Last Sunday I visited my mother.  She was in a great mood and I felt her love permeate like warm sunshine. Her kind, supportive words gave me that happy feeling inside that reminds me how lucky I am to have such a great mom.  She kept telling  me what a beautiful person I was, and I replied, “Of course I am, you are my mother, and I am just like you!” She looked at me with a confused look on her face and was quiet for a few seconds.  I could tell she was searching her brain and grasping for a memory.  Then she asked me with innocence in her voice, “Am I really your mother?” 

My mother was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s when I graduated from college thirteen years ago.  It is now so advanced that although she has met my two-year-old daughter, Mia, several times, she will never remember her. I am grateful that she is still on this planet so I can hug her and see her, but she is not the same capable, strong woman that she used to be.

My mother came to this country from Floridia, a small town in Sicily, forty-two years ago after she married my father who had been living in the states since he was a teen. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for her to live in a strange country, not knowing the language, and being away from her family. She was very brave. Even though she stayed home to raise my older sister and me, she embodied being a working mom in every sense.  Always cleaning, cooking, and taking care of her family. Like, ALWAYS. She was the quintessential housewife and devoted mom. She was so meticulous as a homemaker she would even iron towels and our underwear!  But I digress.

Everyday I think of her and everything she taught me. Not only about life, but of MOTHERHOOD. If ever there was a time I needed her most, this is it.  

So to survive this mothering thing without her by my side, I always have her voice in my head.  Talking in Italian, of course, since she never really did learn to speak English.  I even find myself saying the very same things to my husband and toddler that my mother would nag, I mean instruct, us to do for our own good.  Here are some examples:

While reading, please imagine a five foot tall woman with the strength of ten men following you around the house shouting at 20,000 decibels. You don’t want to mess with Mama Lucia.

State quieta e mangia tua pasta!
Sit still and eat your pasta.

Non caminare scalza!
Stop walking around barefoot.

Mette la giacca!
Put on your jacket.

Attento per la face!  
Literally it means watch out for that face, but she really meant “Put on some sunscreen dammit!”

And I also look at pictures like this.

Mia and her cousin Joey

My mom makes this exact face when she’s thinking.  It’s her quirky habit that, somehow, Mia picked up.  Mia is also bossy and yells (or I prefer to say, enthusiastically expresses her emotions) like my mom does.  In fact, I don’t really think of Mia as her granddaughter, she’s more like…my mother’s daughter.  Does that make sense?  My daughter, just like your children, are proof that life goes on.  They possess the best that’s in all of us and carry it through to the next generation. 

Even though Mia is too young to understand, and my mom is unable to remember, they are two peas from the same pod.  But Mia will know her, because I will teach her all about family and where she came from.  And it is most comforting to already watch Mia, upon seeing a picture of her grandmother, point and say “Nonna!”   To which I always reply, “Yes, that is your Nonna and she loves you very, very much.”


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