Loss of A Mother and Best Friend…

A friend of mine just lost her mother. I know how big of a loss she is feeling. It’s a wound that time doesn’t take care of; it’s a void nothing on earth can fill. My mother passed away six years ago and in a couple of days it would have been her 96th birthday. But, I don’t just remember her on her birthday or mother’s day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her because she wasn’t just my mother, she was my best friend. I know I write plenty of blogs about her “eccentricities.” My mother was one of a kind. She was a real life, sit-com character. You couldn’t make her up. She was the best mother she knew how to be, she loved my brother and I more than anything. Did she make some mistakes? You bet she did, but she came from a dysfunctional family and it changed who she was. Does that excuse some of her behavior? Not really, but it sure helped me to understand why she did the things she did. She was/is my mother, I love her unconditionally and took the good with the bad. A lot of who I am today, I owe to her; and people seem to like me, so she must have done something right. I even like myself.

My mother did her best to parent, but she also wanted to be a “best” friend. I didn’t have many friends growing up. I chalk it up to my shyness. I often confided everything to my mother. Most of the time she already knew what I was going to say because she was a mind reader. But all the time she had the right words on the tip of her tongue to console me, to satisfy my curiosity, to guide me on the right path. My mother was intelligent, though she was only allowed to attend school till 9th grade. She possessed wisdom and common sense. If I had a problem, I could count on her for advice knowing she would not steer me wrong. I could trust her because I knew deep down that all she ever really wanted was my happiness. I knew, without question, that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for my brother and I, if it was in her power.

My mother was possessive and protective of us. She didn’t believe in “letting go” or pushing us out of the nest. I often joked that when I married and left home the telephone cord replaced the umbilical cord. She would call every morning and every night after dinner and sometimes in between. She could be too much at times, but that was her way and no one was going to change it.

My mother needed to feel “needed.” That worked out pretty good for me and my brother. He always got home cooked meals and his laundry done. My family would get fed every Sunday. She would all of our tailoring and mending. She would baby sit for me any time of the day or night. There were times when money was tight and she would “help” without being asked. She never wanted us to worry about anything. As difficult as she may have made life from time to time, she also made sure other times weren’t such a struggle. That’s because we were the center of her world, and we knew it. There was no way she could hear of a problem and not try to fix it for us.

And that’s not to mention all the times she was there for us in childhood. Whenever we got sick, she never used a thermometer to take out temperatures, she used her lips. One little kiss on the forehead and she knew we had a fever. “It’s not so bad,” she would say. Other times “we were burning up” and she would call the doctor, who made house calls back in the day. All the while, she would wipe us down with alcohol to bring down the fever and make sure we were comfortable. We never had to ask for anything, she already knew and had it in her hand. She brought us medicine around the clock, made sure we had tissues and water and only had to get up to use the bathroom. I hardly remember what it felt like to be sick, but I do remember what it felt like to be cared for so lovingly.

My mother was the kind of mom who was always hugging us, kissing us and saying “I love you.” We knew she meant it, even those times when she didn’t act like it. We knew it was unconditional. She might get angry about something, but she wasn’t going anywhere. It was a bond that could never be broken. Even now, long after she has left this earth, I feel her with me. I hear her voice in my head. I see her eyes sparkle and gleam when she smiles. And, somehow I know, she is looking down and smiling at me right now.

Why? Because I finally got it. No one can ever replace a mother or her love. She used to say, “you won’t understand what it’s like to be a mother till you have children of your own.” And that is very true. And I also learned, you can’t understand what it’s like to lose a mother, until she is gone and you can’t get her back. I will always miss my mom. She was the best mother in the whole world…for me.

Campaign Reform...

I have to admit that all this continuous campaigning gives me a huge headache. In the end, I can never recall hearing anything of substance. All I hear is bashing of the opponent. Where will that get us? Campaigning should be all about the issues and problems facing our country and a specific plan about how each candidate will tackle those issues. I don’t mean talking in generalities either. I want specific details. All this “he said, he said” business is just a waste of time.

I think there should be some campaign reform. I will be the first to admit I don’t know what I am talking about, but I am still going say something. First of all, there should be a limit or cap on how much each candidate can spend on their campaign. It should be an equal and reasonable amount of money, so that we hear more or less the same amount of BS from both sides. If they had a limited amount to spend, maybe they would be more creative in their approach to reach voters. They would have to pare down their rhetoric to what voters need to hear instead of “anything he can do I can do better” talk. They don’t have to jump on each other’s stupid remarks because the media already does a great job of accentuating the negative. The comedians poke fun at them and social media online run with the ball. You can’t miss a thing these days. So cap the amount of money spent, with an independent accounting firm keeping track of it all, AND tell us what we need to know with that money!

The next thing I would insist on is that candidates have to tell the truth. Not their version of the truth. Not a PR spin on the truth. The unvarnished truth or as close to it as they can get. We should require it and insist on it. It should have to pass Maury Pauvich’s lie detector test. Candidates should not be allowed to lie to the voters or tell half truths. How can we be expected to make an informed decision when all our information is fabrication? Back when our forefathers were running, things were simpler, and yet I’m sure there were some underhanded things going on when it came to elections. But look how far we have come? We have gotten so much more sophisticated at lying and covering things up. So clever at making scandalous things disappear. So masterful as to create illusions of heroes out of ordinary men. Why does it have to be so complicated? Maybe because we can no longer find an honest man with nothing to hide to run for office? Maybe if we found one he wouldn’t be able to win an election because it requires too much deceit?

I don’t know about you, but I appreciate knowing the truth, yet there seems to be nowhere we can find that. The truth is now in the eyes and ears of the beholder. Even today’s journalists and news media have abandoned the truth, probably for higher ratings and more money. Money is, after all, the root of all evil. So they sensationalize stories and report them, before all the facts are even in. Who cares if they are wrong? They will just print or issue a retraction, but meanwhile the story “sold.” We should demand more and be able to expect more from the press. Freedom of the press was not meant to spread lies, but to spread accurate information. It’s being abused.

Our country was founded on strong principles and values that have gone to hell in a hand basket. There are no more Walter Cronkites reporting the news. There are no more “honest” Abraham Lincolns running for President. We are told lies, we vote for the lesser of two evils. Something really has to change. The truth is a fundamental and necessary value that is lacking everywhere you turn today. Let’s get back to it…the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth!

Friends and Politics...

Well another four years have rolled around and it’s down to the wire with the Presidential election. Everyone is digging in their heels for their candidate, the guy who is going to make things better for all of us. We all want the same thing, to see our country grow and thrive. A chicken in every pot and a roof over everyone’s head. Prosperity. We want peace in the world and for countries with long standing, historical differences to get along, but ironically as friends, we can’t even get along. There is unfriending and blocking and distancing going on all over the social media because people cannot just agree to disagree. Few can respect another’s right to have their own opinion. It’s a shame.

Let me tell you about my Republican friends. As I look at my friend list I can tell you that they are intelligent people; passionate about their views; religious in their beliefs; compassionate and caring souls; well intentioned; and most of the time I forget they we are on opposite side of the political forum. As for my Democratic friends, they are equally intelligent, passionate and caring people who would drop whatever they are doing to help someone in need. When there is no election, you can hardly tell the two groups apart. But every four years we have to decide on a new leader and politics can be a very divisive force, if you let it.

In the 2008 election there was quite a bit of division among my friends. It was pretty bad. I am not one to censor anyone or tell them how or what they should believe. I don’t take politics personally, it’s just a subject to discuss and debate. Some people do take it personally to the point of giving up friends and arguing with loved ones. It makes no sense to me. But there is one experience I had in 2008 that I would like to tell you about.

Back in May, 2008 I had a friend that I had met online in a forum designed to discuss American Idol. I was new to the forum, she was not. Someone there insulted her daughter in vulgar terms and no one in the forum would come to her aid or defense, but I did. I had two daughters that were around her daughter’s age and I knew how hurt she was. From that point on, we became friends. We chatted everyday. We even met in the city when she came for a visit with her daughter. I brought my daughters and we all had dinner. Then the election rolled around. We didn’t see eye to eye on anything, but I just took it for granted that it wouldn’t impact the friendship at all. So, when she mentioned that she was having some difficulty getting financial aid for her daughter’s last year of college, I immediately began doing research trying to find viable options for her. As I was scouring the internet for solutions to her problem, she was trying to organize “a posse” of our mutual friends to confront me about my political views. One Monday morning she appears online and types I need to talk to you. I am thinking it’s about her financial situation regarding tuition and I was prepared to help. But no, it had nothing to do with that. She had been sending out literally hundreds of emails over the weekend, trying to get people to join forces with her over my political views and posts. To say I was blindsided is to put it mildly. She aggressively ranted in IM, and I sat quietly, taking it all in. My brain could not comprehend what was happening. I was hurt, disappointed and angry. I felt totally betrayed. But, I didn’t lash out. I sat and thought about it. I questioned a couple of people to be sure I had come to the right conclusions about what had transpired. I felt like a fool. All the while I was trying to help her, she was trying to throw me under the bus with other friends; how does someone do this who calls you a friend? I thought about it for about four days. The trust was shattered, so what was left of the “friendship?” I decided to write her a long email telling her exactly what I thought of her. I told her that her definition of friendship and my definition were very different. I terminated the relationship, but really it never existed. She wasn’t who I thought she was, she was a real backstabber. She totally disregarded every good thing about me and focused 100% on my political views. To her that was all that mattered.

Politics addresses some very important issues that we all care about. We all have the same goal in mind, we want the same outcome for the country and its citizens. We just have different ideas of how to achieve these goals. In the end, no matter how each of us votes, it isn’t going to change who gets elected, is it? I live in a state that always votes democratic. If I lived in a swing state, my husband’s vote would cancel mine out. Either way, I have no significant impact on the election. How many of us do? Is it worth losing good friends over it? Is it worth creating hard feelings between loved ones? For me the answer is a clear and simple: no. Relationships should be built on what we have in common and not destroyed by our differences. Elections come and go. Good friends are hard to find and keep. If you have them, cherish them. And, may the best man win.

Pilgrims & Native Americans Or Republicans & Democrats?

Last night I went to sleep and suffered from a terrible case of indigestion that I am blaming on the huge, rich apple cobbler cupcake, from Crumb bakery, I had at 3:30 pm yesterday afternoon. I was sleeping off and on and had a dream that makes it clear to me that I have been spending too much time reading about politics.

This morning I was reminded of my older daughter, when she was five years old and in kindergarten. We were sitting at the dinner table one night, and it was just a few weeks before the Presidential election of 1992. She asked my husband and I who we were voting for. I know I said Clinton, I think he may have too. My daughter burst out into tears, saying, “I don’t want President Bush to lose the election!” That convinced me she was going to grow up to be another Alex Keaton (from the show Family Ties), 100% Republican. However, two years later, when she was in second grade and seven years old, she came home to find new curtains on the windows. She was dismayed to say the least. “Why did you buy new curtains, the old ones were fine?” I answered because I wanted to change them, I answered. “Well do you know how many people are homeless? You could have given them the money you spent on curtains; after all we have a house!” Then I was convinced that my daughter had crossed party lines and was now a democrat. Funny what a couple of years can do.

Which takes me to my dream. Last night in the mist of tossing and turning, I dreamt about the Pilgrims and Native Americans (formerly known as Indians). It was clear, in my dream, that they were the first Republicans and Democrats. It’s a simplistic analogy born of the pains of indigestion, loss of sleep and too much reading. The Pilgrims were upset with the BIG government in England, which was trying to tell them what they should and should not believe in. The Pilgrims wanted religious freedom. Of course no one liked it that King George was also raising taxes and trying to control and punish those who disagreed with his official opinions. So, in 1620 they hopped on the Mayflower to come to America. They arrived tired, poor and weary, but there was no Statue of Liberty to welcome them, just a big old Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts. The Pilgrims were down on their luck and struggling. The cold winter froze the housing market. Half the Pilgrims died because they ran out of medicine and had no health insurance. They made up the 47% of the Plymouth colony.

One day, in the early spring of 1621, a Native American “Democrat” named, Samoset, came to visit the colony. He spoke some English and offered his friendship. He could have told the Pilgrims, the land is bountiful, use your God given ingenuity and make it work for you. Instead he offered his help, which the Pilgrims were in no position to refuse. He educated the Pilgrims about the people and places in their new homeland. He introduced them to other Native Americans, like Squanto, who also spoke English. The Native American “Democrats” taught the Pilgrim “Republicans” how to fish, fertilize the soil, hunt and plant crops. He taught them which plants were safe to eat.  The Pilgrims didn’t even need Pell Grants for their rustic education; the Native Americans helped them all free of charge…much like today’s so called “handouts.” By November of 1621, the Pilgrims prospered with a plentiful crop, thanks to the help of the Native Americans. They planned a large feast, called the first Thanksgiving. The Republican Pilgrims said a very long prayer thanking God for His blessings and thanking Him for bringing them Squanto, the American Native "Democrat," who they said was God’s instrument and “saved them from hunger.”

If you don’t get my analogy, it’s ok. I had to explain it to my husband a time or two. If you do get it, I hope it made you laugh. It got me through the night and I wanted to share it this morning. Have a great day!

My Mother's Wedding Band...

I’ve probably written before how my mother and father were first cousins and they married through the conspiring match making of her mother and his father. My mother was 36 at the time, my father 30. She lived in Brooklyn, he lived in Sicily. They had never met. My grandmother eventually convinced my mother to meet him and they took a trip to Sicily, where they married three weeks after their arrival. The rest is history.

However, I am not sure if they exchanged rings during their wedding ceremony. My father was a laborer and never wore a ring until after he retired. I don’t know if he bought it here or it was saved from the wedding. My mother never wore a gold band, as far back as I can remember, but she did have a wedding band. This wedding band was the only one I ever remember her wearing and she rarely took it off. This wedding band of eight small, 6 point diamonds, that was set in platinum, was the only one I ever saw on her finger. She loved that ring and with it came a story.

I don’t know how many times I heard the story of the ring, but enough times for me to still remember the details. Some time, while my brother and I were still toddlers, in the early years of her marriage, my mother went out to buy herself that ring. Apparently, what she had been wearing, if anything, wasn’t what she wanted. I guess if you wait till 36 to get married, you should have a ring you love. So she went to find herself one, and she did.

When she came home with the ring, my father was upset. I think the ring cost her a little over $200. My father told her she was taking the food out of our mouths by buying that ring. That upset my mother to no end and I’m sure she let him know it. You see, when my father came here he “didn’t have a pot to piss in” according to my mother. She had to even go out and buy him underwear! Before he was even in the picture, she had helped pay off her mother’s house with two of her siblings and bought and sold a couple of houses on her own, making a profit. She also worked for many years in a factory and saved her money. She was the one with savings! So when my father took issue with the ring…she took issue with him. Unfortunately, instead of the ring having a happy memory attached to it, it now had this story.

I can’t tell you how many times my mother described the ring to us. This ring has eight, six point diamonds in it and it’s set in “platinum.” We didn’t know what platinum was, but learned it was more valuable than gold. As proud and happy my mother was of that ring, what she said she really had heart set on was a one carat diamond ring. She always lamented about the fact she never had one. I wish she had gotten herself one, but she probably felt it cost too much money.

When I got engaged, my husband didn’t have a ring to present to me, and it was just as well. After hearing my mother’s story all through the years, I knew what kind of engagement ring I wanted. I told him we would go pick it out together, and I’m sure he was relieved at not having to make that decision on his own. A friend of mine knew a jeweler who sold rings on the side at a much lower price. I spoke to him on the phone and told him specifically what I wanted: a one carat, high quality diamond, in a platinum setting with a matching platinum wedding band. The jeweler brought a few settings with him for our meeting a beautiful diamond stone. We picked out the setting and had the rings made. Later I had them appraised and I did get a very good deal on them.

I’ve worn my engagement ring over 30 years now, the wedding band 29. I’ve never had to lament about my ring to my daughters, and tell them I wished I had a different stone or setting. I made sure they learned about platinum. I hope one day, when they get engaged, they each get the ring of their dreams. 

Today, my mother's wedding band sits in my jewelry box, along with other heirloom pieces, I will pass down to my daughters. I can pass down the ring, but not the memories it holds. I love that ring because when I look at it, it takes me back to my childhood and memories of my mother, and I miss her so much.

60th Wedding Anniversary In Heaven

Today would have been my parents 60th wedding anniversary. Growing up it seemed their anniversary meant more to my brother and I, then it ever meant to them. My parents never celebrated their anniversary. It was just another day on the calendar. But my brother and I, from the time we were old enough, would always get them a gift to mark the occasion. I don’t know why. Maybe we were creating an illusion for ourselves.

My parents were not a happy couple. In fact they fought quite a bit. They were almost like Frank and Marie on Everybody Loves Raymond, except their fights were real. Some of their arguments were pretty bad and over such trivial things that I couldn’t even tell you what they were about. I think they were just incompatible or maybe my mother was just impossible to please.

My mother grew up with an alcoholic father who would come home drunk many nights and beat her mother. This is the “model” of marriage she had. My mother married my father, her first cousin, in a prearranged marriage that took place in Sicily. When my father got his papers together eight months later, he came to America to live with my mother and grandmother till he could get a job and a place of their own. Right in the beginning they had had an argument. My mother used to tell the story all the time of how my father raised his hand to her and she told him off. She told him if he ever hit her it would be the end. Then she went to tell her mother about it. No way was my mother going to be abused like she witnessed her mother being abused. And it never happened again either. 

I remember there were lots of arguments. They never seemed to get along very long. There was a stark contrast between the times of “war” and “peace.” When things were good, they were very good and when they were bad it was horrible. Once I heard my mother mention the word “divorce” and it made me sick. My father had no where to go if they ever split up. I was always afraid he would go back to his family in Sicily and we would never see him again. Even if he didn’t go back home, he’d have to move out into his own place. I worried, but needlessly, because they never did anything but talk about it. It taught me a lesson to make sure I knew who I was marrying well enough to know I could spend the rest of my life with him and never to subject my own children to loud, angry arguments.

My mother always put my father down. He could never do anything good enough to make her happy. I never understood it because even though he worked hard in construction all day in all kinds of weather, he would do the dinner dishes every night. On the weekends he would mop the floors, do some shopping, and help out wherever he could around our small apartment. He never had to be told or ask, he just did things that needed to be done. You would think my mother would have appreciated that about him, but she didn’t. And still they stayed together till my father died in 2000 just before their 48th anniversary.

I remember once my mother said to me, “Your father is a good man.” It was just that one time. I thought to myself, at least she knows it…deep down she realizes he is a good man. Too bad he couldn’t have heard it, even if it was just one time in 48 years.

Robin Roberts Battles Illness…

I haven’t watched Robin Roberts, 51, too many times on television, but the times I have she comes across as a beautiful, intelligent, compassionate human being. She is a featured reporter/co-anchor on Good Morning America. I have heard her talk about her battle with breast cancer and how she fought and survived. She underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatments. She shaved her head and wore a wig on GMA, not to distract viewers from the show. This ordeal lasted from July 2007 to March 2008. 

Robin Williams was a 5 year cancer survivor by June 2012, but announced on the show that she was diagnosed with another very serious immune disease called MDS or myleodyplastic syndrome. This is a rare blood and bone marrow disorder. I saw her announce the news on GMA and saw the fear in her eyes and heard the quiver in her voice as she announced she would be leaving the show to fight yet another battle for her life. She put on a brave front, but inside she had to be scared to death. Robin’s sister, Sally-Ann, fortunately was a perfect match for the bone marrow transplant she would need as part of her treatment. Robin began her leave from GMA on August 30th, 2012 to prepare for her bone marrow transplant and to care for her mother. Her mother died a few hours after Robin began her medical leave. Robin delayed treatment to attend her mother’s funeral. 

“I find great comfort in knowing my mother lived an amazing life,” Roberts said in her blog. “To help me deal with my immense grief my family tells me momma gave me one final gift as her last act. She waited for me to get home on Thursday to say goodbye. She was there when I took my first breath and what a privilege to hold her sweet hand when she took her last breath...Momma knew she wasn't physically able to be with me for my bone marrow transplant. My siblings say mom wanted to spare me the agony it would have been if she had passed and I couldn't be there,” Roberts continued. "That thought was weighing heavily on me.”

Robin Roberts has a blog where she is chronicling her “Journey” with this latest battle for her life. Robin has had to undo chemotherapy before the bone marrow transplant and it’s taken it’s toll on her. I came across an article which quoted from the journal. Robin says to readers, “the daily chemo/treatment caught up to me by the weekend. My body is so weak but not my mind. YOU give me the courage to keep going.” 

I can’t helped but be touched by Robin’s story as it plays out in the media. She has had to fight not one, but two life threatening diseases.  Her story, her determination, is inspiring. So many people are going through their own difficult journeys right now. People I know and care for are fighting one medical condition or another. Where do we find the strength and courage to go on against all odds? From our faith? From the love, support and prayers of family and friends? From our own inner strength? I just don’t know. If I had to guess I would have to say it’s a combination of all of that plus our will to live.

Robin Roberts is a remarkable and inspiring human being who is stronger than anyone should have to be. Even at her weakest point she is writing to thank others for their prayers and encouragement. Her mind is strong. The mind can work wonders on the body. I pray for Robin and for all those fighting their own battles, that they come out the other side whole and healthy. 

May God watch over you and Bless you Robin Roberts.