Happy Birthday, Mom

“When the evening shadows fall

and the lovely day is through

Then with longing I recall

the years I spent with you”

70. My mother would have been 70 today. She was born on this day in 1946 in Potenza, Italy. She made certain we knew that she did not like us mixing Christmas decor ad her birthday. It is because of that, I feel, that I so strongly ensure the same doesn’t happen for Teresa’s birthday. December babies. That’s something they have in common. I love that about my family. We find ways to connect even when it seems impossible.

“Safe in the glow of your love

Sent from the heavens above

Nothing can ever replace

The warmth of your tender embrace”

My mother, my protector. She is no longer here. I slowly realize it year after year. And small triggers set me off. A song. A smell. Whatever it may be, I am reminded of her and it hurts all over again.  I try, year after year, to justify and explain my children being able to know her in spite of her absence.

“Your mother was so quick with the one-liners,” Family in Connecticut would tell me in my last visit this fall. I absolutely love that. I feel that is something she shares with me. And the day my brother got married, and danced with her to Connie Francis’ “Mama”, I realized how significant her presence was to her children.

“Oh, Mama, until the day

that we're together once more

I'll live in these memories

Until the day that we're together once more”

Watching home movies and seeing the personality my children will never directly know. That’s what hurts so much. The benefit in life they would have gained from having known her. And it cannot be captured.

Ave Maria

She said: "My daughter, I beg of you

I have a with that must come true

The last thing you can do for Mama

Please promise me that you will stay

And take my place while I'm away

And give the children love each day"

I had to cry, what could I say?

How hard I tried to find the words

I prayed she wouldn't see my cry

So much to say that should be heard

But only time to say goodbye to Mama

They say in time that you'll forget

Yet still today my eyes are wet

I tell myself to smile for Mama

Now soon there'll be another spring

And I will start remembering

The way she loved to hear me sing

Her favorite song, "Ave Maria"

Ave Maria

The children have all grown up now

I kept my promise to Mama

I cannot guide them anymore

I've done my best all for Mama

Ave Maria

But still it seems so very small

For all she did for me”

I once thought taking care of my younger siblings was a solo endeavor. Something I needed to bear on my own. I slowly realized that because of the gift of love my mother bestowed upon us as a family, this was something we would take care of together. And how amazing that is. To rely on our family so whole-heartedly, so richly, and see how we can thrive in the wake of sorrow.

“Isn't it rich?

Are we a pair?

Me here, at last, on the ground

You in mid-air

Send in the clowns

Isn't it bliss?

Don't you approve?

One who keeps tearing around

One who can't move

Where are the clowns?

Send in the clowns

Just when I'd stopped opening doors

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours

Making my entrance again with my usual flair

Sure of my lines

No one is there

Don't you love farce?

My fault, I fear

I thought that you'd want what I want

Sorry, my dear

But where are the clowns?

There ought to be clowns

Quick, send in the clowns

What a surprise!

Who could foresee?

I'd come to feel about you

What you felt about me

Why only now, when I see

That you've drifted away?

What a surprise

What a cliche

Isn't it rich?

Isn't it queer?

Losing my timing this late in my career

And where are the clowns?

Quick, send in the clowns

Don't bother

They're here”

My mother, of all things, taught me that my word was my bond. I think that is why I am so loyal. I know that what I say is what I mean. There is no exception. There is no alternative. This is why when I commit myself I do it 100%. Because what is the point of anything less.?

“And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

But more, much more than this

I did it my way

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say - not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me

I did it my way

For what is a man, what has he got

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

Yes, it was my way”

Above all things, my mother pushed for what she thought was right...and that it what I aspire to not only do for myself, but teach my daughters as well. Because at the end of the day, your integrity is all you have left.

My Facebook Thoughts on Mother's Day in the Past

Maria Hanson shared her post.

May 9, 2015 · 

"I've done my best all for Mama
Ave Maria
But still it seems so very small
For all she did for me"

Another year, another time to sit down and really think about my mom, my mothering, and motherhood in general. It almost renders me speechless. My mother, my hero, who endured so much in her lifetime here on earth. Her family going through the impossible to make life for themselves in the United States and how they did it for the future generations of this family. Thinking of that, and I am in awe. I am amazed. The women in my family amaze me, with their courage, faith and pride. It is everything I aspire to be not just as a mother, but a woman in general. And I can't help but think (or perhaps, just hope) that maybe, just maybe, my mother questioned her parenting like I sometimes do. Like I'm sure we all do. And if she were here, I'm sure she would offer some amazing insight to the key to being a mother. But I probably wouldn't have listened anyway because, well, that's how our relationship was.

Growing up, all the time, in the heat of yet another argument, my mother would generally finish with a, "And I hope one day you grow up and have a daughter that's just. Like. You." and I would scoff and think, well, I'm awesome so yay for me.

Then, over the course of my mother's last week alive, I had the amazing pleasure of talking with my aunt who informed me that my grandmother had said the same to my mother. (Insert "mind blown" expression here). And it started to make sense. But just a little.

Flash forward to 2010 and becoming a mother to Teresa. My amazing daughter who keeps me on my toes because she will LITERALLY point out flaws in my parenting logic. And with every stomp of her foot and crossed arms and huff and puff she expresses I think, well, this is it. This is the daughter that is just. Like. Me. Well, played, Mom.

But no, she couldn't stop there. Enter Lena. The adorable, funny and almost too-smart-for-her-own-good almost 21 month old who is just now showing that she is hell on wheels and just as passionate and twice as stubborn as her older sister.

I didn't get a daughter that's just. Like. Me. I got two. TWO daughters that are just. Like. Me! It exhausts me. It give me premature grey hairs (I'm not even 30 yet!!) It keeps me on my toes and makes me dig deep DEEP into my parenting bag of tricks and be on my A-game all the time. And I couldn't ask for a better life. I am blessed. My daughters show me how my mother continues to live in us. The loud Italian women in this family make my heart warm. And it continues with Teresa and Lena. And I certainly know that 12 or so years from now, in the midst of a mother-daughter battle over clothes, boys and life, that I will certainly express to my girls that one day I hope they have a daughter that is just. Like. Them.

Happy Mother's Day Mom. I miss you every day. And for all that is good, I've learned my lesson, please stop ensuring my children are just like me.

"I know I would apologize if I could see your eyes
'Cause when you showed me myself I became someone else"

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Maria Hanson added 8 new photos — with Michael John MacDonald and 2 others.

May 11, 2014 · 

This is our 7th Mother's Day without Mom here. It feels like forever ago that we were scrambling in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast for her with our hand-written Mother's Day cards and self-made "coupons" for cleaning, listening, etc. And then of course, as the years went on, we attempted to re-create those cards by writing them with our left hands in an attempt to capture our child-like spirit with stick figures of us with Mom wishing her the best on this day.

I've said it before and I will say it again. Mom taught me everything about being a mother. And with her saying, "I hope you have a daughter that's just like you." I look at Teresa and feel blessed (and....a little cursed wink emoticon ) to be on that rewarding path. And am fully prepared to make the same statement to her during the tough teenage years. But until then I watch as Teresa is being the best big sister ever to Lena. And when I look at Lena , I feel a sense of pride . Lena already pouring out so much love for her family. And you know that to her, like my mother taught, that family is everything.

And I look forward to teaching my girls how to make Mom's sauce. And I'll be sure to tell them that even though my mother prepped the mozzarella for her stuffed shells by cutting them with a knife, it was entirely because she didn't have a cheese grater so it was perfectly acceptable to use one. Instead of being like me for the first 5 years or so of my marriage making the same dish the same way because, well, that was how Mom did it.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. heart emoticon

So my grandmother died 23 years ago...

Teresa Saltarelli, age 70, of 40A Patricia Rd, Bridgeport, Devoted wife of the late Atillio Saltarelli.  Mrs. Saltarelli died in Bridgeport Hospital Monday evening after a brief illness.  She was born in Atella, Italy May 3, 1922 daughter of the late Vincenzo and Maria Giovanna Petollino and was a resident of the Bridgeport area for over 10 years and lived in Brooklyn most of her life.  She is the beloved mother of Angela Altman of Bridgeport and Amelia MacDonald of Shelton and sister of Donato Petolino of Brooklyn and Rosa DiBiasa of Rome, Italy and also survived by six grandchildren and several nieces and nephews.  Funeral will leave the Riverview Funeral Home, 390 River Road, Shelton Thursday at 9:45 am for a Mass in St. Lawrence Church at 10:30.  Burial will be in Riverside Cemetery in Shelton.  Friends may call Wednesday from 5 to 8 pm.  At the family's request contribution may be made to St. Lawrence Religious Education (CCD) through the Funeral Director.

I know its been a while.  I haven't written anything since my mother's birthday.  I guess part of me wishes that I would be "healed" and "better" by now.  That I would have said all I needed to say on the matter.  But then I think about my family and how far back it goes.  And then my grandmother popped in my head today.

"How did you come up with your children's names?"  is a question I get asked often.  Let's face it.  Teresa is not a typical name these days.  I smile each time before I answer.  I talk about how my mom said she named her first daughter after her grandmother, Maria Giovanna, and how I always intended to do the same.  Yes, back when I was pregnant with Aryn, I already know the name of my daughter.  And when I discovered I was pregnant with a girl, I knew her name would be Teresa, named after my grandmother, and Amelia would be her middle name.  It was perfect.

We chose the same route for our second daughter.  Adam's grandmother's name is Arlene, and with the passing of his great-grandmother the same year I was pregnant, it seemed too fitting to name our second daughter Lena Inez.  Both girls now have grandmother roots tied into them far more than they can ever know.  It empowers them and it enables them to hold their heads high as inevitable women in this society and I know they will both be amazing no matter what they do.

I feel the need to share about my grandmother for a few reasons.  For one, our family is legit off the boat Italian.  And I am so very proud of that.  When Teresa came home from school saying that her teacher told her our great-grandparents came to America I corrected her that her grandmother came here.  At a young and tender age, after many complications.  Second, this month has now been 

23 years since my grandmother passed away.  I see my husband at the age of 31 still have his grandmother and I am in awe.  I lost both my grandmothers at such young ages.  And I was never alive to get to know either of my grandfathers.  And I can honestly say that I feel robbed.  You have no idea what I would do for a chance to spend another 5 minutes with any of them.  To ask them what no 8 year old should know to ask.  Family history, stories, words of wisdom.  I got none of that.  

Ever since my husband and I became "serious", his family has invited me to come watch "The Nutcracker" from Ballet Etudes, as it was a Christmas tradition in their family.  Overjoyed, I always accepted and would watch not only the stage, but the audience next to me in awe as there would always be a representation of 3-4 generations together enjoying the show.  And every year at the end of the night, I would become overwhelmed with sorrow that my family was "gone too soon" to enjoy traditions like this.  I even invited my mother along on the 2007 trip to "The Nutcracker"...but she had already passed away before that could happen.  

My memories of my grandmother are subtle, but they resonate within me remarkably.  In my experience, she had a calming quality to her.  She said what needed to be said and that was it.  Mostly.  

She also made a mean sauce,  I enjoyed it often growing up.  She would walk around the house in her slippers with pride and gave no fucks in terms of who saw her like that.  I like to think I am reconnecting with my grandmother on the days I drop Teresa off at school in my slippers.

I remember an argument my mother and my grandmother were having in my kitchen in Connecticut one year.  My mom was upset that Grandma painted her nails orange.  It was a mix of English and Italian but my mother basically reprimanded her own mother about how a woman's lips needed to match her nails and if wasn't willing to use orange lipstick then she shouldn't paint her nails orange.  Now, the feminist in me is crying out, "let her paint it whatever!  It is her choice!"  But the traditional woman in me smiles because, here is a daughter attempting to teach her mother fashion.  And I smile because there were many stories of my mother being reprimanded by my grandmother while they lived in Brooklyn about how who she let walk her home was setting an impression on her to the neighbors.  

I also very much remember my other grandmother...my Nannie.  My father's mother had a petite quality about her.  We would play cards and watch "The Price is Right".  She taught me so many things about playing games.  She taught me how to win, to lose, and most importantly, to enjoy the game.  She had this ability to make me flock to her in her good days.   When she got really sick, I was confused.  I didn't quite grasp what (Alzheimer's) was happening to her.  I was older than when my other grandmother got sick and died, but I just didn't comprehend how the brain is such an intriguing

part of our being.  I also remember a home video of her mortgage burning party.  Can you believe that was a thing back then?  That people actually paid off their mortgages?  That is something else I aspire to.  

I remember all of this when I rear my own daughters.  I take all this into account when I embrace how I want them to be.  Do I want them to be proper ladies?  Of course.  Do I want them to define with our (their parents) help what the term "proper" means?  100% yes.  Most of you who know me noticed I encountered a shift in the last few years.  I went from someone who saw so many things as black and white to a person who decided that women do, in fact, have a choice.

I recently went on a trip for a bachelorette party in Las Vegas, Nevada.  As we were a group of women traveling, every people we encountered warned us to stick together and to be safe.  This included bar tenders, taxi cab drivers, and hotel concierge staff.  "There is a UFC fight this weekend, so there are a lot of people...just be careful." Every person seemed to warn.  And I had this light bulb moment in my head.  Are you telling the male tourists to not rape the women they encounter?  If you're thinking, No, this is just being safe for women...I ask you...why?!  Why is this a normal interaction for a woman but not for a man?  Why should it feel like an inevitable death sentence when the sonographer says you're having a girl?  Where did this idea of the "weaker sex" come from?  Because  as a mother who is raising 2 girls at the moment, I can tell you, it is no freaking picnic.  

I guess my point in this post today is that women today need to stand up for themselves and not let societal norms define how they should feel or act.  My other point is that I understand the life my female family has gone through and I will do everything in my power to make your story be heard and respected.  Even if it is just through a silly blog that hardly anyone reads.    

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mom

I still find it interesting that we went from celebrating your birthday by "surprising" you with cake and sitting around our kitchen table to instead going to the cemetery and making sure that I bring no Christmas related flowers for you on this day because it was a pet peeve of yours to mix your birthday and Christmas.

I came across a VHS tape of your birthday from about 1988 where our family was gathered around the living room while we watched you open presents and making your comedic jokes in between.  I smile thinking of how funny you were.  As you opened gifts from Billy and I, which consisted of new pots and pans, skillets, and the like, you commented that your family must be telling you something...to cook for them!  The family chuckled but I know you prided yourself in cooking for us all the time.  It was the Italian thing to do.  I pride myself too.  You'd laugh at the Christmas Eve menu I have planned this year.  Baked ziti, calamari, salads, breads, shrimp and an attempt on a gingerbread cake with cream cheese frosting.  "That's not enough food, Maria"  you would probably tell me.  

You also made certain that after each birthday to state your age with pride.  "I'm 60 years old, Maria.  I wasn't born yesterday."  It was the last age you got to state.  Gone too soon, for sure.  A month away from reminding me that you were 61.  

I'm sitting here, at the cemetery right now with Teresa and Lena.  We are trying to keep warm and their snacks are all over their faces.  Despite all the great memories I have with you, I still think about what could have been if you were here.  How much you would love the girls with or without snack on their faces.  The planning to get together today to celebrate with you and sing Happy Birthday.  Your grandchildren would rush up to you upon getting through the door and bombard you with hugs and kisses.  You'd have a sauce cooking, and I'm sure you'd been sneaking yummy treats to all the girls.  We would enjoy an early dinner and "surprise" you with a cake and Teresa would give you a card she made herself.  It would have been a wonderful day indeed.

It is okay, though.  The girls are getting to know you through me.  My stories, our old home videos, and the traditions I've carried with me.  I just wish you could be here to blow out your candles today.  Happy heavenly birthday, Mom.  

October 16, 2010

18th Annual Walk to Remember

Saturday, November 17, 2007

“Maria, are you ready?” Who could ever be ready for this? I sigh and drink the last of my Lord-knows-how-many-this-is-now-coffee. My head was so swollen. The air conditioning in the waiting room had turned my fingers to just the right amount of cold where if I were to hit them on the chair, the pain would be inexplicable.

We all made the last walk to her ICU room. I walked past the staff break room which had that heart wrenching poster that explained what to look for in immediate death.

Could this all really be happening?

We got closer to the room and I’m greeted by the familiar sound of the exhausted breathing machine and heart monitor. I started to float away to a time when this wasn’t the reality in my life. A time when I was happy and pregnant and my mother was excited to be a grandmother for the first time. And then I’m interrupted by none other than myself clearing my throat, holding back the tears. “Hi Mom.We’re all here.” Each of her four children grabbed a part of her hands. My father stood by her side, just as he always did. My mother’s last tear rolled hesitantly down her cheek.

That smell of a sterile environment continued to bloat my head. I got up and leaned right into my mother’s left ear, “Mommy, I am so proud of you. Don’t worry about the family.I will take care of them. Dio la benedice.” The doctor who had been trying not to watch this entire time walked in to the machine, looked at my father; who nodded at her, and she turned down the medicine. Mom’s heart went from 80, 20, 120, 4, gone. I let out a scream I thought I abandoned when I was a toddler. Right then and there I became not only a mother without a child but a child without a mother.  My mother died.

*The following was my mother's obituary*

Dio la Benedice, Mom

Amelia MacDonald, 60, of Gilbert AZ passed away on November 17, 2007 surrounded by her loving family. She is survived by her husband, William John MacDonald and her four children, William MacDonald Jr. and his wife Ashlee, Maria Hanson and her husband Adam, Rebecca MacDonald and Michael MacDonald, her sister Angela Eager of Connecticut, niece Laura Newman, and nephews Joseph Altman and Daniel Rouleau, also from Connecticut, and several cousins and aunts from New York.
Amelia was born on December 22, 1946 in Potenza, Italy to the late Attilio and Teresa Saltarelli. She moved to the United States in October 1954 and grew up in Brooklyn, New York where she attended Eastern District High School. She moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut in 1977 and attended Sacred Heart University in Fairfield, CT, earning her Associates Degree in Accounting. In 1979 she met her husband William and married in 1981. Shortly after, they moved to Huntington, CT where they began their family, and moved to Gilbert, AZ in 1997.

Known to her friends as Amy, she was actively involved in and dedicated to all of her children’s activities, and followed their pursuits with passion. She was the principal of religious education for St. Lawrence Church in Huntington, CT for several years, and was active in the Hamilton High Band Booster and Shumway Elementary School PTO. She loved to knit and crochet afghans, doilies, and crafts for her children. She cherished Italian family traditions, cooking her “mean” sauce every Sunday, and maintained Italian customs for herself and her family.

She was a strong believer in family, education, the Catholic religion and standing up for what you believe in, even if you’re standing alone. She follows her first grandchild, Aryn Hanson into heaven who pre-deceased her on November 7, 2007. An inspiration to her children and pillar to her family, she will be remembered and missed dearly.

A memorial service and viewing will be held on Friday, November 23, from 6-9pm at Allen Funeral Home, 1130 S. Horne, Mesa. The funeral service will be held on Saturday, 11am November 24, at St. Anne Catholic Church, 440 E. Elliot Road, Gilbert. Interment will follow the service at Queen of Heaven cemetery, 1500 E. Baseline Road, Mesa.