Alphonse's Journey to America

(This story is what I have imagined but is based on a true story I uncovered while researching my husband's family tree.)

A young boy stood by and watched as his mother, sisters, and brothers laid flowers on his father's coffin.  Next to the open grave were three tiny headstones, one for Vincent, one for Linda, and one for the first Evelyn, his brother and sisters who died as small children.  One by one, each of them cautiously approached the hole that the coffin hovered over.  He held the hand of his youngest sister, Evelyn.  She still had not shed a tear and he worried that at the age of five she did not understand that their father was gone forever.  Evelyn looked up at her brother and said, "Can I keep my flower?"  He looked around at the others, not sure if this was a question he could answer on his own, after all, he was only eight years old.  "Please, Alley, I want to keep it to help me remember him.  Besides, the flower will just die if I leave it here.  If I keep it, I can dry it properly and keep it always."  The boy smiled at his little sister and said, "Here, you and I will share my flower and leave this one for the grave and then you can take yours with you."  He took her flower and hid it inside a pocket on her little apron.  After the others had started to walk away from the grave-site, Alley and Evelyn approached the coffin.  He held her hand firmly, afraid she might fall through the gap that surrounded the coffin.  Together, they placed the fragile flower on their father's coffin.  Together they said goodbye to their father, knowing that they were about to embark on a long journey that would take them far away from this place that had always been their home.  They would never see his grave again.  They walked away and followed the others in the procession through the village.

The following day, their father's mother stuffed blankets full of cheese and bread into their hands as their father's father hauled a box full of wine into the wagon.  Kisses and tears flooded over the children as they stood together excited about the journey ahead of them.  Goodbyes aren't something that children really understand.  To them there is always time for reunions so they were not as worried as the adults.  They were going to America, after all!  They knew that they would become rich and be able to travel back over the sea to visit their homeland whenever they wanted.  Besides, at the other end of their journey their other grandparents were waiting for them in a place called New York.

They waved goodbye to their grandfather from the bow of the big ship.  Steam blew through the smoke stacks clouding the cold blue sky above with a black haze.  The shadows of the towering stacks blocked the meager afternoon sun and caused Alley to shiver.  As the shore disappeared from view, the children followed their mother, Maria, down to the bowels of the ship where steerage passengers huddled together.  Their mother had already prepared a place for the children.  They had to share cots since there weren't enough for all of the passengers.  Still the children looked on the journey as an adventure.

At first the days were passed with enthusiasm.  The families around them joined together to play the music of their country.  They danced to the Tarantella and clapped their hands.  Their feet moving in the familiar patterns.  But it wasn't long before some of the passengers became sick.  As the coughs increased, the sense of community decreased.  People retreated to their cots, afraid of being too close to their neighbors.  They huddled instead around their hard bread and wine.  More days passed and the bread grew moldy, but they ate it anyway.  The seas grew rough at times and tossed the occupants and their cots across the wooden floor.  Maria prayed to the Virgin Mother to protect her children, all seven of them, so that they might reach the shores of America safely.

Word spread quickly when land finally came into sight.  The children rejoiced and laughed as they raced between the cots and the scolding words of the adults.  Two boys were fighting over an orange that one had saved under his pillow.  One of the boys ran right into Alley's seven year old sister, Pia. She screamed as the orange split in half and squirted it's juice into her face.  "My eyes!  They sting!" she cried.  "Shhhush!"  Her mother picked up her skirt to wipe the child's eyes.  "It is fine, you will be alright!  We must get ready to leave the ship.  Here, take your clothes and wrap them in your blanket."   She set the girl to work and soon the family was walking off the plank and onto the frozen dock.  It was Christmas Eve, 1909.

Ellis Island loomed in front of them.  Stories of people who were turned back at this point filled their heads.   Maria clucked as her little chicks followed her in line.  The smallest of them in front, the tallest followed behind the others.  Maria held the hands of the two smallest children, Emilio and Evelyn. Behind them came Pia, Alphonse, Enrico, and Sebastian. The last, the oldest, Angela, counted and recounted the heads in front of her to make sure they were all still there.  Languages swirled around them, mixing together into a chorus of confusion.  The adults could barely breathe for fear that a cough might escape their lips and the gates to America would be closed to them.  The children were tired. They had made the long journey to America and now they had to stand in a line for hours.  They were hungry and thirsty.  Their little feet dragged under the weight of their baggage.  But they remained quiet, they all knew what was at stake.

Maria saw the doctor first.  Then one by one, her children were ushered into the room with pointed instruments that turned up your eyelids.  The doctor shook his head when he saw Pia's irritated eyes. In a language that Maria didn't know, the doctor tried to explain that her daughter could not leave Ellis Island until she was examined further.  Then he said a word she knew, "Conjunctivitis."  Now she understood and tried to explain in vain that her daughter had just had an orange squirted in her eyes. The doctor shook his head and separated Pia and Maria from the other children.  Maria shouted over the heads of the other children to fourteen year old Angela.  "Take the children with you, Nana and Papa will be waiting for you. We will join you when they see that Pia is fine."

It was ten days before Maria and Pia were released.  Maria's father, Fioravanti, came to gather his daughter and grandchild.  He stood very still as Maria rushed to embrace him.  Stepping back she reached for her daughter, "Pia, this is your grandfather, come, give Papa a kiss," she instructed.   Pia shyly approached her grandfather and looked up into his hard-worn face.  He bent down low to receive her kiss but instead of standing again, he held onto the child as if he needed her young strength to live. He buried his face against her heart and began to cry.  Maria became alarmed and pulled at her father's arm.  "Papa, what is it?  Is it Mama?"  Fioravanti shook his head.  He lifted the child in his arms as he pulled himself up to his full height.  "Cara Mia, I am so sorry.  Evelyn . . ." his voice broke up.  Maria felt a roar in her ears and the room began to spin.  In the distance she could hear Pia crying.  Fioravanti had put the little girl down and was now embracing Maria, suffocating her between his broad shoulders.  Her hands came up as she placed her arms between them, pushing him away, she began to beat her fists on his chest.  "No! No!" she cried.  But in spite of her denial, she heard his words above the roar that filled her ears.  "It was pneumonia, there was nothing to be done.  She has been buried in Potters Field. I am sorry, Maria, but there is no money for a grave.  We had no choice.  It is over, Maria, it is over," he cried.

Spring came.  Maria and her son, Alley, stood over a small grave with a number for a marker.  In her hands, Maria held her daughter's apron.  She knelt down and touched the wet dirt as a sob escaped her lips.  "My daughter, my beautiful daughter," she repeated in her despair.  She brought the apron to her face and breathed in deeply, trying to absorb the smell of her daughter that still lingered in the fabric.  A rustling reached her ear as she pressed the material to her face.  Slowly she lowered the apron toward the grave, but as she did so something fell from the pocket.  It was a flower.  A dried flower from her husband's funeral fell onto her little girl's grave.

Eighteen Years

This week my son, my baby, will turn 18 years old.

The past 18 years have been filled with so many amazing experiences.  This little boy came into our lives at a point when we had almost given up hope that our daughter would have a sibling.  Born just ten days after her birthday, he was her birthday present when she turned five.  Simply put, he completed our family.

In honor of his 18th birthday, and as I stand at the precipice of his graduating high school and leaving for college, I thought it would be a nice time to reprint an article I wrote about him that was published in the Suffolk County News on September 6, 2001.  None of us knew then how our lives would change within a week.  The destruction of the twin towers destroyed lives and destroyed the sense of peace and safety that Americans had come to know since the end of the Cold War.  Yes there were wars, but they weren't here.  We had stopped looking at the sky with fear.  How wrong we were.

A few months after this article was published, I faced a personal crises that almost ended my life.  I will speak about that at another time, but I wanted you to know that no matter how important time with my children was before this time in my life, it was nothing compared to how important time with them was about to become.  So for your enjoyment, here is my article, "Kindergarten Mom":

Before he goes to sleep he still says, "Will you come and check on me in the night?" and I say, "Of course."  He still comes running to me during the day and asks, "Can I have a big hug?" and I say, "Of course."  And he still asks me, "How much do you love me mommy?" and I say, "To infinity and beyond."  But now my youngest child is entering full-day kindergarten.  

He wants to be a superhero and special agent when he's a teenager, and when he's all grown up he's going to be the first astronaut to live on Mars, but for now he sits on the couch in the living room watching cartoons on morning television.

I have had a baby or small child home for 10 years now, so this is going to be quite an adjustment for me.  The idea of having some time for myself is quite appealing; however, it comes at the expense of having my child grow up, and with the knowledge that soon he will become as independent as his older sister.

He wakes up every morning now and asks, "Am I going to school today?"  I answer, "In a few more days."  The excitement he feels at finally being a "kindergartner" is a joy to watch.  Since he was two, he's been waiting to get on that school bus with the bigger kids.  Now it's his turn.  

So, I'll put him on that school bus and smile through my tears, because my baby is growing up.  But for as long as it lasts, I will treasure each morning that he jumps into my bed to tell me about the dream he had the night before.  We'll still have time to take walks on fall afternoons and place acorns and pine cones and pretty colored leaves in a brown paper bag for his "collection."  And I'll still tuck him into bed at night and when he asks, "Will you check on me tonight?", I will say, "Of course" . . . for as long as you want me to, because I love you to infinity and beyond.

Daisy's Story

I am old now and most of my life is behind me.  I lift my head at a sound, it is quiet in the house and I am alone.  But my heart beats faster as I hear the door open and in spite of my age, I stand up as quickly as I can and run to the door.  She walks in and I wag my tail with joy!  I call her mom, but she isn’t the mom I had when I was little.  

A long time ago I lived in a cage.  My mother had many puppies like me.  She was old and tired and the life was nearly worn out of her by the time I was born.  Of course, I didn’t know that then.  With my eyes barely open, all that I knew was that she kept me warm and fed me when I was hungry.  I didn’t know then that she wasn’t always going to be with me. 

Weeks passed and then the man took me from her.  I was put in a crowded cage with others like me.  I was cold.  I tried to snuggle with the others, but they didn’t want me and so they nipped at my fur.  I retreated to a lonely corner of the cage.  For a long time, my stomach ached with hunger.  Then the man came and he put one bowl of food inside the cage.  I jumped up and ran to the food and put my face deep into the dish and took in the delicious smell, so grateful for the morsels.  As I took my first mouthful, I heard a growl behind me.  Before I knew it, the growls grew and surrounded me.  I stopped eating and looked up.  Bared teeth hovered over the food bowl.  I hadn’t even swallowed yet when those teeth embedded themselves deep in my neck.  The attack came from all around so I had no other choice but to defend myself!  I fought back.  I ripped whatever my teeth sunk into.  After all, it was them or me.  The noise must have brought the man back.  He yelled as he grabbed me and tied me with his itchy rope.  He tightened it even tighter under my front legs.  The knots ate into my flesh.  He tied me to the corner of the cage and then locked the cage as he left.  The others resumed eating their supper.  I tried to curl into a ball to comfort myself, but the knots sticking into my soft flesh made it hard to lie down. 

Months passed and the others came and went, replaced by others still.  The ropes had grown into my flesh.  I was weak from the little food that I was allowed.  And I learned to be thankful for the times when the others left me alone.  I was better off than most of the others, they chewed on each other when the food didn’t come.  My life became hopeless.  Sometimes I would dream of my mom and wonder where she was.  But I learned not to dream because dreaming only made me sadder. 

One day there was a great commotion, loud noises, people yelling, the others barked and I grew very frightened.  Strangers came to the cage and opened it with the man’s key.  They had giant gloves on their hands and a pole with a hoop at the end of it and they used it to capture the others one by one.  The strangers lifted each of them out and put them in crates.   After they were all out, they came for me.  I growled but they still took me.  They brought me to a place that smelled like fear and I never saw the others again.  I was put in a cage by myself.  A stranger took me out of my new cage and put me on a cold metal table.  She untied the knots of the rope and pulled it away from my skin as the blood oozed.  Old scabs were opened up as they poked at the wounds on my chest.  She stuck me with a sharp needle and then put me back into my cage.  I laid down for the first time without the knots eating into my skin. What was this place?  What was going to happen to me now?  What happened to the others? I curled up in a ball and I licked my paws.  I licked, and I licked, and I licked and my paws started to bleed but I kept licking. 

Weeks passed and then a man came to see me.  The woman took me out of the cage and gave me to him.  He put a collar around my neck and attached a leash to it.  He wanted me to follow him, but I sat down and wouldn’t move.  He pulled on the leash until I had to get up.  We walked outside and I thought I had to run for it! I pulled against the leash and tried with all my might to get away but it was hopeless.  I couldn’t break away.  He put me in a car and drove me to a house.  Inside there was an old man in a wheelchair who looked very scary to me.  The old man touched my fur in a way that felt good but I was still scared.  The other man brought a bowl of food and a bowl of water and placed them in front of me.  I thought, “Was this a trick?”  Would they bite me if I tried to eat the food?  The other man left me with the old man and I laid down and started to shake.  Where was I?  What was going to happen next?  I wouldn’t eat and I wouldn’t drink, I’d wait until I could escape. 

Days passed and I grew hungry so finally, I ate.  The old man put a new collar on me with my name embroidered into it.  He  left me alone most of the time.  He spent a lot of time in his bed.  Gradually, I began to trust him.   I jumped onto the bed and laid down near him.  He touched my fur again in that comforting way.  Then he started to sing, “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.  I’m half-crazy, all for the love of you.” His voice was low and gruff but I grew to like it.  I had a home a last!

Months passed and one day the morning sun warmed me and I opened my eyes.  The old man’s hand was on my fur but it wasn’t moving.  It felt . . . odd . . . cold.  I whimpered, but he didn’t move.  I looked at him, his eyes were open, he wasn’t sleeping.  I licked his face, but still he didn’t move.  I laid my head on his chest.

Hours passed and then the other man walked into the bedroom and when he saw me, he started to cry.  Did I do something wrong?  I started to shake again.  The other man touched the old man and then called someone on the telephone.  More people came and they talked loud and made lots of noise.  They tried to touch my old man and I lifted my head and growled at them.  What were they doing?  Some tried to grab me and I barked really loud at them.  They were touching my old man, they were trying to take him away from me!  I sat up and made as much noise as I could.  One of the people had one of those poles with a hoop on the end of it.  I knew what that was!  But no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep them from putting it around my neck.  They pulled me off the bed.  They dragged me out of the house.  They brought me back to the place that smelled like fear. 

Days passed.  I licked my fur until my paws bled. 

One day they took me out of my cage and brought me to a room.  There was a woman in the room and they left me in the room alone with her.  I laid down on the cold floor and I shook.  I didn’t look at her.  I just wanted to know what happened to my old man.  I wanted to go back to his house!  But I was trapped in this room with another stranger now.  Trapped in this place that smelled like fear.  Then she touched my collar and I heard something that sounded familiar.  She was singing and I knew those words.  “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.  I’m half-crazy all for the love of you.”  I looked up at her and I saw her smile.  Then she did something amazing, she laid down on the floor so that I wasn’t scared of her anymore.  I licked her hand, one tentative careful lick.  She smiled again and sang some more.  I stopped shaking.  I licked her again.  She just laid there with me for a long time and then they came in and took me back to my cage.  I felt like crying. 

Days passed and then the lady came again.  Again she laid on the floor and sang to me.  I licked her hand again and then someone opened the door.  I heard the surprise in the intruder’s voice, “She licked you?”  Then the intruder took me away again, back to my cage.

The next day the lady came back again.  This time she had a boy and a girl with her.  They also laid down on the floor so that I wouldn’t be scared.  They smelled nice.  I licked them too. 

More days passed, but every day the lady came.  One time she even left a blanket for me that smelled like the boy and the girl.  She also gave me a toy for my cage. 

More days passed and then finally, one day, she came and she put a leash on my collar and took me outside and into her car.  She brought me home to her house and inside there was the girl and the boy and a man.  They showed me a warm bed on the floor that was just for me.  There were toys and bones.  There was a bowl of food and a bowl of water, all just for me.  But I was still scared.  That night the lady put me in a cage and I got even more scared and I cried.  I chewed and chewed on the bars but I couldn’t get them to break off.  Finally, she came downstairs and let me out and sat with me.  She didn’t ever put me back in a cage after that. 

Three days later, I ate.

Six more days later,  I woke up from my bed at the foot of her bed and followed her down the stairs.  I was so happy, I wagged my tail for the first time since I was taken away from my old man.  I saw that my wagging my tail made my new family happy, so I wagged it some more.  I grew comfortable but cautious.  Every time someone came into the house I feared that they would take me away.  They took me for walks to a place where the boy would meet up with other children and then they would climb onto a bus and go away.  The other children tried to touch my fur but I was too scared to let them.  When they tried I would start shaking again. 

The days passed and then one day my family left me outside in the yard and they all went away.  I got very frightened and I tried to chew my way back into the house.  I chewed so hard on the wood that I wore my teeth down.  But I couldn’t get back into the house.  I panicked and I pushed and pushed at the fence until I broke free.  I ran to the front of the house, but I couldn’t get back into the house from there either.  Strangers started calling to me and walking over to me, trying to grab me.  I was afraid that they would take me away and my family wouldn’t know what happened to me!  So I ran into the marshes and hid there.  I kept coming back, but I could see those people there, ready to take me away.  So I ran farther away.  I was walking when all of a sudden the ground gave way and I fell into a pond.  I started to paddle, trying to stay afloat.  I swam to the side and tried to climb out, but the side was too smooth.  There was nowhere to grab on to!  I clawed and clawed at the smooth sides until my paws bled.  I could hear her calling me!  She was home!  I had to make it back to her!  But I couldn’t get out of the deep pond. 

Hours passed and I grew weak.  I almost gave up.  But then I heard a car and the next thing I knew, the man in my family was there looking down at me.  He reached in and grabbed my harness and pulled me out.  I shook my fur hard in an attempt to dry off.  I was so happy to see him!  I ran along with him in spite of my bloody paws.  I jumped into his car and he brought me back to my house.  The door was opened and I ran straight inside to my bed on the floor.  I laid down there and tried to smile so that they would know how happy I was.  I was never going to leave this house again!

The years have passed.  Now the door opens and she walks in and my world becomes whole.  She follows me to the kitchen and understands that I get a treat now since I waited so patiently for her to return.  She sits on the floor with me and pets my fur and I lay back and let her touch the scars on my chest that healed long ago.  I think back to my first mother and how happy she would be to know that I have another mother who loves me and takes care of me.  I think back to my old man and I know he would be happy for me too.  I lick her hand and promise to take care of her too, for as long as I can.  For now I am the old one.  Then she sings to me, “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.  I’m half-crazy all for the love of you.”  I close my eyes and dream.

Cyber Personalities

This is not meant to offend anyone, I just thought it was an interesting and entertaining observation.  Do you have any more to add to this list?

1.    The Traveler:  “I am here . . .  check out my GPS!”

2.    The Narcissist:  “Don’t you just want to be me!”

3.    The Paranoid Schizophrenic:  “Everyone is against me!  Please feel sorry for me.”

4.    The Dictator:  “If I ran the world, all the problems would be solved.”

5.    The  Zealot:  “God will make everything alright and if HE doesn't, it’s because YOU didn't believe.”

6.    The Mystic:  “If everyone would just meditate with me, there would be world peace.”

7.    The Gossip:  “I know what’s happening, read my posts if you want to stay informed.”

8.    The Creeper:  “I don’t post because I am better than all of you, I’ll just creep.”

9.    The Food Guru: "I am sharing my great inventive recipes!  Don't miss out!” 

10.  The Comedian:  "Bet that I can make you laugh!”

11.    The Therapist:  “I can help you be a better you!  Just let me fix you and then you’ll be as happy as me!”

12.   The Gatherer:  “Family and Friends gather here—join me or be left out.”

13.   The Patriot:  “I never forget, not even for one minute, the sacrifices others have made for me.”

14.   The Club Guru:  “I am where the music is at!”

15.   The Photographer:  “You don't have to leave your laptop/tablet, the world can be seen through my lens.”

16.    The Re-poster:  “I can’t think of anything original to say so I’ll just re-post something that someone else said.”

17.  The Proud Parent:  “My kids are better than yours!”

18.  The Embarrassed Parent:  “Look what they did now!”

19.  The Single Once-Again Parent:  "Whoot!”

20.  The Gamer:  “Join this game so that I can beat you!”

Stages of Life

When you are a child, you value love.  Love of your mother when she holds you in her arms.  Love of your father when he pushes you on a swing.

When you are a teenager, you value freedom.  Freedom to take that first drive alone in your car. Freedom to go away to college to live on your own without your parents.

When you are an adult, you value time.  Time with your family.  Time to do the things you enjoy.

When you are old, you value love, freedom, and time.
Love from your children who seem too busy for you.
Freedom from a body that won't allow you to take a simple walk without pain.
Time to do all the things you never did.
But most of all when you are old, you value the choice to make your own decisions.

Happy New Year 2014!

The New Year is about to begin and it's time to say goodbye to the old.  My children are no longer children and the last years of precious time as a cohesive family are slipping away.  Little by little summers will be without them, holidays may soon be spent with one or the other, or perhaps, neither.  They will move on with their lives from here.  With them they will take some of the traditions they have enjoyed.  New traditions of their own will be added to the old.

Thankfully, the years go by slowly and we adjust to the changes an inch at a time.  The important things to keep in mind as you raise your children are that they will grow and move on with their own lives.  Enjoy the moments and every stage, because none of them will ever come again.  Take as many photos and videos as you can, they will become your most precious possessions.  Don't regret a moment of it, not the craziness, not the drama, not even the heartbreaks, for they are all the moments you build your family on.

Looking forward, my life will be different but it will always be full.  It is time for my books to take flight.  I will shove them out of their nest and hope that they fly.  It is a time for me and my husband to enjoy our time together.  We have earned this moment.  Our son will leave for college, our daughter is in graduate school, even our dog is entering her last years and will soon leave.  The house will be quiet.  But I look around me at our accomplishments and I can smile and turn my sight to the future.  After all, I have one thought that will comfort me through the quiet times.  They will come back.  Others may come and go in our lives, but we will always have each other, my children, my husband, and me.  Forever.

"It's All Grist for your Mill"

"It's All Grist for your Mill," it's a saying that my husband's grandmother was often heard repeating to her grandchildren whenever they were going through a difficult time.  Grist is grain.  It is raw, rough, and hard, but after it is put through a mill, it becomes flour.  Flour is used in the making of bread, bread that can be used to nourish yourself and others.

We all go through challenges and struggles.  Some are suffered in view of the world, others are suffered in our own hearts and minds.  They are the grist for our mills.  Without them, we never develop true empathy.  Without them, we never learn to look outside of ourselves and build bridges to others.  Without them, we never get to experience the joy of sweet compassion.  Without them, we never get to feel triumph.

When you experience difficult times, don't leave the bitter grist as it is.  Put it through your mill and nourish yourself and the world.

Sewing Hems

I am not the sewer that my mother was.

She went to a high school in Brooklyn that specialized in sewing and cooking, both of which she did very well.  When I was a little girl, I would sit near her as she sewed on her Singer sewing machine.  I'd watch her knee push against the lever that would set the machine into a roar, amazed at how she could move the fabric through it so quickly and keep it so straight.  Sometimes, she would let me help as she laid out a pattern on material and taught me how to cut the pattern "on the bias."  I loved helping her and tried hard to learn what she was trying to teach me.  But when I was in 7th grade Home Economics class, I was supposed to make an a-line skirt.  Our class was having a fashion show for our moms.  Before the fashion show, we were allowed to bring our skirts home.  I tried on my masterpiece for my mother to see .  .  . when I took it off, she brought it to her sewing machine and straightened the hem.  She didn't want me to be seen in public with a crooked hem.

I bought my own sewing machine about 25 years ago.  When I was little, my mom had made many beautiful matching sundresses for my sister and me.  My hope was that I would be able to do the same for my little girl who was born a few years later.  I did make her a Barney the Dinosaur costume and a Little Dalmatian costume.  Both weren't perfect, but they didn't fall apart either.  Unfortunately, that was as far as my sewing talent would take me.

So now I am sitting at that same sewing machine that I made those little costumes on and I am trying to hem pajama pants for my mom.  She will be moving into an assisted living facility at the end of this week.  Although she is surprisingly healthy for a woman of 91, she is suffering from dementia.  The saddest part of dementia is that the person who is suffering doesn't know what is happening.  Her confusion makes it hard for her to have the independence she needs and wants.  Her frustration is heartbreaking for us to watch.  While there is no perfect answer, we are hoping that in her new environment she will be able to have some of that independence restored and hope that the attentive care and activities offered at the facility will help forestall the progress of this disease.

So here I am, sewing hems on her pajama pants.  I would never attempt it if they were clothes she wanted to wear out in the world, but I guess I can handle pj's.  I'm sorry mom, I am not the sewer that you were.  But I love you.

Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving, 1963.  My family is spending the holiday at my grandparents' house in Brooklyn.  My father and uncles are watching football on the black and white television in the basement and enjoying some anti-pasta.  My grandmother, mother, and aunts are cooking in the kitchen and setting the table in the dining room.  My older brothers and older cousins are in the living room, the boys are trying to impress the girls and the girls are acting like they don't notice.  I am playing with my sister and young cousins on the porch while we watch my grandfather read his Italian newspaper with his box of snuff by his side.  I can hear my baby brother crying in the bedroom because he has just woken up from a nap.  The house is full of sounds and aromas.  We are all together.

Today is Thanksgiving, 1973.  My family is spending the holiday at my parents' house on Long Island. My father is watching football on the television in the living room munching on some chestnuts.  My mother is cooking in the kitchen while my sister and I set the table.  The anti-pasta is placed in the center.  My younger brother is hiding a cassette recorder under the table in his attempt to catch some dinner conversation without any of us being aware of the recording.  My older brother is with his wife's family.  My oldest brother is far from home with a young family of his own.

Today is Thanksgiving, 1983.  My family is spending the holiday at my mother's house.  My father's seat is empty.  He passed away several years ago.  My older brother and his wife and my sister and her husband come over with their children.  My little nephews add new life to our family.  The men sit in the living room and watch football on the television.  The women are cooking in the kitchen and I set the table.  My older brother is sitting at the table eating some anti-pasta.  My oldest brother is, once again, far away with his own family.  There are some funny jokes during the day that make us all laugh.  There was the one when my sister found a bag of giblets inside the thawed turkey and thought it was a baby, there was the one about the cheesecake that my mom made (let's just say it was a little heavy), and I think there was another about something that had turned bad but my brother-in-law started to eat it anyway because he didn't want to say anything.  The family is changing.

Today is Thanksgiving, 1991.  My family is spending the holiday at my mother's house, but I am not there.  My older brother and I are not speaking.  So I spend the day with my husband's family at his grandmother's house in Queens.  My husband's father and uncles are watching the football game on the television in the living room while they sample some sausage pie.  His grandmother, mother and aunts are cooking in the kitchen.  I help his cousins set the table.  The house is full of people.  After dinner my baby daughter is passed from hand to hand around the living room as we all sing to the sounds of the player-piano.  I love this family, but I miss my own.

Today is Thanksgiving, 2003.  My family is spending the holiday at my mother's house, but now it belongs to my younger brother.  My younger brother, brother-in-law, nephews, and husband watch the football game in the living room.  My sisters-in-law are cooking in the kitchen.  My sister and I set the table as my mother and older brother taste some anti-pasta while they wait for the main meal.  My children and the younger cousins are playing downstairs in my mother's apartment.  My oldest brother is still far from home but we speak to him on the telephone.  I have a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.  I have reconciled with my older brother and I have survived an illness that had brought me within breaths of death.  I now understand the full meaning of being thankful on this holiday.

Today is Thanksgiving, 2013.  My family is spending the holiday, each at their own house, with their own families.  My mother is with one of us, but her memory is fading.  Someone reminds her of the Thanksgivings we used to have in Brooklyn and she smiles when she recalls a precious memory that is still there.  I spend this holiday at the home of our dear friends.  There are seats empty at their table too.  Together, we try to fill the empty seats.  The men are in the living room watching the football game while eating anti-pasta.  My mother-in-law chats with my friend's parents.  My friend is cooking in the kitchen.  Her daughter and my son are watching television downstairs and catching up on their lives now that one of them is home from college for the holiday.  My daughter is far away from home, but spending the day with my husband's sister and her family.  I look around at how "family" has changed over the years.  I'm thankful for past Thanksgivings and I miss the people who are no longer here.  I stop for a moment to wonder about what changes will take place over the coming years.  Then I find my friend lifting out a 25 lb. turkey from her oven and ask her if I can set the table.

Wherever you go . . .

One summer day, my daughter and her friends were riding their bicycles up and down the block in front of our house.  The girls stopped in our driveway and walked up to the front door speaking among themselves in a conspiratorial way.  Slowly she opened the door as her friends stood just outside on the front porch.  "Mom?" she said.  Wondering what was coming next, I looked down at my little girl and took a deep breath.  "The girls want to ride around the block.  Can I go with them?  Their moms said it was okay!"  I looked into her face and could see how important this was to her.  But at the same time, the thought of her being outside of my view, without another trusted adult to make sure she was safe, was terrifying for me.  It would only be a matter of ten minutes or so, but they would be very long minutes for me.  Finally, I told her, "You can go, but I want you to remember something.  Wherever you go, you take my heart with you.  If you are hurt and you get broken, my heart gets broken too.  So promise me you will be careful and take good care of my heart."  She smiled and hugged me, told me she loved me, and went off with her friends.  My eyes did not leave the front window until she came back in sight once again! But that, of course, was just the beginning.  She has been to Europe and the Amazon without me now, but still she knows that wherever she goes . . . she takes my heart with her.