Thinking About my Mother on her Birthday

I like Facebook. It helps keep me in touch with family and friends. That’s a plus. I even like those annoying pop-ups—the ones that remind you of special events. Handy. But today FB poked me in the eye, though not intentionally: It reminded me that it's my Mother’s birthday. One problem, though . . . she died some years back.

My Mom and I didn’t have the best relationship. I’m sure it was my fault. I was a dumb kid (easily distracted) with poor people skills who giggled at the wrong times and asked a bunch of silly questions.

Though we didn’t get always along, I respected her. She survived the Great Depression, World War Two—and raising four rambunctious boys.

Mom grew up near Windber, Pennsylvania, a coal town named after the Berwind Coal Company. Her Dad (Joseph Cassanese) was born in Italy. He worked in the mines for 20 years. Retired. Then worked 20 years in construction. In both cases, he advanced to foreman. Not bad for a man who came to America with only a third-grade education and couldn’t speak English.

I respected Mom—and her family . . . hard-workers, all.

Mom wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor. That wasn’t going to happen. Why? The sight of blood made me sick—especially my own—and I always thought of lawyers as bottom-feeders who cheated widows out of their money. Who wanted to do that? Not me.

But back to Mom . . .

She was a great cook, devoted Christian, loyal friend, confidante to many, enemy to few—but if you got on her bad side, “fuh-ged-da-boud-it.” She was, after all, Calabrese.

Anyway, I’ve wished many times I could step in a time-machine and make things right with my Mom. That’ll never happen—and not just because time-travel isn’t possible. I think I’d just make different mistakes and mess things up all over again.

Let’s end on a positive note.

Mom had one of the best funerals I’ve ever been to. That may sound morbid, but it’s not. I think funerals are better than the day you’re born. Why? Because when a child’s born, you’ve no idea how he or she will turn out. Birth celebrations are joyful but shallow. At a funeral, you know what you’ve got. There’s a legacy to follow.

Mom’s memorial service was standing-room-only. There were family, friends, neighbors, and (as I recall) at least four pastors and a couple of choir directors.

That was no accident. During Mom’s life, she helped many people: She was a greeter at First Baptist Church of New Port Richey. She visited people at hospitals, nursing homes, and hospice. She remembered birthdays. Sent get-well cards. Opened her home to visitors when people from out-of-state came to Florida. Plus, she was stylish, smart, kind, and memorable.

That was Mom.

So, I guess I can forgive Facebook for the faux pas of reminding me it was Mom’s birthday. In fact, if it hadn’t, I might not have written this tribute. After all, Mom is one of those people who deserves to be remembered.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Video tribute to Mom: https://youtu.be/i8FOlFtzB_4