Alleluia!

As with all holidays now that my mom has passed away, celebrating the joy of Easter is bittersweet.

I can't help but feel torn in my heart when the recessional hymn at Easter Sunday Mass is {my favorite} Jesus Christ is Risen Today! So many memories flood my mind of my mom singing that hymn whether it be at mass, around the house, in the car... {we are a very musical family}. 

While the spiritual & intellectual side of me is rejoicing that Jesus' resurrection has allowed my mom to be united with her Savior, the human & emotional side of me is grieving that she's not still here with me.

A little over a year ago I read Scott Hahn's The Lamb's Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth {highly recommend if you haven't already read it} and his explanation of the mass helped me to redirect my perspective, especially on religious holidays. 

As if the mystery of transubstantiation of the bread and wine into Jesus' divine body and blood isn't enough of a reason to attend mass as frequently as possible, the presence of all the angels, saints, and holy men and women of God who have gone before us added a whole new bonus for this little girl at heart who desperately misses her Mommy. God is so merciful and understanding of our weak human nature that I truly believe he uses a relationship as special as that of a mother and her child/a child and her mother to help us grow closer to Him.

I have learned to crave Mass, not only spiritually, in order to worship and receive the Eucharist, but humanly as well because, it is at Mass that I am the closest to my dear mom. How special that on all the most important of holidays & events - Easter, Christmas, Christenings, Weddings, and even Mother's Day we attend Mass because it is there that we get to unite our worship with that of all the angels, saints, and holy men and women of God.

So, this year, just like every other year since my mom passed away, I got choked up as I sang the third verse of  Jesus Christ is Risen Today: 


But the pains which he endured, Alleluia!
Our salvation have procured; Alleluia!
Now above the sky he’s king, Alleluia!
Where the angels ever sing. Alleluia!


 I had to stop singing in order to hold back the waterfall of tears that were otherwise inevitable. But this time, what brought tears to my eyes, was the image of my mom, singing the same words as me in perfect worship, along with all the angels, of Jesus Christ, our Risen Lord.

How could I possibly not be happy for her?

Happy Easter! He is Risen! Alleluia!

The Act of Saying Goodbye

Sometimes saying goodbye to one we love is more about actions than it is about words.

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A couple of Sundays ago my family celebrated my Grandmother's birthday. Knowing it would most likely be her last, we tried our best to make it an extra special gathering.

My Aunt prepared a delicious, moist Sauerbraten and buttery mashed potatoes and my sister baked a classic yellow cake from scratch with homemade chocolate frosting. And from the moment my Aunt asked that I bring bread and a salad, my domesticated heart did a little leap for joy because I knew exactly what I would prepare!

Up until my mom died, my parents always hosted Christmas at their home. Both family and friends were invited and there was always enough space at their dining room table for more. 

The first year after I was married was one of my favorite Christmases ever because my husband and I, in all of our newlywed bliss, having been married a whole three months at this point, got to spend the day announcing that we were expecting our first little bundle of joy! (I'm pretty sure that was the best Christmas gift I ever gave my mom - even though, of course, she already knew since I had told her a few days prior, mere hours after reading that positive result. ;)

It was also this year that my mom decided to delegate a very important job to me. She asked me to prepare her much-loved, highly-anticipated, from-scratch Sweet Crescent Rolls to be served with Christmas dinner.

I was very nervous to take on such a responsibility but she reassured me that I could do it and I'm so glad she did! Since then I have been the designated Sweet Crescent Roll baker for holidays (we serve them at Easter as well) and I got to practice making them and harass my mom with questions enough times that I felt pretty confident in the process by the time she died.

Well, when my Aunt suggested I bring bread to what would probably be my Grandma's last birthday party, I knew these Sweet Crescent Rolls would be perfectly appropriate for the occasion.

Now, I wouldn't be surprised if my Grandma wasn't even able to eat more than half of her roll but, for someone like my Grandma, who's love languages are, without a doubt, food and actions, my basket of warm, freshly baked rolls was the sweetest gift that I could give.

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I have always been a tea person. While I love the aroma and ambiance of coffee, I am so affected by caffeine that I have never felt the need or desire to start a habit that is so difficult to break. So, tea is my drink of choice.

When I was little and my mom would take us to visit my Grandma, they would always drink a cup of tea together. For my sisters and me she would prepare a kettle of 'baby tea' which is, in my family, mildly brewed decaffinated tea, sweetened with honey and watered down with milk. There at her kitchen table all the girls would enjoy a tea party complete with lots of fresh fruit - grapes, sliced pears, and cubed cantelope - and cookies - Lorna Doone's, Social Tea Biscuits or, my favorite, her homemade Anazette Biscuits.

Since those days, many cups of tea have been enjoyed between my Grandma and me. Regardless of who's home it is at, even the shortest of visits provided ample time for a quick cup of tea together.

Perhaps that is why I felt a bit sentimental when it came time for my Grandma's birthday cake to be served and my Aunt asked us if we would like a cup of tea. (Ironically, we both opted for hot water with lemon and honey but it was a warm beverage all the same.) This precious memory of our last cup of tea together is one I will take with me and cherish for the rest of my life.

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This past week my Grandma's condition has rapidly progressed for the worse. Each day she is much weaker than the day before. 

Such a blessing it was that earlier this week, my husband came home from work in time to bring the boys and me down for what we planned on being a quick visit but turned into our last dinner with my Grandma. Since that night she has not been strong enough to sit up in a chair any more so it gives me so much joy to know that we were able to enjoy a family meal, all together.

Before we left I was able to look her into her eyes and say those phrases we often wait until death to say: 

"I love you so much!"

"I'm sorry for all the times I've failed you."

"Thank you for all you've done for me."

 &

"Give Mommy a kiss and a hug for me when you get there!"

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Yesterday I just needed to see my Grandma. Knowing that her condition had worsened significantly since I had seen her only forty-eight hours prior, I wanted to kiss her cheek, hold her hand, and stroke her hair. I wanted her to know I was there, even if briefly, and tell her that I love her.

With my ever-faithful sister by my side, I made the spur of the moment decision to forget the piles of laundry and stacks of dishes and make the trip down to see this woman who has enriched my life so immensely. 

Well, am I ever glad I did!

I left my two older boys in the car (much to their dismay) to be entertained by my sister and aunt while my youngest and I went in to find my beautiful olive-skinned, black-haired (no hair coloring at 89 years of age!), black-eyed Sicilian beauty of a grandmother, lying in a hospital bed in the living room looking very much the way my mom did when she died almost exactly two years ago. (She is dying of nearly the same type and growth of cancer as my mom did, making it a double whammy on my heart since I am still grieving the loss of my mom.)

After my stomach did a flip-flop and my eyes filled with tears, my baby and I made our way over to her to say hello. Well, my happy, smiley seven-month-old boy provoked the biggest smile from this weak dying woman that I could have imagined. Her entire face lit up the moment she saw him.

"What a joy he is," she said over and over! "He looks like you, Laura!"

While I was able to share the gift of my child with her, she was able to share the gift of her smile with me. Such a simple exchange but so much more precious than most of the gifts we exchange in our short life span here on earth.

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A cup of tea, a buttered roll, a smile between the youngest and oldest members of our family: all of these things are my way of saying goodbye to my dear Grandmother who has influenced the person I am today in so many ways.

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And with the wisdom of the saints in my mind and on my heart:

Do not look forward in fear to the changes of life;

Rather look to them with full hope that as they arise,

God, whose very own you are, will lead you safely through all things;

And when you cannot stand it, 

God will carry you in His arms.

Do not fear what my happen tomorrow;

The same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you today and every day.

He will either shield you from suffering or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations.

St. Francis de Sales

I Remember Mama: May

May has always been and probably always will be my favorite month of the year.

Here in the Northeast, May always means the temperatures are finally in the 70's and all the trees and flowers are budding so that when you look out the window you are delighted by a beautiful array of pastel colors everywhere you look.

For my family, growing up, May always meant the start of BBQ season and outdoor celebrations: Memorial Day, Mother's Day, First Communions, dance recitals... Not to mention my birthday!

When I think about May I am comforted by thirty years' worth of happy memories. And twenty-nine years worth of those memories include my mom.

My mom always made a point to go above and beyond when it came to our birthdays. It wasn't that she did anything elaborate or expensive, it was just the little things that made my sisters and me feel extra special on our big day.

I remember waking up every year on my birthday to the sound of her scotch taping streamers and balloons onto my door. 

I remember being so excited to pick out my birthday dinner - the same thing every year: Chicken Cutlets (with honey to dip), Rice and Green Beans. 

I remember the hours we spent together, planning and preparing an elaborate treat for me to share with my class. One year it was chocolate covered marshmallow treats. Another year it was pretzel rods dipped in caramel, peanuts and chocolate. 

I remember the excitement of planning my themed birthday party. My favorite was a Garden theme. Lemonade was served out of a watering can and a chocolate pudding dirt cake was served in a flower pot with plastic daisies on top. 

I remember the anticipation I felt before opening my gift from my mom. It wasn't the size or expense of the gift that made it special, rather, the thought that my mom put into it. She always knew that particular something that I was really hoping to receive without me even having to tell her! 

All these thoughtful, creative gestures on my mom's part, bundled together year after year have produced one grown-up girl who still absolutely loves her birthday. 

And God in his goodness is truly a personal, caring and detail-oriented God.

Two years ago, the last birthday I was blest to celebrate before my mom's passing, God gave me the very best birthday gift in the world.

My beautiful baby boy.

On the evening of my twenty-ninth birthday, after a very quick, easy and I can honestly say painless labor (my other birthday gift :), my second son was born. My mom was there the moment he arrived. She knew how much I had hoped he would be born on my birthday. She was there was we discovered he was a boy. She knew that meant he would be named after her beloved father.

In the midst of all the craziness of giving birth, I distinctly remember looking up at my mom, brand new baby boy in my arms, and making eye contact with her. Joy-filled eyes met joy-filled eyes: no words were necessary.

I will never forget that moment. Truly a gift.

I cannot think of a better way to celebrate my final birthday with the beautiful woman who gave birth to me on the same day, twenty-nine years prior.

As I approach my second birthday without my mom, my feelings are bittersweet. While nothing will take away the sorrow I feel over not getting to hear her wish me a Happy Birthday, I find so much joy in the fact that, for the rest of my life, I get to share my birthday festivities with my sweet little Birthday Buddy.

Before taking my mom, He gave me that gift. God truly is so good.

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For everything there is a season. 

A time for every activity under heaven. 

A time to be born and a time to die. 

A time to plant and a time to harvest. 

A time to kill and a time to heal. 

A time to tear down and a time to build up. 

A time to cry and a time to laugh. 

A time to grieve and a time to dance. 

A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones. 

A time to embrace and a time to turn away. 

A time to search and a time to quit searching. 

A time to keep and a time to throw away. 

A time to tear and a time to mend. 

A time to be quiet and a time to speak. 

A time to love and a time to hate. 

A time for war and a time for peace. 

-Ecclesiastes 3:1 - 8

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In October 2013, after a two year battle with breast cancer, my mom passed away at the age of 55. More about her here. All the flowers pictured are from her house.

I Remember Mama: Her Love for New Life

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I am pregnant. I think it must be in our nature to long for our mother's tender touch and reassuring voice when we are carrying a child of our own.

I know I was incredibly blest to have my mom available during my first two pregnancies and I am missing her profoundly with this one.

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." - Psalm 139:13

With all my complaints of nausea, fatigue, back ache, etc., it wasn't while struggling with any of these symptoms that I missed my mom the most these past months.

The moment that left the sharpest twinge of pain in my heart was when my husband and I announced to our families that we were expecting another baby.

We did it at our son's birthday party over the Summer since the gathering included only our immediate families. They were all thrilled, of course, but their excitement was nothing compared with how my mom would have reacted.

What should have been a moment of joy, for me, turned into a struggle to hold in the tears.

I know that my mom would have been jumping up and down, cheering, laughing, and maybe even crying a little over our announcement, just like she did when we announced that we were expecting our first two children.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; Before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations." - Jeremiah 1:5

In her own experience, infertility had been the cross God chose to bless her with and though her dream was to have ten children, she was only given four: three on earth and one in heaven.

I am sure that her own struggle with infertility helped to fuel her openness to life. And I am grateful that by her example, she taught me to recognize the eternal value of each and every child.

It breaks my heart to know that my mom will not be here to kiss, hold, and meet this precious new baby that is growing inside of me but I trust that she will be watching over her newest grandchild throughout his or her life.

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note: My mom died in October of 2013 at the age of 55 after a two year battle with breast cancer.

I Remember Mama: Her Christmas Cookies

I simply couldn't let Christmas come and go without sharing something about my mom. And since I've been busying myself in the kitchen with lots of sugar and flour these past few days, I decided to share a memory of my mom that has situated itself on the forefront of my mind lately.

My mom raised three spoiled girls. For my sisters and me, Christmas just isn't Christmas without my mom's delicious assortment of Christmas cookies. (And I could probably name a neighbor or two who feel the same way.)

So beloved were my mom's cookies that she even made a plate for each of the eighteen tables at our wedding. (I am so thankful our wedding photographer captured a picture of them.)

Last year was our first Christmas without my mom and, among many other things, her cookies were sorely missed. Although I have been baking my own Christmas assortment for the past three years, I am the first to admit that my cookies do not even come close to comparing with my mom's.

But practice makes perfect so each year I plan to make an attempt at replicating at least one of her traditional cookies.

My mom's typical plate of Christmas Cookie included:

Cream Cheese Cookies

Linzer Tarts

Russian Tea Balls

Cocoa Crinkles

California Tarts

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

Peanut Butter Cups

Tri-Color Cookies

Magic Cookie Bars

Chocolate Chip Cookies

...and most likely a few others that I can't think of right now!

I think what so many of us love about the Christmas season is all the warm traditions and happy memories associated with this time of the year. As much as I miss my mom, I feel blest to be able to pass the warm traditions she taught me onto my children and, in turn, create happy memories for them.

Hope you have a very Blessed Christmas!

note: My mom died in October of 2013 at the age of 55 after a two year battle with breast cancer.

I Remember Mama: Her Voice

My mom had a beautiful voice. Whether singing or talking, her voice held a sweet musical quality that was comforting to listen to.

"Let your speech at all times be gracious..." Colossians 4:6

In college, she was a member of The Chorale. It is there that she learned to train her voice. While she would not have made a spectacular soloist, as a loud, clear alto, her voice was perfect for a choir setting.

Growing up, I can remember her singing songs from her Chorale days. For a while, there were many songs that I had only ever heard the alto harmony version of! One example is A Wonderful Day Like Today.

My mom's love for singing carried through to her spiritual life, singing praise and worship songs as she went about her daily tasks. It wasn't until I was older that I realized not all moms sing Christian songs as they fold laundry. As a little girl, I often watched my mom stop whatever chore she was working on in order to close her eyes and lift her hands in praise: no accompanying music required.

At Mass, my mom was that woman who, without realizing it, competed with the lector leading the songs. Many a family would turn around afterwards and compliment my mom for her beautiful voice. And while such compliments may give some a little ego boost, it didn't even phase my mom: the way she saw it, her voice was just a gift from God that she in turn was giving back to him in praise.

"Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving and give him praise; Let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise." Psalm 95: 1-2

All this is not to say that my mom could hit every note perfectly... There may have been a few songs that gave my sisters and I reasons to tease her, especially since one of her favorite singers was Sandi Patti. ;)

Synonymous with her nature, even my mom's speaking voice was gentle and soothing. As a teacher and mother she most certainly had her assertive, no-nonsense voice when necessary but even then it never strayed from it's calm, collected beauty.

I believe it had something to do with the fact that, for the most part, she simply did not speak if her words did not have a positive purpose. She never gossiped and nary a complaint left her mouth, even during the two years that she endured chemotherapy.

"She opened her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness." Proverbs 31:26

note: My mom passed away in October of 2013 at the age of 55 after a two year battle with breast cancer. 

I Remember Mama

The one year anniversary of my mom's death is quickly approaching. With it have come a flood of emotions, mostly tears, over the past couple of weeks.

This past year I have had to learn more than I ever wanted to know about grief. Beforehand, I knew very little.

I had watched other people grieve. For example, I distinctly remember my mom grieving her dad's slow deterioration due to Alzheimer's Disease and eventual death. I certainly learned a lot from watching her.

I had also studied the role of a nurse regarding grief during Nursing School, memorizing the different stages, studying what to say and what not to say to the grieving patient, etc. I suppose I learned a little from that as well.

However, there is no way to really understand grief unless you have truly experienced it yourself.

Before losing my mom, I had been blest to have only lost relatively distant family members... My grandfather, my cousin, my aunts, all of whom I was close to and missed dearly but none of whom were as near and dear to me as my own beloved mother.

Everyone grieves differently. While I am an extremely emotional person and cry very easily, I do not like to cry in front of other people. I get embarrassed and worry that I am making the other person uncomfortable so, if I feel the tears coming, I either retreat to a private place to "finish" or I force myself stop.

Since talking about my mom usually brings a flood of tears, I tend to not talk about her to other people (aside from my immediate family, of course) or quickly change the topic if she does come up since I know that I cannot make it through a conversation about her without breaking down.

Since I am the absolute epitome of an extrovert, it actually really helps me in the grieving process to be able talk about her.

My mom was such an amazing, and yet humble person that I have always loved to brag about her and just because she died, that hasn't changed. If anything, I feel an even stronger desire to share her life now that she is gone.

Before she died, my mom used to visit me every Tuesday evening after work. My dad worked the night shift on Tuesdays so, rather than go home to an empty house, she would come around four o'clock, stay for dinner with my husband, children, and me, and leave around seven o'clock. It was wonderful and yet, I totally took it for granted.

Not surprisingly, the tears often come on Tuesday evenings around four o'clock.

In honor of my mom, I plan on using Tuesdays to share a little about her life. My goal is not to make this a weekly thing, (since if you follow my blog you know that I am incredibly inconsistent) but rather to share about her whenever God puts it on my heart to do so.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints."
-Psalm 116: 15