Mothers are Angels

In Honor of Mothers' Day

The second woman to win my father’s heart touched mine in many ways. I believe that when my first Mom passed away, she sent an angel so we would still have a mother.

The other day, I thought about my first mother, Laura, and what a tragic loss her death was for everyone. My parents were happily married for 10 years. She died one week before my 4th birthday. My brother was only two.

The evening I thought of her, I picked up a favorite book of poetry. I randomly opened it and read a poem about someone who lost a loved one. They wished they could take back harsh words spoken. It reminded me of my parent’s heartbreaking story. They quarreled one night and didn’t make up before leaving for work the next morning. My mother died in a horrible car accident that day. My father carried the guilt with him for the rest of his life. The painful tragedy made it difficult for him to talk about her. It took me a long time to stop crying when hearing the word: Mother.

Wish I knew my Mom … heard her voice … recognized a little bit of her in me. I have only two memories of her. Through writing, I hope to remember more. There are so many things burning to be asked: What was it like growing up with eight brothers, being the second youngest? Did your parents talk about living in Italy? How did you and Dad meet? When did you know you were in love? What made you laugh, or cry? Are you still able to see us? Are you with Dad and my second Mom now?

I think the reason my second Mom, Connie, touched my life so much was because I had another chance to have a wonderful mother. I felt blessed. I remember one night when she bathed my sister and me. We were five or six. I used to call her Mommy Connie. Looking up at her I said, “Is it ok if I just call you Mommy?”

Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears as she hugged me. I knew it was ok.

I admired her creative talents, compassionate nature, and young spirit. Her fortitude amazed me. Mom played classical piano, raised four children, created two statues, and wrote about vampires. The various hair colors over years highlighted her creativity and rebellion. Born with auburn hair, she also wore it red with a blonde streak, let it fade to silvery gray, and bleached it blonde. It even turned green once when pool chlorine tainted the color. She had a multi-colored wig in the sixties. Shaved and painted her head while attending the Fashion Institute in L.A.

When my thirteen-year relationship ended, Mom called daily to make sure I was ok – to give me support and comfort. That’s what she did, not only for her children but for friends and strangers too. She didn’t do anything half-way. She delved in fully. It’s why she earned the nickname “Cannonball Connie.” As kids, we giggled and screamed when we saw her running towards the pool, holding her nose, and plunging like a cannonball into the pool, splashing buckets of water off the sides.

I am very grateful for the good fortune of having two mothers – my angels. I miss them both so much.