Remembering Mom and My Many Surrogate Mothers

This Mother's Day, I give thanks to the Lord for not only giving me my mom but also the many others who have made contributions as surrogate mothers in my upbringing.

I've been fortunate to have spent 62 years in a row with my mom on Mother's Day and this year will be no exception. With the exception of the first nine years of my married life, I've either lived with mom or like now, she has lived with me. Our closeness at times, I must be frank, has been the cause of some friction in our relationship but lately I've come to terms with it and consider what has transpired to be water under the bridge. With that being said, I do appreciate all that she went through as a widow with no means of income to do her best to raise me.

On this day, my thoughts also turn to three aunts who stepped in to help raise their litte "bambolotto" (boy doll, that's what they affectionately called me) in whatever way they could when I was a toddler. They did this at the same time they were struggling to raise their own families. I learned early on that it "took a village" to raise me.

As a kid, my mom was always in church and I would tag along. I learned from her to have a special place in my heart for the Blessed Mary, Our Mother in Heaven. so it's no wonder as I look back now there would be at least five earthly Mary's be a part of my life - a coincidence?

Three of them were my aunts - one was my mom's sister the other two were my uncle's wives. Each were different in many ways, but each instilled in me a sense of love that I carry forward to this day. If I was to choose a favorite which would be hard to do, it would be my mom's oldest sister only because she was the one that spent more time with and doing things for me. She's the one whose gold chain I've carried around my neck since I was baptized. She's the one who gave me a medal of Our Lady that's on that chain when I received Holy Communion. She went without splurging on herself to help clothe me doing all this on a meager income that her husband Giacomo (James) made as a merchant marine. She was the one who put me up anytime I went back to visit. Of the three she was the poorest yet the one gave so much. She's the one who used to send me a blessed palm each year which I recently found two buried in my missal. She was the one to die first. She died of breast cancer after having a radical mastectomy - that's all they knew back then. This Maria was the more solemn of the three, maybe because she sufferred so much.

My other aunt Maria was married to my mom's oldest brother, Giuseppe (Joseph), a fisherman. Maria was raising two boys of her own. Every time I would meet her I would always see her with a smile - it was infectious. She was a very plain and simple woman with very little education but whatever she lackied in education she made up for with the love and affection she had for her sons. She never hesitated to smile even with a gap from two missing teeth in front. Going to her house would always leave me in a good mood because there always was laughter - it was like going to the circus. It was a house where you could joke around and no one took offense.

My third aunt named Maria was my uncle Paolo's (Paul) wife. My uncle was a barber and between his income and the help from his brother-in-law who lived with them and had a fairly good business, they were the ones that were fairly well off. My aunt Maria was a tall stately woman and the one thing I remember most about her was that she always had sweet words on her lips. She would always welcome me with, my treasure, my love etc. It was as if she had honey coming out of her mouth. Whatever hugs my mother couldn't give were made up for in my visits to this aunt. Even when I visited her when I was 24, she still treated me with love and affection as if I were her little boy. She was the one who took me to Rome for the first time. These three Maria's rallied around my mother and made sure that they helped her because they didn't want to see me ending up in an orphanage. They spoiled me and continued to spoil each time I would go back to visit. This last Maria was an exceptional cook and I vividly remember her getting up early on the morning of my flight back to Boston to make three stuffed pizzas for me to bring back home. I carried those pizzas on the plane with me to make sure they would remain in tact. I've never tasted anything similar to those since.

I miss them dearly and I know that they are with the Lord.

The two other Marias that come to mind are two women who became good samaritans. It was around 1957. My mom and I had recently moved in to a cold water flat on the fourth floor of a four story apartment building. My mom struggled to furnish the apartment as best as she could, mainly with a lot of second hand stuff one which was a refrigerator that had no cover over the motor. I noticed that the motor was held up by a piece of wood, a two by four. Each time the motor would kick on it would spark, but not knowing much about these things, I never gave it much thought. This sparking would weeks later ignite the two by four and cause a fire which quickly spread through the apartment in the middle of the night. Thanks to my mom who smelled smoke we were able to escape with just a little smoke inhalation. The apartment was rendered unlivable for at least a week. My mom an I had nobody and very little money and no where to go. That's when the two Marias stepped up to help. Both lived in the building one on the second floor and the other the landlady on the third. Mary from the second floor apartment who I used to babysit her two small boys on occasion made room and took me in and my mom was taken in by Mary the landlady.
They never asked for anything and with their help we were able to eventually get back and start anew with the fourth floor apartment. I don't know where we would have ended up if these wonderful women hadn't helped.

These last two Marias, I believe are still alive, I just haven't seen them in quite a while. I thank God for them and all on Mother's day.