alarms screaming and endless poking, prodding, cauterizing and catheterizing.

Tom said he was sorry for not giving me the life I deserved and the husband he wanted to be and the father he should have been. Those final days in the hospital were full of loneliness and despair over what he wanted to give and I assured him he gave me a life full of adventure that I never would have had if it wasn’t for him.

He imagined how life for us would have been had he been healthy; but that was not to be our life.

Think of all the things I would have missed.

Reality TV had nothing on our visits to the emergency rooms. We encountered Burlesque where people just started stripping in the E.R. waiting room. We watched our own version of Mystery Diagnosis where patients didn’t know how they got shot. We lived through Thrillers where you were the star and six paramedics and two police officers had to restrain you as you thrashed and tore your own flesh until you passed out in exhaustion that you had no recollection. There was comedy of the nurses calling you George Clooney and wanting to take a photo with you.

There was tragedy with real blood and panic. A lot of blood sometimes pouring from your body and all of us flying into that 911 action as we did so many times at all hours waiting for help as faint sirens got louder until they blared with strobing lights entering our driveway.

I got the opportunity to be on the 101 and 405 freeways with no cars in sight. In L.A. you would have to be shooting a movie to make that possible.

You gave that to me.

I never would have seen the Louisiana Summer change to Fall. I never would have got the Battle of New Orleans song stuck in my head for days as we listened to it over and over on the way to Chalmette Battlefield to see where the Americans pushed the British into the Gulf of Mexico.

I experienced the best views of cityscapes and skylines from your hospital windows. I have seen the sun rise upon the L.A. skyscrapers and sunsets over the Huey P.Long Bridge hovering over the still waters of the Mississippi River.

You can’t plan that.

I have fallen asleep holding your hand as the Hollywood Sign disappeared into the dark and watched the Griffith Observatory brilliantly illuminate the hillside above us.

Who would think to give me that?

You empowered me to argue with 911 operators. I became well versed in anatomy, pharmacology, psychology, encephalopathy, and a host of specialty medicine.

I have learned to question doctor’s motives and insurance companies agendas and all those bills.

I have learned that being your advocate has empowered me to stand up to the white coats and that organ donation is a world of generosity, hypocrisy, chance and plain luck.

You have shortened my threshold for time wasting crap that this nice girl would have rolled over for 25 years ago.

Our weekend trips were to Maison d’Kaiser Permanente or Le Hotel d’ UCLA Ospital.

We made the best of it, even if we had gloves and masks and gowns separating us, you still held onto my heart.

Who would think to give me that?

I heard time and again how much you love me; especially from so many wonderful nurses and compassionate doctors. You gave an oratory of the day we met like some love epic described in soft focus Cinemascope. You spoke of the day you first saw me and I didn’t give you the time of day, but you knew I was “the girl for you.” Then our meeting months later and that “Love at first sight” is real and you were lucky enough to experience it.

You loved me that much.

You reined me in from that thrill seeking reporter and gave me a world of medical knowledge and other adventure I otherwise would not have explored.

You were always so proud of our children and how they have grown up to be so resilient and motivated.

They learned that from you.

I have been the optimistic Yang to your negative Yin. You have rightfully seen the frustratingly bad while I tried to show you the good.

You have taught me that life is not a scripted story. It is what you make of it no matter the challenges.

We have had many challenges.

You have awaken from comas, flatlined and sat upright. Lost pints of blood and survived surgery after surgery. You fought deadly bacterial infections, laid unconscious in a medi-vac helicopter only to awaken yelling, “Yes resuscitate!”

You allowed me to experience the heart startling sound of you kicking the bedrail as you awoke in a full respiratory contraption trying to say, “Don’t unplug me!”

You loved life that much and yet you were in so much pain.

I have learned appreciation for the everyday moments. I learned patience as I immersed my hyper self into the slow pace of Southern culture; well maybe not patience, but I learned to swear silently a lot less.

I have met so many amazing people because of you. I cried and laughed with people whose names I didn’t know. I formed friendships with people who I otherwise would never have met.

I thank you for that.

We experienced New Orleans tornado warnings with pinpricking rain pelting our thrill- seeking faces I covered you with a raincoat over your wheelchair as we watched lightning criss cross the sky atop a parking structure. We drove through blinding torrential downpours as water rose dramatically and fell just as quick.

I experienced what it’s like not to be in drought; another culture shock.

I got to order alcohol at a drive thru, ate fresh hot beignets, succulent plump Gulf fresh shrimp, char grilled oysters and gumbo with Lake Ponchatrain as my backdrop.

I felt bladder relieving nervousness as we crossed over alligator filled swamps bordering the roads on our way to Tulane.

Who could plan that?

I learned about forensics in the annals of Ochsner Hospital’s library and got to listen to desperate men negotiating the price for selling their blood, plasma and platelets. A place where rifles are sold in center aisles of stores and jars and jars of animal parts I didn’t even know were eatable stacked the shelves.

Who could give me that?

I sat in awe listening to the clanking of train wheels climbing bridges in Metairie, LA and cried as I watched airplanes take off from the Louis Armstrong Airport wishing I was going home on one to hug our children.

You taught me to never take a moment for granted.

I was fortunate enough to pray to God on my knees for courage and strength in the first Orthodox church of the Americas.

Who would think to give me that?

I am forever humbled by Tom’s strength to face pain and endure new obstacles in pursuit of that Liver transplant.

Who would think to give me that?

Tom gave me that.

Arrangements under the direction of Bastian & Perrott, Oswald Mortuary, Northridge, CA.