Memories of Mom and Dad

I was one of those naive people that believed my parents were immortal, even though my biggest fear in life has always and still is the death of my parents. It was something I used to have nightmares about. I would wake-up covered in sweat screaming in the darkness of the night for them. I was afraid they were dead and I would never get to hug them again. Once I knew it was only a dream, my mom would lie next to me, hold me close and whisper in my ear, "don't worry sweetie, I'm not going to leave you for a long, long time." Then, she would rub my sweaty hair from my head and hum as I felt back to sleep. Maybe this fear of death is why I was never a good sleeper and slept on the floor in a sleeping bag in my parents’ bedroom for more years that I would like to admit to. I felt safe next to them. I knew if they were there, nothing bad could happen to me. My parents were everything to me; the two most wonderful people that graced this planet. I have never known two more loving, generous, kind, selfless people that my mom and dad. They taught me so many things. They taught me how to be a better person by helping feed the homeless, or getting less presents at Christmas, so others who were less fortunate could have more under their tree. They taught me how to love people the right way, and we never ended a phone call or visit without saying "I love you." They taught me how to show kindness, give to others in need when I can and not judge people because you never know what things they are secretly dealing with. They also taught me to value friendship, to be how to be respectful, and to be kind to even your worst enemies, because they are probably hurting inside and dealing with things we may not realize. They wanted me and my brother to grow up with love and compassion in our hearts for ourselves and for others. With compassion and love for life and people, we would succeed in this world and they said, that is what they wanted to teach us. If you were lucky enough to know my dad, then you knew you would never go hungry. This was the Italian way and my dad lived this philosophy until his final days. If you needed food, he would show up with bags of canned chicken, rice, soup, and especially bags of toilet paper. My dad also had a little hoarding problem with buying socks and underwear, so if any of my brother's friends, or my boyfriend came over, they always left with a bag of new underwear and socks. I laugh when I think about this, and I think I finally understand what dad was doing. Not only did dad want to feed your soul with food, he also wanted to make sure your butt was always clean, and your feet were always warm. I guess now that I think about it, this must be the recipe for a good life. I know this sounds strange, but I have been blessed the last 15 years since I moved away for college, with never having to buy my own toilet paper. Every time mom and dad would come for a visit, or I would go home, I always left with canned chicken and toilet paper. I just looked in my pantry last week, and cried when I saw the last 12 pack of toilet paper sitting there, sad and lonely on the bottom shelf. It made me sad to think after it's gone; a piece of him will be gone from my home. I am contemplating whether I should keep just one roll and encase in a plastic cube with a mini hammer and a sign that says "in case of emergency, break and use- Love dad."

If you were lucky enough to know my mom, then you knew, you had a steadfast friend and supporter for life. My mom was a cheerleader for everyone who was lucky enough to know her. She was generous, kind, loving, protective, supportive, and made sure everyone else's needs were met before she did anything for herself. My mom was that mother who worked a full-time job, and would be up until 3am frosting 100 cupcakes for the bake sale or baking her famous "Yankee Bean bake," for all her friends when they celebrated something great, or mourned the loss of a loved one. My mom loved books and once she read a great book, would often give it away so someone else could enjoy the journey. Mom would be so tired when she put me to bed for the 5th time, but always had the strength to read me as many bedtime stories as I wanted. As a child, she was poor, and they did not have enough money for books, so she spent many of her days huddled in the corners of the library reading everything she could get her hands on. When she had children, she told me I could always have a book, and many times I chose a book over a toy, because it meant so much more. I like to think this is why I am a writer, because mom was generous enough to give me the gift of stories. My mom was also a skilled multi-tasker, managing to run a large department at her job with ease and efficiency. Many people told me how much she did for that company and her employees that went above and beyond her role. I was in awe of her every time I watched her in action. I would see her sitting in a navy blue chair in her office the size of a closet typing away on one project and taking to a client on her earpiece. Then, she would run to the copier, grab a paper off of it, run back to her computer, and furiously type things in in one foul swoop. No matter how cluttered her desk was, she knew exactly where everything was at. She also made sure every employee felt important. She was secret Santa every year to the dozens of workers, making sure they had a little something special in their box for several weeks. She would give them note cards, fuzzy socks, bookmarks, books, mini snow globes or mini stockings filled with the "good chocolate." Mom always wanted people to feel special. She gave gifts that always had meaning behind them. I cherished our shopping trips, which happened often. We would be in a store, and she would be looking for a specific kind of candy or a particular item at Hallmark, because she had overheard a friend/employee say he/she liked that item. She wanted to surprise them with it, even if there was no special occasion attached to it. Mom was also involved in so many charities and events around town; she spread herself thin, but loved every minute of being a Red Hat member, a Dazzling Diva, or raising money for the Red Cross and serving on their board. She even was a Senior Reagent with the Moose Club. I am now a proud member too!

So, as dad made sure your belly was fed, butt was clean, and feet were warm, mom showered you with the warmth of a hug, a special treat, and a warm heart and you knew you had a friend for life. The last few months, my brother and I have had the daunting task of cleaning our parent’s house out. It is a small, modest brick home; with very few updates that had been made in the 42 years that they lived there. As I sift through the boxes of memories and find cards people wrote mom thanking her for a gift or a note to dad thanking him for a good deed, I finally realize the answers to so many questions that I had over the years. Why did they not get a new washer and dryer when the old one broke? They knew the lady who owned a local laundry mat and supported her business by going to do their laundry there every Saturday. They didn't own nice furnishing, just basic tables and chairs, and a non-formal, brown couch. My mom and dad shared one car for years so my brother and I had reliable cars when we moved away for college. They wanted to make sure we had money for groceries or enough money to take piano lessons, or buy art supplies drum sticks or enough money to go on the class field trip to DC. This is why they went without getting the dishwasher fixed, instead washing the dishes by hand with no complaining. My parents lived without many things, so others could live "with." Today, I thank them and remember them every time I pass rows of toilet paper or sock displays in stores, or feel it in my heart when I volunteer at the shelter or give my friend a special gift, I know they really wanted. As I pack my bags for my up-coming trip to France tomorrow, I made sure to pack a bookmark and writer's kit mom gave me, and plenty of the socks and underwear dad gave me. I may still be lacking a proper French vocabulary, and my Yoga is still a little wobbly, but my soul will be fed by the food of France, my butt will be clean and my feet, toasty warm. Thanks Mom and Dad. Bon Voyage! 8-5-2014