May 13, 2018

Supposedly, for better or for worse, we become our mothers.

My nonna often says, “Not a single hair, NOT A SINGLE HAIR of yours, is mine!” Which makes me laugh because the character traits and behaviours that I exhibit that cause her mortification are often the things I like in myself. That being said, much to her chagrin, there are lots of things about me that I got from her: my chronic worrying for one, my play-by-the-rules personality, and my “don’t cause more trouble” approach to problem solving, among many other things. So yeah nonna, whether you like it or not, there are a lot of hairs on my head that are yours, and I’m grateful for that. They’re probably the white ones. Just kidding, what white ones?

I had 12 years with my mother. Really, I’ve spent more years without her than with her. Can memories be both vague and vivid at the same time? I remember so many things about her…. but I know that my memories are clouded by the perspective of a little girl. I remember laying down on the couch with her, rubbing her stubbly legs while we watched TV. She would get irritated with me because I was bringing attention to the fact her legs were unshaven. I remember her talking to a friend on the phone while I was supposed to be sleeping, reading an excerpt from my school journal and laughing because she thought it was funny and was so proud. I remember her pulling into Dairy Queen to use the payphone and leaving my brother and I in the running car. I remember her sprinting through the parking lot after us because my brother decided to jump in the front seat and drive away. I remember her making sure I had the best birthday party ever, in the middle of a winter storm with a car that broke down. Not wanting to disappoint her daughter, she took me and my friends to a movie by bus and bought us all dinner after. I remember her breaking the wooden spoon over my bum for saying, “F**k you ADAM!” and I remember many mouth washings. I remember the mountains of books around her bed.. and on the kitchen table… and in the basement. She birthed my love of reading. I remember her putting me in soccer and girl guides. Sewing badges and exaggerating some of the evidence so I could earn new ones. I remember our trip to Disneyland and how she got mad at me for wanting more churros. I remember when my brother got lost, that when he was finally found how she slapped and hugged him and slapped and hugged him. I remember her AVON jewelry, and how whenever she went out she always looked and smelled nice. I remember one time when I said some terrible things about someone, how disgusted she was by my behaviour, and I learned mother’s guilt and the golden rule. From my mother, I learned that even if you’re not a very good singer, if your soul wants to sing, sing. And sing loud. For the whole church to hear. But most of all, I learned love. How for better or for worse, that if your life is founded on love, things will be okay, even when it seems impossible. Love of God, love of family and friends, love of neighbor, love of stranger. If your life is founded on LOVE…it’ll be okay. She never said it would be easy, but always made us feel sure that things would fall into place.

I guess I’m writing this because despite my heartache, I know that at this very moment there are no better arms to be wrapped around Matteo than my mom’s. I imagine her reading to him into the “wee hours of the night” the same way she did with me. I imagine them patiently waiting for me and her telling him that I haven’t learned all my lessons on this earth yet. And, although I don’t think they have Hallmark holidays in heaven, for Mother’s Day, I imagine Matteo saying a special thank you to her for the gift of loving his mom.

Thank you to all the perfectly imperfect women in my life:

My mother and my nonna, I’m blessed to have even one strand of hair on my head be from you.

My zia Rita, my mother-in-law Kerry, all of my aunts and cousins and friends who show strength, courage and beauty but most of all for demonstrating unconditional love. Love transcends time and space, and the bonds you create with it can never be broken.

Matteo, I may have given birth to you, but you were the one who shaped me.