When I was a little kid, whenever my Mom would drive me somewhere - and she drove me everywhere - whether it was basketball practice, summer camp, a friend's house, wherever, when the song, "Here Comes The Sun" by the Beatles would come on the radio, Mom would remind me every time, without fail, that when I was a baby she would sing this song to me.
"It was your favorite song," she used to say. "You loved it."
Whatever, Mom. At the time, I didn't know who the Beatles were, and I sure didn't remember ever liking that song, but I just took her word for it. Years later, when I would finally develop a taste for good music, I remembered that song. I actually grew to like it - still do, in fact. It became one of my favorites. Maybe Mom was right, then again, Mom was always right.
"Mothers know everything bud," she would remind me at least once a week.
Well, a little less than a week ago, I don't think anyone knew that Mom was gonna be taken from us, not even her.
When I arrived at the Emergency Room of St. Vincent's Hospital last Tuesday, in the middle of a nasty thunderstorm, my own world quickly turned as dark and gray as the one outside.
"They...think...she's...dead...Mario," my brother Matt finally spit out to me. One look at my crying father told me this was no terrible nightmare. This was a horrific reality. Mom had passed on from this life.
There was nothing we, or anyone else, could do about it, so we gathered together, as a family, in the waiting room at the hospital.
We cried, as a family.
We hugged, as a family.
We told each other we were gonna stay stay strong and get through this tough time. Again, as a family.
We needed each other, but we all also needed a moment to ourselves. I needed to get out of that room, I needed some fresh air. So I took a walk outside.
As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sun was shining bright and Mom started singing my favorite song to me.
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it's alright.
Well Ma, it might take a little while but it's gonna be alright. And since you know everything, I'll just take your word for it. In the meantime, we'll remember you for the wonderful woman you were - wife, mother, daughter, aunt, friend.
Mom was a giver in the truest sense of the word. She gave herself to my Dad as his devoted wife of 27 years. As a mother, she gave life to me and my three beautiful siblings, not to mention hundreds of car rides to camps, practices, recitals, friend's houses and everywhere else under the sun. She gave generously to her family and friends, baking dozens and dozens of cookies during the month of December so everyone could have a full tin for Christmas. Jay, she still needs yours back by the way.
Mom gave and gave and gave some more and never asked for anything in return, except maybe for a medium iced caramel swirl latte with skim milk, no sugar, whipped cream and extra caramel if you just happened to be going by Dunkin' Donuts on your way home.
Well, Mom's not gonna be at home anymore, but that's OK because Nana has some company in heaven now. The two of them will always be with us, always watching over us.
I miss you Mom.
We all miss you.
And as Sean and Alicia told you every time they saw you or talked to you on the phone, "Auntie, we love you."
Mom, we all love you.