Humanity wasn’t ready for this, our country wasn’t ready for this, our neighbors weren’t ready for this, and we as individuals were not ready for this. The coronavirus pandemic has created a world that is surreal.

Nobody is ever prepared to deal with the tragic type of death and loss that we’ve seen during these last four months and counting. On top of that, who could have foreseen the ways in which an infection from another continent would change how we experience almost everything today, the deaths and illnesses of loved ones included?

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My father, Robert “Bob” Trojano, died peacefully at home last Wednesday surrounded by his family. He was 62. Born and raised in Fields Corner, he later moved to Savin Hill where he lived for most of his adult life during which he worked for more than 20 years as a heavy equipment operator for the Boston Transportation Department (BTD) before retiring last July.

He had a number of health complications that contributed to his early death, including liver cancer, diabetes, and congestive heart failure. Even though these conditions brought him pain in his last years, he rarely missed an opportunity to make me laugh.

In his final week, he was given hospice care at home and died relatively quickly, without too much pain, and attended to by my mother, my older sisters, and me.

While his death wasn’t attributed to the coronavirus, the impact of the disease restricted our ability to grieve along with those who wanted to say goodbye to him at his wake and funeral. Only 15 people were permitted at the wake, a heartbreaking limitation for my family, as it is for all grieving families during these times.

In his heyday, my dad was a social butterfly, and he would’ve loved to have seen everyone together at his funeral, although he would’ve understood that under the circumstances that sort of scene wasn’t possible.

The outpouring of support we’ve received from many who knew him has been amazing as people found ways to mourn with us while keeping at social distancing. My dad’s former coworkers at BTD organized a drive-by parade to salute our family, rolling by our house with messages on signs and sounding their horns and lights in the same way that community members have opted to use to salute healthcare workers, and celebrate birthdays, retirements, graduations, and more during the pandemic.

Just weeks ago, I covered a drive-by parade for healthcare workers at Carney hospital, an event called “Dorchester Salutes the Carney.” Last week, when BTD drivers began to drive by our house, I grabbed my camera and captured photos of my own family’s reaction to this moment of grace.

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I am enormously grateful that I was able to spend most of the last year of my father’s life by his side. An opportunity for a reporting position at the Reporter pulled me home to Dorchester from Southern California no sooner and no later than precisely the right time. In July of last year, after some months of feeling a draw to be physically close to my family, particularly my father, I reached out to Reporter publisher Bill Forry, asking if he could use another a reporter.

Jennifer Smith, who at the time was making a transition from a successful and productive four-year stint at the paper to attending Northeastern University School of Law, was leaving some big shoes for me to fill. My timing was fortuitous. After speaking with Bill, I gave notice at the Beverly Hills Weekly and two weeks later set out for home.

My dad, who was okay with not using the internet, smartphones, text messaging, and email, was ecstatic to hear that I was coming home to work in Dorchester. We had communicated over the phone frequently while I lived on the other coast, and when he couldn’t reach me, he’d leave voicemails that always began in exactly the same way, with the four words that opened this message that he sent to me last August as I was halfway through my five-day drive home: “Yeah, Katie, it’s Dad. Me and mom were just talking about it— we can’t wait for you to get home.” There was a pause. “Yeah, we can’t wait for you to get home…”
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My father was the string that held our family tightly together. He constantly showed us, with humor and unwavering love, that we could make it through anything. He had an ability to tunnel through chaotic times, always positive, empathetic, and never judgmental in his support of others. I hope I can match those qualities as I grow and learn.

It will take me many years and decades of learning, coping, and struggling with the facts that my father is gone and that my world has been changed forever.

In these trying times we find ourselves in need of unity, connection, and empathy to find a way out of a world in chaos. But we will eventually overcome, we will deal with the losses, and we will heal, learn, grow, and laugh together again.