My Angel

Once upon a time, a school boy gazed beyond a playground fence. There were many school girls to choose from but only one angel. The boy pointed and said to his friends, do you see that girl over there? One day she will be my wife.

What the soul writes in the heart, so shall it be. A simple wish; destiny

I don't know much about my fathers childhood. My mothers, I had heard of. She had to raise her siblings when her mother was ill. And her mother was often ill. I can't help but think she gave up much of her childhood, being a care-giver rather than being a kid. She was a God send; an angel. My father and mother married years later and I was one of seven who were lucky enough to be called a Child of Jacqueline and Joe.

Angels don't pray for wings, they just pray. Wings are heavens gift.

My mother was like a real life Cinderella. I am so grateful that the glass slipper fit and that the prince took her as his bride. Her care-giving years were not behind her. Caring was her calling. She was the best mother a kid could ask for. She was a selfless servant of God. A strict devout Catholic. I can still see her sitting in the backroom at home, smoking a cigarette, drinking her morning coffee pausing while she said the rosary. She said her rosary every morning and went to mass almost every day. If there is one phrase she'd want the world to know, it would be this: more things are brought about by prayer than the world will ever know. Her faith was her strength. She was an indeed an angel. If anyone was in need, she's be there. A beacon of hope, during loss. A pillar of strength, when all hope was gone. A shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen. Her kitchen table was always a welcome safe place for coffee and conversation. Our home had two opened doors and two open hearts, waiting for anyone who needed comfort and love. Every knock was greeted with; Come on in!

Find your song and sing it every day

She was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. She could have been a star of the silver screen. She told me once that she wanted to be a singer. She was a wonderful singer. I remember her singing, what will be, will be, while washing dishes. Lots of dishes. She had set list that would rival any crooner. After a big family get together we could be at the sink for very, very long time. It's easy to tough things when you have song in your heart.  I remember being a small boy, standing on a chair next to her, drying dishes, putting them in the cupboard and listening in awe. She sang in the church choir. It didn't matter if it was Sunday service or a funeral mass, she was there. I grew up with a love of music. My mother and I sang together at home and on the road. I remember the old hi-fi we had growing up. Her collection of albums. From Glenn Miller to Any Williams. Big bands, crooners and Christmas. Our house was filled with music. CKWW played old stuff and the old stuff is what we loved the most. Speaking of old stuff. When I use to drive my mother and father down to St Pete's for the winter, I'd throw on Cd's or cassettes. Willie Nelson was a given. If I was going to drive I had Willie on. His stardust album was our favorite. She use to say to me, I'll listen to his music if I don't have to look at him. She wasn't a fan of long haired outlaws I guess. The one thing you can't lose is the love of music. I am so blessed and thankful for that.

When my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's the one thing I could count on even if she forgot who I was, was that we could sing an old familiar song. I would start with s'wonderful she would  right on cue sing it's marvelous and together we would sing that you should care for me. Indeed she was wonderful and marvelous. There were many songs to sing and we sang them all. The mind can't take away joy. There's a sign I saw at her rest home which reads; forget your age and live your life. I would add.  Find your song and sing it everyday. My mother is in heaven now but I still hear singing in my mind. I'm singing too, mom. I have many more stories to tell about my home, my parents and my journey from boyhood to adulthood. I do hope you stop by again. I'll end this one with this:

Once upon a time a small boy grew up to be a man. A very very grateful man.

Happy Birthday, Mom.