I know, I rant a lot… but while I do rant, I do have a lot that I am grateful for.
I met my husband just over 29 years ago and after being *very* afraid to meet his (Sicilian born) mother (READ: Oh my son, my son…), I found that she was amazing! I had no idea at the time the affect she would have on my life at that time. Of course his brothers made it there business to make the first girl that Prince Charming brought home feel awkward… but that’s another story.
Her passing this month is the saying goodbye to the woman who was truly a mother to me in every way that a mother should be, and who taught me everything I know about being a mother. However, one thing–she didn’t ever let loose and rant like I do, LOL… but she was a good listener!
She was there for me for all the births of my children–and even acted as ‘bouncer’ when people showed up and it was undesirable that they hold my new baby (i.e., too much perfume, a slight cold, hairy or itchy looking sweater, etc.). And the way she did it was sublime… she would pick up the baby for the visitor to ‘see’ but never actually ‘give’ over the baby… and my family and friends didn’t want to insult my mother-in-law, LOL!
She was someone who made it her business to ‘be there’ and not in the way that she was the center of attention, but the worker-bee who makes it happen in the background. Her legacy is: Show up and be of help–and don’t ask, just do. The biggest insult you could do was to thank her–family don’t need to thank. Her thing was ‘someday you will be there for someone else‘–meaning, in her own way, ‘pay it forward.’ She was the person in the background and on the occasion that someone would point out her value, she suddenly didn’t speak English and disappear…
And everything she did was done with love. All the little dresses, coats, pajamas… I’ve saved all but the most WORN OUT PJ’s. The piece of fruit and socks in the girls stockings at Christmas and the handmade PJ’s–you choose your fabric. I remember putting away all the beautiful little handmade things with tears in my eyes that the girls have moved on, but keeping them for their children–made all the more special that she made them, sewing love into each stitch.
Okay, so I’m crying, but not for her, but for our loss.
