I Remember....

I remember her smile and the way she smelled.... That is the first memory I have of my Mom. Soft hands that supported me when I learned how to eat, walk, and tie my shoes. My earliest memory of life involves her crying. I was around two and a half and I was watching some strange sight on T.V. that was upsetting her. It involved grown-ups and a long box that people walked behind. Everybody who followed that box was crying like my Mom. There were many children, some around my age, who were weeping along with the adults. So, naturally, I succumbed and starting crying along with everyone else. I found out later we were all watching Bobby Kennedy's funeral procession. Mom and Dad weren't strong fans of the Kennedy family, but, they felt bad for the children who had lost a father. Mom was sobbing for the kids. It was an introduction to my Mom that I never forgot. And, somewhere inside of me it showed me how loving she was to weep for strangers and their pain... I remember her warmth.... I was the youngest of three, and, anybody who is the runt of the litter can tell you of how great it is to be the baby in the family. All of your older siblings take the grief. They train the parents on the trials and tribulations of parenting. We ''babies'' get the dividends of that hard fought battle. I know I was pampered and fussed over as a kid. Never spoiled, but, perhaps, lucky in the attention that was directed at me for being last in the family chain. The first couple of years of my life Mom was the central focus for me. Most children have their first love in life being their Mom. It creates a bond that will never be broken. And, my Mom, with her gentleness and inner goodness, made me a most grateful child. When I was around three years old I was in the hospital for an operation on my right eye. It crossed as a child and surgery was needed to correct it [ I still am legally blind in my right eye]. Naturally, I was scared. The hospital allowed her to spend the night next to me. She sat in a chair right next to me all night. I am sure that chair was not the most comfortable thing to sit on, but, she didn't care. She was with me, as any Mom would be with their child. Her warmth was my comfortable blanket wrapped around me in the strange environment of a cold hospital.... I remember her touch... Being a child sent out into the world has to be the most traumatic experience for a Mom. I was only going to kindergarden, but, it must have been torture for her to see her ''baby'' slowly growing up. The youngest slightly leaving the nest. The first sign I was growing up and away from her. I made the first few steps gingerly, for I was very attached to her and was a shy child around strangers. I was the type of kid who his behind my Mom's legs if I met someone new to me. In my mind I didn't need the friendships of other children because I had my Mom and Dad and sister and brother. But, they all knew I must make those first few steps towards independence. And, I did. I made friends easy. That was more my Dad than my Mom because Dad was always more sociable. But, Mom was always there if I came across a person who was bad or mean to me. I cried some when I was a kid, but, never in front of anyone but Mom. Crying to her for me released whatever pain I might be feeling in my soul. Both of my parents and sister counseled sage advise of kindness and understanding, but, Mom had that special ''Mom Love'' that all children feel. Plus, she had that hug of hers. That glorious hug of joy that only a Mom can give to her child. Maybe, it goes back to the feeling of being in the womb. There is a comfort in being in your Mom's arms, a very safe feeling that she will protect you against all that is bad. I miss that hug.... I remember her strength.. Dad was the very successful head of our family. Never did he falter in his duties to us. But, as an example of the total committment both my parents had towards each other, Dad always deferred a little to Mom when it came to the home front and the raising of the kids. Behind my Dad's enormous personal strength and charisma he needed strong support. Mom was his strength and the backbone of our family unit. She was his Consigliori. The wise counselor at home. Mom was smart-- a lot smarter than I think she even realized. She excelled because of her natural intuition. She had that tough Irish Catholic spirit in her system. If we kids did something we shouldn't, as all kids do, Mom let us know. She could turn the dime on her emotions very easily. We got the Evil Eye and the cold feeling of we kids had made her angry. Dad was the softer touch, so, the most we got out of him was a disappointment in our actions. But, Mom, oh, boy, it could get rough!!!And, that was what we needed because without the ''heavy'' that she sometimes played, we kids would have turned out differently. I see it everyday at the school I am at with kids who have no structure at home and no parents who care. Thank God my sister and brother and me did not have that. So, we needed Mom to occasionally be the ''enforcer'' and to put us in our places. Mom never let us forgot what we had done [ all Mom's have that ''Mom Memory'' of past missdeeds that they drop on you as the years tumble on ]. At the time I suppose there was some resentment towards her from us for being called out for our crimes, but, looking back, it was exactly what we kids needed. A strong rebuke that you learn from. Everything worked out again after a while and Mom was Mom again. But, we learned our lesson. As well we should have.... I remember her laugh... Mom was a great audience. All of us kids inherited my Dad's sense of humor. Mom laughed at it all, even, though the more salty humor seemed to get by her. Which was good. That Irish Catholic schoolgirl naivete that she  had about her many times did not realize that she hearing some strong sexual innuendo humor around the family table [ yes, back in the old days, my family ate dinner together, with the T.V. off ] . She laughed though, because everybody else laughed. Making my parents laugh, folks, well, you felt like a million bucks!!! .... I remember her cooking.... For a non-Italian, this woman made the best gravy around. Her lasagna and pizza were my favorites. Pizza was always my request for Mom to make on my birthday.  Sometimes, I have dreams about her food. Sadly, I always wake up before I get to taste the food. Maybe, that means something, I don't know.... I remember her courage... That ugly brutal decade of the 90's, with all its sickness and death that invaded all of our lives. Mom was the rock again. She saw my Dad, the love of her life, slowly crumble before her eyes as that fucking cancer ate away his spirit and body. She would be strong for him. That support system and strength that came so naturally to her made my Dad want to live. Mom never gave up on him and seeing that, Dad never gave up. Then, the horror of horrors came with my brother's suicide and all that madness. Mom always had a special spot for my brother Tom. And, when he died I know a big part of her died, too. She held up well. But, six months to the day after Tom died my Mom found my Dad dead in bed. She was shattered again by loss. It took her months to be herself again, but, remarkably, she did. Then, she got sick. A quadruple by-pass surgery where her heart stopped 3 times in post-surgery recovery. She lived but her one kidney was destroyed and the other seriously damaged. The last year and a half of her life was dialysis and hospital visits. She fought it all, I am very proud to say, but, she went home to God on June 6, 1998. She may have faltered at times with all that she went through the last several years of her life, but, she never gave up trying. She had more courage than almost anyone I have ever known. This trait I admire about her above anything else..... I write this because Mother's Day is in a few days and you all know I miss her. I hope you all had a Mom like her in your lives. And, a Dad also. There are many testimonials about these two wonderful, caring, loving people from the many whose lives they magically touched. I am one of those people. I could not have written about them in many blogs if they weren't so wonderful. I miss them. One of the things that comforts me about losing a loved one is that I do not fear death. I am convinced I will see them all again.... Somehow, in some way, I will kiss my Mom this Sunday. And, I will be kissed back with love. And, the aroma of pizza from her....