ERIC ~ GATEWAY TO HEAVEN
~A STORY THAT MUST BE TOLD ~

Hey ~ welcome to my website; I’m Eric.
Don’t know what you are looking for, but may be you’ll find something here that is out of the ordinary.

My parents were in middle of an ugly divorce when I was born on April 26, in Erie, Pennsylvania. My father was in the military; an older brother, Dan, had been born in Germany. After the divorce, my mother took Dan and me to Florida, where she remarried. I never saw my real father and she never spoke about him. All I knew was his name, that he had been in the Army and once, I saw an old photograph of him.

Although I don’t remember my dad, I do recall spending time with his mother, Grandma Sadie, on her farm near Edinboro, Pennsylvania. There was also a woman called Aunt Rachel, who took care of Dan and me when we were little. I want to honor the memory of Aunt Rachel because she was very kind to me.
Besides that, allot of sad things happened back then. I grew up on the streets and in pool halls. My education was learning to survive by my wits. Some people would say that I was robbed of my childhood.
But it’s just the way things happened and it’s the past. To me, there is nothing to be bitter or angry about.
What matters is NOW!

Anyway, back in Florida, life was not easy from my perspective. My mother and her second husband had two kids, Chris and Melissa. It fell on me to be their primary caretaker, and I was held responsible for any problems or wrong doing. Every time my mother looked at me, she must have seen the image of my real dad…although I did not realize how great the resemblance was.

At the age of thirteen, I decided that I could no longer live in my mother’s house. I ran away and went to work on commercial fishing fleets in the Gulf of Mexico. When I was fifteen, I dove off a sailboat and hit my head on a piling, pulverizing the number six vertebrae in my neck. After a year and a half of rehab at Tampa General, I did regain the use of my arms and some use of my hands. The accident happened in 1985, and since then I’ve been in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the nipples down.

Although my physical condition has not changed (nor is it likely to, aside from a medical miracle) I have learned to do many things for myself. When I encounter an obstacle or challenge, I figure out a solution, a way around it. For a disabled person, it is all-important to have a sense of self- sufficiency and independence.

However, as the years have gone by, a major part of my life was missing; who and where was my real father? Was he alive and did he ever think of me? What would it be like to meet him? Would he care about me at all? So many television programs are about fractured families that become reunited, sometimes after decades. Reading the popular novels by Danielle Steel made me think about the possibility of finding my real father someday. My homecare nurse, Barb Hicks, encouraged me to search the Internet and try to locate him. Some hope began to grow in my heart. It became my mission to find the father I had never known!

I have been living and working in the Fort Myers area for several years. The most rewarding and exciting job has been serving as tour guide and fund raiser for Octagon Wildlife Sanctuary. This twenty-acre non-profit facility is “home” for tigers, lions and other animals, which are “no longer useful” to zoos and circuses. Many of these creatures have been abused. All have suffered in some way. Like children, animals are generally disrespected in our society. Few people understand the depth of emotion animals can feel. There is a special bond between humans and animals when both have been hurt.

Tigers are the most fascinating and beautiful big cats on God’s green Earth! I have helped raise cubs and have even slept with tigers in their cages. Mere words can’t explain what it is like to lay beside them and feel their breath on you. This experience must be a “gateway to heaven”…pure splendor and I’ve been blessed to have a part in it. Yes, life is hard because of my injury, but God has really been good to me.

A few months ago I began to seriously search for my father on the Internet. All I had to go on was his name. Eventually the list boiled down to five David Bucko’s. The first ones that I called didn’t have a clue. Then there was a number for a D. Bucko, in New Jersey, that gave me an answering machine. I decided to try later. It probably wasn’t the right one anyway. Maybe my dad lived in California?

Since I am not a quitter, I did try that NJ number again. On March 8, 1999, a real person picked up the phone. “Hello,” a warm and friendly woman’s voice said.
“Hello. Is Mr. Bucko there?” I asked. “No, he isn’t. May I take a message?”, she replied with sincerity.
There was a pause, and then I went for the big question. “By any chance, is his first name David?” I had to know. “Yes. It is.” Her voice was quieter now, almost cautious.
“And does he have a son Daniel?” I pushed on, followed by the longest pause ever. “Yes, he does. Are you him?” her voice trembled. “No. This is Eric.” Her next comment was pretty incredible. “I’m not surprised…been expecting your call…praying about this for a long time!” Her voice sounded happy and gentle. Somehow I could trust this person.

So we talked. I told her my story; she listened and asked a few questions. We talked about my dad; how she had been married to him for twenty-six years, how his job required that he travel allot and about Ken, my younger brother who lives in Colorado.
I was disappointed to learn that my father was in Virginia and would not be back home for a week. I wanted so much to hear his voice, to say “Hello, Dad” for the first time in twenty-nine years!
“Eric, I promise that I will tell your father all about you as soon as he gets home from Virginia, “ she insisted. “Trust me – I know Dave and this is not the kind of news to give him over the phone! Please be patient. After all these years, I hate for you to wait another week but it will be for the best…you’ll see.”
She offered to send me a recent photo of Dad. Then she mentioned her art website, Patricia’s Studio Online: www.geocities.com/SoHo/Exhibit/3398 where I could see family photos on the Profile page.

I don’t know how long Patricia Bucko and I talked that afternoon. It seemed so unreal, like it was happening to someone else in a movie. After hanging up, I began to have doubts. Second thoughts.
So I called back and left a message to the effect…”Don’t bother to tell my father about me. It’s just better to leave things the way they are.” An hour passed and I figured that was the end of it.
Then my phone rang; it was Patricia. “Eric, no way will I let you go,” she stated with absolute conviction. “NO WAY!”

After a week of phone calls between Florida and New Jersey, she was “Mom” to me. We discussed a possible visit. Still, I had not made that crucial contact with my father – and so much was hanging on that!
Mom kept her word and when Dad returned from Virginia she broke the news that his “long-lost son had been found” – or rather, had found him! How do you have a conversation with a stranger who is your own father? At first it was difficult for both of us. I was nervous; can’t imagine what he was thinking. As the days went by, my “new parents” called frequently and things began to relax between us.

My goal was to come to New Jersey and spend time with them. I was willing to drive my van up there. (I’d done long-distance driving while involved with Greyhound rescue work.) My parents offered to come to Florida or to meet me half way, but I was determined to see how they lived…to be with them in the home I had never known.

Dad made arrangements for me to fly from Fort Myers to Newark. Now I was excited and nervous again. What kind of people were they anyway? Suppose they were cold, remote or mean-spirited?
I had committed to staying with them for a month. What if things didn’t work out? Suppose I got on their nerves? Would they reject me, throw me out? Did they understand what they were getting into with a guy in a wheelchair? Expectations are ALWAYS greater than reality…and all these unanswerable questions ran through my mind.

My parents assured me that they were “psyched” for my visit and were willing to work with me to make it as enjoyable as possible. Here was an opportunity of a lifetime and no way in the world could I miss this!

So, on Good Friday, April 4, 1999, I boarded the plane in Fort Myers (with help and support from my friends.) Three hours later, I was rolling down the ramp at Newark into the arms of a ruggedly handsome silver-hared man and an extremely blond woman. They looked just like their photos. They were really there, for me…and we were hugging each other! It was an awesome moment.
Here I am with a sweatshirt and my Florida tan – and it is 40 degrees, overcast and cold in New Jersey!
My folks had brought an extra coat for me, but the shock of travelling from a tropical climate into the Northeast was an impossible (and I hate that word but it applies) adjustment.
The ride to Belford seemed to go quickly. Even though it was dark when we arrived at the house, I recognized it from the photos Mom had sent. I was “coming home” and it felt so good…at last.

Dad wheeled me through the front door into a large, comfortable room. Immediately my attention was riveted to a display of family photographs. Right up front was a picture of me. My kind nurse had sent an attachment and my parents had framed it already. Words like “ecstatic”, “glad” and “happy” don’t do justice to how I felt about making this trip. After twenty-nine years, I had found not only my Dad but also the love of my real family…and home.

No one can go back and change the past, repair the damage done or make up for suffering and pain, which have been endured. But what we can do is live for now. We can make the best of each day and enjoy what we have in the present. Who knows how much longer any of us have here? Why get stuck in the past? It is a waste of energy. Use the wounds and scars to become stronger. Keep your hope, your dream alive.
Take the risk, make that phone call, find that person who is missing from your life.
Maybe this true story will help someone find whatever it is they have been looking for – their own “gateway to heaven”. DON’T EVER GIVE UP!!

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I can not change;
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.

My parents and I don’t know what the future holds, but we are a family…and that’s what matters.