Dearest Faye, I just heard about Geno’s passing this morning from your mom and the feeling I got was an overwhelming sense of loss. I didn’t know Geno at all, but I know you and Jim and Sandy and how much you adored and loved your children.  I’m so very sorry for your loss.  I admire you for fully sharing his story as so many people are losing their lives to fentanyl senselessly.  It’s not like the old days when you could go have some fun and still come home alive.

I pray you and your family will find some peace and receive joy from the 24 years Geno walked this Earth.  He was a unique and vibrant individual.  Again, my and Jacks condolences go out to you and the family.  Sending love.

Feels like this movie is never done. While I was making it, I felt closest to him, so I will just keep making new versions. But this one I wanted to get out there, to celebrate his life with you.

- With love from Geno's mom

In a rare event, lightning streaked across the SF sky as Faye went into labor. At UCSF her labor stalled and we took a rest. That morning after a turbulent night Geno was born. From there on life was never easy for him. He slept little and fussed a lot. At times he could get completely out of control but he was a good kid and had lots of friends. From an early age he would only do what he liked and resisted all else. Somehow he managed to carry this into his teens and for the rest of his life.

Towards the end of high school and after not seeing him for a couple of days, I confronted him as we passed on the stair well of our home. When I told him to grow up and get a job, he nonchalantly replied, “I’m an artist.” No matter how frustrated I had become, I couldn’t help but laugh. End of discussion. To say he listened to his only drummer would be an understatement. Clearly this would be the pattern of his life.

He lived with me through covid and he and his buddies worked on a house I owned in Mendocino. Thereafter he spent most of his time in Sacramento but he would stop by often sometimes with his friends. His last two years were in and out of rehab, sometimes through the hospital emergency services.

He struggled with depression and bipolar and turned to drugs and alcohol rather than to get the proper help. But towards the end his commitment to sobriety was sincere and he seemed to be doing better. After a tumultuous year of in-house therapy, AA meetings and the houseboat couch, I was hopeful. In my last conversation with him, he said that his new regime of meds were helping and he was doing well. He wanted to spend more time with his family and his brother and me.

Geno was a genuine soul. He was kind and never spoke badly about people. In the end the pain of survival proved too much. I lived with this pain and anxiety that overwhelmed his life. That it ended tragically was no surprise. Years earlier I told him that I wasn’t going to continue losing sleep over him and that I hoped he would figure it out.

Nonetheless It’s a difficult pill to swallow that he’s gone. That boyish charm, that cowboy swagger, that unrestricted joy and sense of adventure will be sorely missed. I am still in shock, the grief not fully understood, the pain not yet accepted. I miss you my son.