Enduring Legacies: An eternal love affair for the Mozzochis

Editor's note: This is part of an occasional series called "Enduring Legacies" about your neighbors and friends who have recently died. They weren't famous. However, within their otherwise ordinary lives, they were extraordinary.

OSNABURG TWP. ‒ There's a little less love in the world.

It's been that way for more than a month since Paul Mozzochi died, just two days after his wife, Helen. They'd met as children and wed as teens. Together, they raised five children, hosted countless Sunday family pasta dinners, and most importantly, remained in love through more than 74 years of marriage.

"They did everything together," said daughter Tina Swope.

Well, almost.

"Making the sauce on Sundays; that was dad's," said son, Pat.

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The Mozzochis were the kind of lovebirds the Beach Boys had in mind with "God Only Knows;" that Dolly and Whitney sang of in "I Will Always Love You;" what Nat King Cole envisioned in "When I Fall in Love;" the kind of "Perfect," Ed Sheeran realized; and that the Casinos crooned about in 1967's "Then You Can Tell me Goodbye."

The latter was one of their favorites.

True to that song, only death could ever separate the Mozzochis:

If you must go, oh no, I won't grieveIf you wait a lifetime before you leave

But if you must goMm, I won't tell you noJust so that we can say we triedTell me you'll love me for a million years

By late January, Paul, 93, and Helen, 89, were dying. He was in congestive heart failure; she'd long battled kidney problems. New ailments had begun to mount on top of old ones.

Paul was at Aultman Hospital; Helen at Bethany Nursing Home.

"But they wanted to die at home," Swope said, in their house on Maplebrook Avenue NE.

A life of love, well-lived

That's where their love had grown and where they watched westerns on TV and listened to polkas. Where, in their younger days, she'd take off his grimy boots after a hard day's work tearing down houses. Where in their final years, they ate or played cards while largely confined to a bed, couch or scooter. Where a dry erase board still hangs in the kitchen with a recent note from wife to husband: "I love you Paul, me"

WIth a smiley face next to it.

The Mozzochis were habitually cute like that.

Quite a pair, as both stood only 5-foot-2. Paul the laid back one; Helen with a short fuse at times. Always and forever, they were the kind of lovey-dovey couple that elicits rolling eyes, or a "yuck" or "gross," from kids who see their parents smooching or holding hands. Not the Mozzochi children, they were used to it.

"Always showed affection to each other," Swope said.

And they called each other "honey."

Just like in that old Casinos song:

Sweeten my coffee with a morning kissSoften my dreams with your sighsTell me you'll love me for a million years

As the end approached, the Mozzochi family knew they had to get Paul and Helen back into their house.

The Mozzochis had worked so hard all their lives. Paul, who'd toiled at Ford Motor Co. early in the marriage, and at the businesses he operated with his brother, East 30 Auto Sales, then East 30 Demolition and Excavation. Helen, the homemaker who made it all work inside a spotless but crowded two-bedroom bungalow.

"She also would spring clean the house from top to bottom," Swope recalled. "And I remember her putting up freshly cleaned and ironed curtains in the kitchen. I can still remember the smell of the steam iron and the starch she would use."

"Tell me you'll love me for a million years ... "

On Jan. 30, separate ambulances were to pick up Paul at the hospital and Helen at Bethany, both at 3 p.m. They'd be reunited soon, so they could die together in their home.

It seemed fitting, much like the Casinos song:

Kiss me each morning for a million yearsHold me each evening at your sideTell me you'll love me for a million years.

In that house, they'd taught their children well. They'd created so many memories in family photos, so often the couple was captured in a loving embrace, kissing, holding hands, or just being together, a husband and wife in love.

"They'd be totally lost without the other," Swope said.

Helen was first to arrive.

She died as she crossed the threshhold.

"I think she knew she was home and could rest," Swope said.

When Paul arrived, he got to spend several hours before Sanders Funeral Home came for Helen. Two days later, Paul died. The family is sure he knew it was time to follow his wife.

But if you must goMm, I won't tell you noJust so that we can say we triedTell me you'll love me for a million yearsThen if it don't work outThen if it don't work outThen you can tell me goodbye

Reach Tim at 330-580-8333 or tim.botos@cantonrep.com.On Twitter: @tbotosREP

This article originally appeared on The Repository: Paul and Helen Mozzochi died two days apart after 74 years of marriage