Frank Anzalone
September 7, 1926 ~ December 4, 2021
Frank Anzalone, 95, of Sterling, VA, passed peacefully on December 4, 2021. He is remembered as the loving husband of Mary; father of Carol Rosenberg, MD and Joan Delcoco; brother of Anthony, Anna, Josie and Mary and grandfather of Adam, Daniel, Samuel and Sarah. Frank is preceded in death by his parents Michelangelo and Madalena and siblings Salvatore, Rose, Mae and Philip.
A funeral service will be held Thursday, December 9, Noon, at Money and King Funeral Home, 171 Maple Ave West, Vienna, VA. Burial will follow at Chestnut Grove Cemetery.
Floral arrangements may be sent directly to the funeral home.
Words of Remembrance (from Joan Delcoco)
So if I tell you my father comes from a big Italian family, you’ll already understand a lot of what you need to know about him. He was the middle child of Madelena and Michelangelo’s nine kids, and he adored his brothers and sisters and their families. It’s no wonder why -- the Anzalones are warm people with huge hearts – and big voices. He was the quiet one in the bunch, but when he was with the family, he was in his element. His voice would rise to join the chorus of what my mother affectionately referred to as “the Anzalone voices.” To me, these booming voices were exhilarating, filled with sheer delight -- for life, and for each other’s company.
Yes, family (and good food!) were the main sources of pleasure in my father’s life. I remember when my daughter interviewed him for a project in 9th grade. She asked him questions like, “What are your interests?” and “What do you do for fun?” and she was stymied because he didn’t really have an answer. “Fun” –in the sense of pursuing personal pleasures --was not in his lexicon. Duty and family were the dual pillars in his life.
My father’s love language was service. We were everything to him, and he worked hard to provide for us. He (together with my wise and frugal mother) managed to give us what we needed and send us to fancy colleges. My parents didn’t spend money on themselves – they worried about saving for old age. But they gave generously to their kids, and then to their grandchildren.
Like most men of his generation, my father left most of the nurturing to our mother. But he loved us unconditionally. He would do anything for us. Like make the round-trip drive to Ithaca – 10 hours in one day -- when my sister was in college and needed a warmer winter coat. He did the same for me, driving back and forth to Boston when I needed something.
My dad adored his grandchildren— Adam, Daniel, Sam, and Sarah. And he would do anything for them. And I mean anything. From taking them to fast food restaurants (which he despised), to sewing them elaborate wizard costumes, to running over to our house late at night to kill a hornet that was terrorizing Daniel and Sam. I will never forget how he drove with my mother through a blizzard from New York to Virginia, narrowly missing a multi-car pile-up, when my daughter had pneumonia and ran a fever of 104 for 10 days straight.
These last months, as my father battled sickness and decline, have been incredibly difficult. Tending to my father’s his every need has been my mother’s single-minded mission -- it has consumed her every waking moment since February. But even as his memory, vitality, and language slipped away, what was left was this shining love.
Especially his love for my mother. She was his fierce protectress, his partner for more than seventy-two years. He couldn’t stand to have her out of his sight.
My father fought to the end. He insisted he was okay even when he clearly wasn’t. He told us he loved us again and again, and when his words failed him, he spoke his love with his eyes, reaching for our hands, bringing them to his lips. Kissing us again and again. I will always cherish this memory of my father. We love you dad, and we will miss you.
Memories of Frank (from Rory and Jim McMartin)
As we age, nature takes its toll and transforms us in ways painful to experience. It's easy to lose sight of one's inner core, who we really are, and who we continue to be in spirit.
When I think of Frank, I remember him as young, handsome, and full of life. He came into my life when I was 7, when he dated and then married my sister, Mary, in 1949. For a time, they lived in a small apartment in my parents' house. I was fortunate they often included me in their lives and activities. Frank was wonderfully brotherly--warm, caring, and always helpful. When I needed a ride somewhere, the words I remember him saying were always, "Yes!" "Sure!" "Of course!" --not grudgingly or out of duty, but with genuine positive energy.
Frank was usually the first one dressed and ready to go, whether for a drive, to visit relatives, or to a restaurant. I recall the sound of him jangling his car keys in his pocket as he eagerly waited for others to join him. He especially loved to get together and socialize with his parents, siblings and their families for holidays, birthdays, barbecues, or to play cards with his cousins. He was by nature gregarious and good hearted.
Frank was just as welcoming to my future husband, Jim, as he was to me. We were carless in our early years and Frank graciously drove us when need be. After Jim and I married and moved out of state, our return visits with Mary and Frank were always special memorable times for us.
Frank's devotion to his wife, his children and their spouses, and his grandchildren was unwavering and lifelong. He loved hosting family gatherings where he and Mary prepared grand sumptuous feasts for all to enjoy. Before he retired, he was dedicated to his work, successfully supervising the manufacture of intricate outfits for the famous Madame Alexander Dolls, proudly providing for his family financially and steadily, for well over 40 years. Frank lived a wonderful life, and thankfully in the end he was surrounded by those he cared for most in the world.
I recently heard a song that expresses how I'll remember Frank and how I think he'd want to be remembered. Here are some of the words:
Remember me beautiful
Remember me young
Remember me smiling
My face to the sun
Remember me happy
When you remember what was
Oh, but most of all
Remember my love
A funeral service will be held Thursday, December 9, Noon, at Money and King Funeral Home, 171 Maple Ave West, Vienna, VA. Burial will follow at Chestnut Grove Cemetery.
Floral arrangements may be sent directly to the funeral home.
Words of Remembrance (from Joan Delcoco)
So if I tell you my father comes from a big Italian family, you’ll already understand a lot of what you need to know about him. He was the middle child of Madelena and Michelangelo’s nine kids, and he adored his brothers and sisters and their families. It’s no wonder why -- the Anzalones are warm people with huge hearts – and big voices. He was the quiet one in the bunch, but when he was with the family, he was in his element. His voice would rise to join the chorus of what my mother affectionately referred to as “the Anzalone voices.” To me, these booming voices were exhilarating, filled with sheer delight -- for life, and for each other’s company.
Yes, family (and good food!) were the main sources of pleasure in my father’s life. I remember when my daughter interviewed him for a project in 9th grade. She asked him questions like, “What are your interests?” and “What do you do for fun?” and she was stymied because he didn’t really have an answer. “Fun” –in the sense of pursuing personal pleasures --was not in his lexicon. Duty and family were the dual pillars in his life.
My father’s love language was service. We were everything to him, and he worked hard to provide for us. He (together with my wise and frugal mother) managed to give us what we needed and send us to fancy colleges. My parents didn’t spend money on themselves – they worried about saving for old age. But they gave generously to their kids, and then to their grandchildren.
Like most men of his generation, my father left most of the nurturing to our mother. But he loved us unconditionally. He would do anything for us. Like make the round-trip drive to Ithaca – 10 hours in one day -- when my sister was in college and needed a warmer winter coat. He did the same for me, driving back and forth to Boston when I needed something.
My dad adored his grandchildren— Adam, Daniel, Sam, and Sarah. And he would do anything for them. And I mean anything. From taking them to fast food restaurants (which he despised), to sewing them elaborate wizard costumes, to running over to our house late at night to kill a hornet that was terrorizing Daniel and Sam. I will never forget how he drove with my mother through a blizzard from New York to Virginia, narrowly missing a multi-car pile-up, when my daughter had pneumonia and ran a fever of 104 for 10 days straight.
These last months, as my father battled sickness and decline, have been incredibly difficult. Tending to my father’s his every need has been my mother’s single-minded mission -- it has consumed her every waking moment since February. But even as his memory, vitality, and language slipped away, what was left was this shining love.
Especially his love for my mother. She was his fierce protectress, his partner for more than seventy-two years. He couldn’t stand to have her out of his sight.
My father fought to the end. He insisted he was okay even when he clearly wasn’t. He told us he loved us again and again, and when his words failed him, he spoke his love with his eyes, reaching for our hands, bringing them to his lips. Kissing us again and again. I will always cherish this memory of my father. We love you dad, and we will miss you.
Memories of Frank (from Rory and Jim McMartin)
As we age, nature takes its toll and transforms us in ways painful to experience. It's easy to lose sight of one's inner core, who we really are, and who we continue to be in spirit.
When I think of Frank, I remember him as young, handsome, and full of life. He came into my life when I was 7, when he dated and then married my sister, Mary, in 1949. For a time, they lived in a small apartment in my parents' house. I was fortunate they often included me in their lives and activities. Frank was wonderfully brotherly--warm, caring, and always helpful. When I needed a ride somewhere, the words I remember him saying were always, "Yes!" "Sure!" "Of course!" --not grudgingly or out of duty, but with genuine positive energy.
Frank was usually the first one dressed and ready to go, whether for a drive, to visit relatives, or to a restaurant. I recall the sound of him jangling his car keys in his pocket as he eagerly waited for others to join him. He especially loved to get together and socialize with his parents, siblings and their families for holidays, birthdays, barbecues, or to play cards with his cousins. He was by nature gregarious and good hearted.
Frank was just as welcoming to my future husband, Jim, as he was to me. We were carless in our early years and Frank graciously drove us when need be. After Jim and I married and moved out of state, our return visits with Mary and Frank were always special memorable times for us.
Frank's devotion to his wife, his children and their spouses, and his grandchildren was unwavering and lifelong. He loved hosting family gatherings where he and Mary prepared grand sumptuous feasts for all to enjoy. Before he retired, he was dedicated to his work, successfully supervising the manufacture of intricate outfits for the famous Madame Alexander Dolls, proudly providing for his family financially and steadily, for well over 40 years. Frank lived a wonderful life, and thankfully in the end he was surrounded by those he cared for most in the world.
I recently heard a song that expresses how I'll remember Frank and how I think he'd want to be remembered. Here are some of the words:
Remember me beautiful
Remember me young
Remember me smiling
My face to the sun
Remember me happy
When you remember what was
Oh, but most of all
Remember my love
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In Loving Memory of my Godfather Frank!!! Love YOU!!!!