When I was young, I remember reading The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. I remembered the story as a poignant story about being willing to give whatever you have to benefit those whom you love. Rereading the story as an adult, I am not so sure I would interpret it the same way; however, I reconnected with the story when a dear friend had a tree planted in honor of my mother.

Labels: family

So where do I begin after all this time? I have tried to write, but words eluded me. Maybe they were there all along always surfacing no matter how hard I tried to submerse them time after time. The last eight months have been the most challenging and perhaps the most touching I have experienced in my lifetime.

In January, after several years of declining health and increasing medical issues, my mom was given just a couple of days to live. What followed was a poignant procession of good-byes, visits from family and friends, and one of the biggest displays of obstinance I have likely ever seen. Always stubborn, Mom decided to prove the doctor wrong and recover from immediate danger. She was determined to do two things: go back to church and hold her first great grandchild.

Just before Easter, she swore she felt well enough to go to church. Even the doctor said if she wanted to go there was no point in stopping her. On Easter Sunday she made her triumphant return to Church to be received with hugs, kisses, and well wishes from her friends. Then on Mother’s Day she held 9-day old little Anthony Joseph in her arms. It was both joyful and heartbreaking to see them together. Having met both goals, days later she slipped peacefully from this world to the next. She had a beautiful sending off, surrounded by love. It was a joyous celebration of a life well lived, dedicated to her family and service to others.

What’s left is an aching hole in my heart that seems may never heal. I still feel as though I am in slow motion, as if walking through pudding. I still want to pick up the phone and call her. I still want to see the excitement from my doggies when they hear me ask, “Who wants to go see Grandma?” I still want to feel her warm embrace or see her rosary beads expertly gliding through her fingers. I still want to feel the safety and warmth that only a mother’s love provides.

I have many happy and wonderful memories that are beginning to surface and life is getting back to routine. Maybe someday I’ll be beyond the pain and rather than tell you about her death, I’ll tell you about her life, the incredible mother and role model she was, and all the wonderful ways she always let me know I was loved.

Ti voglio bene, Mama. Ti voglio bene.

Labels: family

For some reason I can’t shake the idea of life imitating art in the last few weeks. Do you remember the movie, Moonstruck? Think back twenty years…

Johnny Cammareri (played by Danny Aiello) must leave his fiancé, Loretta Castorini (played by Cher), to visit his dying mother in Sicily. He arrives to find people holding prayerful vigil over her frail body. Miraculously, the mother makes a recovery now that her son has come to visit.

After a stream of visits from family, friends, nuns, priests, puppies, and neighbors, my mother’s condition has improved for now and we are grateful for this time we have had together as a family. It has been quite a rollercoaster that seemingly has no end, but for now things are somewhat stable. Although things remain emotionally difficult, the physical and medical needs are being addressed at home.

Unfortunately, none of us have enjoyed a steamy encounter with one of the Cammareri brothers, we have felt the love from all the prayers and well wishes from friends and family both near and far. Thank you so much for your support and continued prayers.

Labels: family, gratitude

These are the hands of women who have cared for each other, nurtured each other, loved each other.

These are the hands of women who have blessed each other, served each other, treated each other with respect.

These are the hands of the mother and daughters who have prayed together, played together, and stayed together.

These are the hands of the women who have worked hard to keep family bonds unbroken and have shared traditions and faith.

Labels: family

For the past week I have been spending nights at the hospital with my mom. She was admitted to ICU with difficulty breathing. I have watched her sleep peacefully with what appears to be an uncomfortable and annoying breathing apparatus while her body desperately tries to heal itself. My mom is an amazingly strong and vital woman and spending time with her is always filled with blessings, no matter the circumstances. She is beginning to rebound and you can see the glimmer of her old self returning through the tubes and wires monitoring her every breath, every heart beat.

Sitting up every night I have had plenty of time to think about what it means to have lived a full life. While I can look at my mom and know what an impact she has had on the world and the many lives she has touched, it has made me think about my own life in the same regard. While I can say confidently that I am proud of the woman I am and am becoming, especially when I can see my mother's traits in my actions, I know I still have much room for growth. Of course the past few years tinged by cancer have weighed heavily on my personal development, both good and bad. After emerging from the haze of chemotherapy and the physical challenge of multiple surgeries, I made a commitment to live life fully and passionately. Sadly, I think I have failed.

I remember believing during treatment that if I kept working and kept my normal routine, no matter what I looked like temporarily, cancer was not in control. I kept my work schedule in tact and kept up with my teaching schedule throughout everything. As the months since treatment continue to grow with gathering speed, I continue to maintain everything . . . and then some . . . more classes, more activities, more conferences, more committees. . . more responsibilities to everyone outside of myself. I somehow confused living passionately with being busy. Instead of the joy of living life fully propelling me forward and manifesting itself in my actions, I feel the joy diminishing with each mounting responsibility and each moment given away under the guise of living passionately.

I have grown to understand my cancer diagnosis as a pivotal time in my life. Certainly this is understandable as cancer does bring a new reality into one’s life. I find myself judging and weighing each action I make post cancer on some grand scale in comparison to the pre-cancer person. This is exactly the person I did not want to become. I did not want cancer to be the enlightenment period of my life. I want my entire life to be my enlightenment period. I want to always be growing and evolving throughout my life and not only the period where I passed through the cancer crucible, judging everything on some pre or post basis.

Once again I find myself on the precipice of great change. This time, however, the change will be two-fold. First, as much as I don’t want to face it, my family is changing. My mother is very strong and will recover and come home from the hospital once again. But the future and what it inevitably holds, is much closer than any of us want to believe. Secondly, internal change for me must be part of the equation. This must be the time that I learn what it means to live life passionately and what it takes to find that inner joy that will resound in my actions. I have to learn the difference between being busy and being present in the moment, the difference between doing several things and embracing the things I am doing.

Somehow I think it is going to be a bumpy ride.

Labels: family, moving on after cancer

Many years ago when my family first moved to California, one of our relatives mailed my father a chestnut. While in transit, the chestnut sprouted. Never one to waste a thing, my father planted the little sprout in the front yard. The dry, hot California climate may not have been the best home for a chestnut tree; however, it's growth over the years has been a symbol of its indomitable spirit as well as a symbol of family history. We kept a piece of tradition and home with us as we emigrated to the US and eventually came to California. For me, a California native, it has been a link to family history that extended generations and across continents.

Labels: family, moving on after cancer

The last few weeks came with its own set of highs and lows and without further delay, I bring you the last few weeks in bullets:

• My mom (and her church crafting group) was honored as the donor of the year at a state developmental hospital for ten years of making and donating hand made Christmas gifts to the clients
• My mom went into the hospital for pneumonia the next day
• I spent four nights at the hospital with her (sheesh, they never let you sleep there)
• One of my long lost friends called me while I was going to the hospital and offered to keep me company on the night shift (I told him to stay home, but the gesture was so thoughtful. Who does that?)
• My mom came home from the hospital
• We had a visit from my nephews John and Mark and Mark’s wife Kristin
• We enjoyed a lovely and relaxing Thanksgiving holiday
• My doggies were thoroughly spoiled for four days in a row
• I met with my plastic surgeon and scheduled nipple reconstruction (signifying the beginning of the end of reconstruction)
• My mom’s doctor proclaimed her lungs clear
• I was appointed to an advisory council at a local community college
• One of my dearest friends called to tell me he is flying in for a Christmas visit
• Today my mom celebrates her 84th birthday

There are quite a few milestones there. I have had much for which to be thankful this season, but they all pale in comparison to the joy of celebrating my mom’s 84th year. She is an amazingly strong woman who continues to give of herself in every way possible. She is my hero, my inspiration, my friend, and one of the best huggers around. And darn it, she can still solve the word jumbles faster than I can most days!

Happy Birthday, Mom. Here’s to many, many more.

Labels: family, gratitude