Billy Joel

This day started out uneventful. I mean, if you take out the fact that my mother was in the hospital after just being diagnosed with cancer. It was October, and my head never swirled so much. Everything I depended on at that point became fragile. Everything I knew to be true became gray. Adam and I both didn’t work that morning so we both went to the hospital to visit mom. She was there but she wasn’t there. A very different version of my mother.

She was watching “You’re Life, AtoZ” or something like that. They were holding a contest that day. Call in and be the 3rd caller and get tickets to the Billy Joel musical, Movin Out. Cooli,  I thought to myself, if I win Mom would love to go.

I grabbed the phone and with no luck hurling my way in that particular time of year I heard on the other line, “Congratulations, you’re the third caller.” Um what...that isn’t supposed to happen. But there you have it. I won the contest. I took a chance and I was the lucky caller.

I gave them my details, I picked up the tickets. I planned for my mom and I to go together, to enjoy this show. God had different plans.

“I am just too tired, Ria,” my mother said to me the night of the show. I knew my stubborn mom. She was not going. There was no amount of coaxing I could do to get her to come.

So I did the thing I knew to do. I phoned a friend.  A friend whom I met in college and was a great sounding board for me. A friend who showed up without reservation and kept me sane that night.

Driving into Phoenix I was anxious. I hate driving in Phoenix. Too many one-way roads. Too many possibilities for car accidents. Marissa and I pulled in and realized almost too late we were on the wrong side of town. I stood in the middle of Phoenix with Marissa sobbing, “We missed it...its like the omen of my mom’s cancer. We didn’t make it to the show and I don’t see her making it out too.

Amazing to think that friends that I made at ASU defined me. Shaped me. Enabled me to grow.

Again, I never took the time to tell you all what it meant to me. So I am saying it now. Thank you. Thank you for showing me how adult friends behave. Thank you for unapologetically being there for me. It was innate for you. It was pure. I hope to someday return the favor. I hope that I can be there for you all in your darkest times. Before this, all of us had happy times. Dancing at school, enjoying each other's company. We grew together because of the real life happening in front of us. I am who I am because of you. Aaron, Cerrin, Marissa and Rachel. It is you all who showed me compassion as an adult. Again, I say, thank you. My dance family.

As the night went on, we found the theater. Marissa and I enjoyed a memorable presentation of  Moving Out. I clapped, I sobbed and I was transformed into a place where Mom wasn't sick and I was happy again. Theater did its due diligence. It floated me away from my reality.

I need to take a moment to pause...

My purpose for this blog has many reasons.  To have all that I've written about 2007 collected in one spot...to give others out there a story to see how life can continue after death...to work through some more healing that is left to be done on me...but then I remember the last reason.  I called this blog, "Walk With Me".  I was and am still in awe at how quickly things changed in my life.  I wanted those that knew me then but couldn't quite get the full story of what was happening because I was still trying to figure out what was happening to finally see what my family endured.  I wanted those of you that either met met after 2007 or have never met me at all to hear my story because it is my story and makes me who I am today.  I wanted those of you who read this to take a step in time and see how sometimes, life is a train that keeps going; not allowing you to take the time needed to adjust to a new situation.  I wanted this ability to pause what was happening in my life so I could take it all in, delay the inevitable, and make the right choices where needed.  I didn't get that pause 8 years ago.  

I have another post that was complete and supposed to be posted for today.  But as I clicked on "On This Day" on my Facebook, I was taken aback by how quickly things can change in a year:

9 years ago I was giddy and eagerly counting down the days until my wedding, and a year later my world was upside-down.  So I need to take this moment and pause.  I need to take this all in.  Because I fear if I post my original post first without saying what else I need to say, I let time win again and I can't let that happen again.  I will post this other post later today when I am ready.  

So let's all take a moment to pause on this flashback journey.  I want to write about different times.  Those of you who knew my mother prior would appreciate that and those of you who never met her can hear the wonderful and funny things about my mother that made her my inspiration.

My mother was amazing.  She was from Italy; and she beamed with Italian pride.  As a child, I remember listening to her, my aunt and my grandmother speak to each other in Italian.  I would never know what was being said (minus the swear words!) but it was just so normal for me to hear during times spent with family.  Gathering together meant eating pasta and sitting on furniture that was wrapped in plastic.  This was our normal.  While everyone was having just turkey and stuffing for Thanksgiving, we were having all that AND manicotti and sausage and peppers and meatballs.  The same went for Christmas and Easter.  Sure, there were only 6 of us in our celebrations when we first moved to Arizona in 1997, but Mom cooked it all anyway.  We would eat leftovers for what seemed like an eternity after.  But I never grew tired of it.  It was Mom's manicotti and it was delicious.  This was our normal. 

My mother loved decorating for the holidays.  I think that's why I love it now as an adult.  She had boxes upon boxes of crocheted items, little figurines, her huge manger set (because...Italian, ya know?), and what seemed like EVERY SINGLE CRAFT we as kids brought home from school with our  hand prints on it or the crazy amount of crafted ornaments for the tree.  It took FOREVER to decorate.  Because we couldn't have a single Christmas without the red bells that would hang on the stairs and chime "jingle bells".

And every year on Thanksgiving, our alarm clock was the smell of meatballs being cooked and my mother excitingly yelling up to us, "OOhh look the parade is on!!"  We would get down quickly, as to "help" Mom taste-test the fresh meatballs and watch the rest of the parade.  Even one year, we all took a train from Connecticut to New York and watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in person.  It was a wonderful memory.  I think that's why I now get excited about the parade all the way here in Arizona.  Its like my mom is joining my little family for the holidays now.  

  

 My mother, above all things, loved being a mother most.  I look back and see how she was so devoted to all of her kids.  I aspire to be like that.  Yes, I see my "mother" coming out when I guilt trip-erhm- I mean deal with my own kids.  I don't mind it at all.

In 2006, I was preparing for my wedding.  I wore my mother's wedding dress.  I tried my best to incorporate Italian themes into our wedding.  Candy covered almonds and party favors, playing Italian-American music during the reception, and having the full Catholic mass.  My mother and my sister threw me an amazing bridal shower.  There was so much food, but this was our normal.   Think "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", but Italian.  

My mom loved country things.  There were rooster and pig figurines all over her house.  And clowns.  She loved clowns.  And I think that's why I enjoy having some of her figurines in my house.  To bring me back to the years before.  To the times where we were just a family with an Italian mother who gagged at the sight of ketchup and would lovingly say that wooden spoons made good sauces and good kids.  I make a sauce now every Sunday just like she did.  This was our normal.  And with all this, my children are getting a chance to know my mom.