Michael J. Fox once said, “Family is not an important thing, it’s everything.” Family was truly everything in our lives. We depended on each other for so many things. Boy and I worked hard to hold ourselves together and make the best of everything despite the trials and tribulations we faced on a daily basis. We never wanted to complain or ask too much of others. We didn’t know how. We were both too proud to ask for help and we knew we’d eventually make it through the hard times. We were grateful for everything we had but the most important thing was our family. Despite the adversity that we sometimes faced, we always grew stronger together. The people in our ‘normal’ world brought us joy and hope for the future, but nobody comprehended our situation or took care of us like our family.

We often counted on our extended family for support despite the distance between us. There was no one else I trusted more to take care of my little girl than my mother-in-law. She had the strength and energy to keep up with her when she was little and she was there for us when we just needed some time away.  Those times when she would babysit so Boy and I could reconnect and get away were essential to our survival. We rarely asked anyone to babysit. It was such a chore when our girl was little. There were the medications, the possibility of seizures, the special diet and the behaviors.  I always felt guilty and would worry constantly about what trouble my girl was getting into. I would rather deal with it all myself than put someone else through it.  I think I can count on both my hands the times we asked friends or acquaintances to stay with her. But, my mother-in-law was the exception, and I can honestly say I had no worries when she was around. She was there from the beginning and every step along the way. She would even take Baby Girl and Baby Boy for weeks at a time in the summer; giving me a break from the craziness of all three. Her help and support was just one example of how family was everything in our little world. My parents, my in-laws and my sister-in-law supported us in so many ways and I consider myself lucky to have all of them in my life.

Whether our families supported us financially or emotionally, they were always there for us. My own mother, who instinctively knew what I was going through, even if I rarely spoke a word to her about it, would spend hours praying and worrying about all of us. She loved her grandchildren unconditionally and spent her final years being simply, Nonna. She had waited so long to become a grandmother and loved every minute of it. My sweet mother, who never wanted to burden anyone, would cry out to me often during her final years demanding, “Why are you here? Go home. I don’t want you here. You have enough problems of your own, you don’t need to take care of me. I don’t want you to see me like this.” The answer to my question of why I kept so much to myself and why I didn’t want to burden anyone with my problems was staring up at me through the eyes of Dementia. And, in those worried and troubled eyes, I saw so much of myself.

Family was everything. Once my mother began her decline into that dreaded place called ‘Dementia,’ I knew I had to move my parents closer to me. Despite everything else I had going on, I wanted to be there for her and I wanted her to spend her last few years with her precious grandchildren. Nothing made her happier. Nothing made her smile like being with her babies. Even though she was often confused, she knew she didn’t want any of us taking care of her or worrying about her. That was exactly what I had always felt myself; “It’s my problem, I’ll deal with it, don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine.” It suddenly all made sense to me; I was just like her. But, nothing made me more proud than to be like her. Nothing made me more proud than to be like that woman who had given more of herself to others than anyone had ever given her.

My mother’s story was one of strength, courage, perseverance and faith. Born to Italian immigrants in 1927, she lived in pre-WWII Brooklyn, in a tiny one bedroom apartment along with five other children and her parents. Her family survived the Great Depression, sometimes forgoing many things, like, clean clothes, shoes without holes and three meals a day; but, that’s another story. She lost her own mother at the age of five and then her cherished father at fifteen. She spent years being shuffled between her older sisters; sleeping on their couches, living in their tiny apartments with their husbands and their children. She worked, went to school, paid her sisters room and board and still found time and money to spend with her beloved nieces and nephews. She grew into a beautiful young woman who contemplated becoming a nun so she could help others; much like the nuns at her school that had helped her after her mother passed away. But, that would not be her fate, and instead, she would marry my father and selflessly help him raise his two younger brothers after his parents died within months of each other.

Always helping others, that was her legacy. I never heard her complain about any part of her life; she was only humbled by it. She minimized the struggles and the suffering of her youth growing up without a mother, and kept so much of it silent. When she became a mother herself, she was overwhelmed with joy. Finally, a family of her own. But, it wouldn’t be easy for her and much like my own journey, she found herself often overwhelmed caring for a sick child. She must have felt the same guilt, exhaustion and confusion. Her baby boy was always sick, struggling to breath and allergic to so many things. She did her best and continued to have faith in the world around her. I know when I came along, I was loved beyond belief. My mother’s example of unconditional love has played an important part in my own life. Her example of selflessness, kindness and compassion are with me each and every day. Even during her final days, she didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Family was everything and having a mother as selfless as mine was an honor.

In her eyes I saw a child, whose mother lost too young. 

A child faced with hardships; a selfless journey just begun.

In her eyes I saw a girl; now a father’s left her side.

A girl without a home; left to sisters to reside.

In her eyes I saw a woman; working hard and never wanting.

A woman full of faith; trusting God was always watching.

In her eyes I saw a bride; giving so much love to others. 

A bride whose selfless heart, would raise two orphaned brothers. 

In her eyes I saw a mother; her greatest deed unbound. 

A mother’s love unending, her purpose finally found. 

In her eyes I saw a martyr, quietly grieving for her son.

A martyr who’d give anything to see that grief undone. 

In her eyes I saw a grandma; bursting love from deep within.

A grandma loving life, through the laughter of her kin. 

In her eyes I saw a soul, sometimes lost and full of fear.

A soul that didn’t know me, as I shed a silent tear. 

In my eyes she is an angel; one that guides me down my road.

An angel who softly whispers, you’ll never be alone.