We Had A Time

Over the weekend Aunt Abbe and cousin Stacey came to visit.  We talked about Weight Watchers and the trials and tribulations we've been experiencing.  We gave each other exercise tips and discussed new recipes.  We talked about our feelings: how it feels to be overweight, how it feels to lose weight, how it differs from how we thought it would be. 

We discussed the next Turkey Trot, and I convinced Stacey to do it with me!  Stacey and Leah went swimming for a bit.  Aunt Abbe told me she send me some of her old pants that are now my new size. 

We had a good weekend, and, like you could imagine, we got to the part of the conversation that talks about how you were not there to talk with us.  How you would have been making this weight loss journey with us; how you would have been interested in the 2 point zucchini muffin recipe; how you would have resisted doing the Turkey Trot but ultimately would have tried.

The fact of the matter is that you should have been there.  But you aren't.  YOU gave up.  You looked for an easy out and you didn't find one.  And, therefore, you missed out.  We had a time.  And you weren't there.

The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story; Part Four

It was Thanksgiving 1983. We had just purchased out first home 4 months prior. The week before I found out I was pregnant with our second child.



Ray III was 3 yrs old. Because I grew up in a Jewish household, I just loved all the Christmas holiday things. The family, the food, the gifts - meaning the shopping, the wrapping and cooking ~ alot of things people thought a chore I thought was fun. Since I was new to all this I also over indulged in shopping and planning.



A few weeks before Christmas I started spotting. I went to the doctor and he told me to stay off of my feet as much as possible.



I did, but it was the holidays and I also had a toddler at home and a husband who worked long hours. Anyone who lived nearby was busy in their own lives.



As usual we were planning to go to North Jersey for Christmas. It felt like one of those changes was going to get the best of us within the next couple of years because we were the only family members that lived down the shore at the time. We could still travel with little Ray, but we felt in the near future we would want him waking up in his own home on Christmas to share the excitement.



It was a bitter cold winter. I mean bitter. Below freezing wind factors.



Christmas Eve day I started spotting more. Then the pain started.....and continued. I couldn't/shouldn't leave my bed. I was hoping I wasn't miscarrying.



Uncle Ray stopped on the way home from work on Christmas Eve, picked up a roast and some fixings that he could put together for us for Christmas dinner at the last minute since we couldn't travel. I told him to go up north with Ray and spend the holiday there. He wouldn't go.



5:30 that morning I woke up in extreme pain and just knew from the depth of my soul I just miscarried. Here is was Christmas morning. I had to call the doctor. He said maybe not, just stay off my feet. I knew differently because the pain stopped out of the blue.



I cried for the baby I just miscarried. I cried because I pulled my husband and son away from the extended family for the day. I will never, ever forget Ray's words to me at that moment....."Abbe, you and Ray are my family. We are here together. This is how it's going to be from now on as our family grows."



That was the turning point in us running up north on Christmas. We realized that our immediate family was important and we had to alter tradition. We found our way over the years how to visit a day or two later. It's was all ok.



Later into the morning I called my friend Colleen to tell her what had just happened. She invited us to stop by later in the evening for dessert with her parents and family. It was the start of a new tradition. Now 27 yrs laters I still stop by late on Christmas night. Through that 27 yrs, she's divorced and has a new segment to her family, Uncle Ray died, her Dad died who always made the plum pudding Uncle Ray craved for every year, the kids have grown, sometimes one of our kids are there, sometimes not....however it falls, it works.



The next morning I went to the doctor and the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew.



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The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story; Part Three

Pat and Me

We didn’t become friends as kids playing ball or dressing up dolls. We didn’t become friends as teens, giggling about boys. We became friends and in-law status in our young adulthood.

Ironically, we were pulling at opposite directions from the same nucleus. She was about to get married and learning to establish herself as a wife and learning to navigate away from her parents, and I was involved with her oldest brother Ray meshing into the family.

I met Ray in July 1974. We fell in love pretty much from the get go as we found ourselves on the same page on just about everything. Within a few weeks we knew we would one day get married and even imagined our children. Pat and Enzo were going to get married on August 25 and he wanted me to not only attend the wedding but come to meet his family for the very first time. Now mind you this was the 1970’s…I was a different religion and cross religions were just starting to become more accepted at that point, but still worth taking a few gulps about how we were going to be viewed by family members.

So here I was looking forward to my journey with Ray and his family and Pat was looking forward to moving into her new household with Enzo.

A few months later I moved to North Jersey. While taking a few weeks to plant myself to find work and an apartment, Pat and Enzo opened their newlywed home to me for a couple of weeks until I was able to get settled. Pat guided me the way to the right doctors, the right hairdressers, all her own personal connections.

The four of us started going out socially. We went to dinner, we went to plays in NYC, we went to concerts as young couples do.

The fight…..oy vey.

Every Sunday night all the brothers, sisters and any friends came to Mom and Pop’s for dinner. There was always a full house and full tummies. Football added to the excitement. After football season every Sunday night we all went bowling, ice skating, or somewhere of fun.

One Sunday night we were all there as usual. Let me preface that as much as I love Ray and he was goodhearted, the man could be one stubborn obstinate soul. Enzo, oh yeahhhh very much the same way. Pat went over to the toaster to heat a sandwich. Ray was waiting his turn to heat is when Pat snuck in. Ray tossed out some words just as a sibling would do, part in jest, part meaningful cause he just didn’t take crap from anyone, including his sister. Enzo resented how she was spoken to. The next thing you know these two stubborn, obstinate pigheaded men started pushing and shoving. Pat and Enzo went home. Typical family scenario, and everyone was buzzing about the fight.

Pat and I spoke the following day and worked it out between us about our stubborn, pigheaded obstinate men. However, the guys didn’t quite see it the same way. They didn’t speak for three years, no matter how we pleaded with them.

In some crazy way, now that I can look back, I do admire those stubborn, pigheaded obstinate men (have I mentioned that yet?) Why?? Because no matter how pigheaded and stubborn and obstinate they were, they still accompanied Pat and I to family affairs, dinners and dances, even though you could cut the tension with a knife. They did this because they believed in family and understood the importance of it no matter how much this silly argument rocked their pride.

Then one day when we least expected it one of them asked the other to pass the salt at the dinner table. Pat’s eyes went to mine, mine went to hers and we didn’t dare say a word of what we noticed in fear that we might ruin this Hallmark moment of two pigheaded obstinate stubborn men that we loved with all our hearts. Eventually after a few more occasions of us being pushed together conversation started to become easier and eventually the residue of the argument was non existent.

Pat and I rejoiced ~~ our families were growing and we were feeling comfortable around each other again.

We continued our friendship even though we had move down the shore. We compared notes of child bearing , the new Osh Kosh’s that came out. She would call me in a panic that she couldn’t find a particular toy for the holidays and I would find it down the shore and bring it up.

We shared a friendship. We shared a family. Gosh how I miss that woman!
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Abbe's Ritual

My Aunt Abbe has started a new ritual with Leah. Every few weeks she sends Leah a small gift, with a note inside. Leah loves seeing the boxes waiting at our door, and gets excited to open them up and look inside. I love the notes. They are so sweet and say cute little things that I read to Leah.

This was taken after she opened some adorable little hair ties from Aunt Abbe.

And this one was after she opened a new sippy cup with a cool straw. Of course, she had to use it immediately.

This is a sweet ritual that my Aunt’s started, and I can’t help but think it’s due mostly to the fact that my mom is not here to do this for Leah. My Aunt wants to keep a presence in Leah’s life—for her to know what it’s like to have so many relatives who love and care about her.


I’m saving the letters that come with the gifts and starting a scrapbook for Leah. I think she’ll get a kick out of reading them when she’s older.


Thanks, Aunt Abbe. We love you.

White Wedding

Speaking of Big Fat Italian Affairs, on Saturday my cousin Raymond married Erica. 

Actually, if I'm keeping it real, his name is really Little Ray.

Not to be confused with Little Bobby or Little Tommy, two other cousins of mine.

And definitely not to be confused with Uncle Ray, Uncle Bob, or Uncle Tom, all uncles of mine. 

Do other families do that?  Call the Jr. "Little"?  I think it might just be us.  Well, in Little Ray's case, he's really Ray the Third.  Because my grandfather was Ray...but we didn't call my Uncle Ray, Little Ray--oh no.  You know, this is one of those conversations that I'm going to go ahead and save for when I'm with my cousins because something tells me that this might only be interesting to them.  In fact, this may not even be interesting to them.  This may only be interesting to me.  So, I'm stopping.  Back to the wedding!

Raymond's father, my Uncle Ray, died a few years ago.  Although they lost their dad when they were much younger than I was when I lost my mom, I feel like I have a special bond with Raymond and his siblings because of what we have in common and have been through.

Here is a picture of my Aunt Abbe and my cousins Stacey and Evan, Raymond's siblings.

I am the oldest of 11 grand kids on my mom's side.  Here are three of the four female cousins.  My cousin Ronelle is missing from this picture, probably because she was busy taking 298 pictures that night. 

TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY EIGHT.  And she wasn't the hired photographer for the event or anything.  I have horrible forgot-to-suck-it-in-dancing pictures to look forward to being tagged in on Facebook thanks to Ronnie's 298 pictures of the blessed event.

We are not this bronze. 

It's just that "Auto Correct" is a horrible feature on Microsoft Picture Manager.

Also, I think my hairdresser went a little too short with the bangs, no?

I had an awesome time at this wedding, and loved seeing my aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I wish we could get together more often, and I treasure the times that we do. 

Thanks for a great night, Ray and Erica.  Have an awesome time in Bermuda!

OK, I DEFINITELY think she went too short with the bangs.

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The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story; Part Two

Nanny And Me

Vi, Mom, Nanny ~~ no matter how you refer to her, she was one special woman.

If you look up domestic housewife in the dictionary, you would see her picture. She loved her family immensely. She was a fantastic cook, stood by her family, could crotchet sweaters for babies and afghans in moments.

I would cook from the same recipe, and somehow it just would not taste the same as Nanny’s. She tried to teach me how to crotchet, and my scarf looked like Swiss cheese. She could whip up pies in no time flat that looked like it took no effort on her part at all. I envied all that…..and yet…

It was quite a few years after Pop-Pop Ray died. Nanny became a lost woman. We always looked at her as the strong person in the family and didn’t realize how much anything that happened outside the home was with his direction. Nanny was the master of her home and nothing else.



I tried, I really, really tried because I couldn’t see this relatively healthy and young-enough-to-enjoy-life woman, basically waste away. She just wanted to live life as shot off from the world. She didn’t drive outside her 5 mile radius and certainly not in the evening. The highlight of her day was the mail or paper delivery, and I would have mercy on these people if the delivery was 15 minutes late. She refused to get close to any friends. In the earlier years she did go on a few vacations with us and did come visit us a week or so at a time a few times a year. But that just dwindled. I just couldn’t understand it. She loved babies – why not donate your time to a hospital, I’m sure there are many a baby that needs to be rocked…..no. She loved to read….go to the library, take out a few books, maybe go to a book club there…..no….and on and on. I tried to offer suggestions and she just wouldn’t bite.

We had a special kind of relationship. I always called her on Pop’s birthday, their wedding anniversary, etc. Most people think about the dates but, I suppose feel bad about calling and mentioning it, and I always knew how important it was to have someone remember.

After several years of this I started to become frustrated and decided she’s just happy the way she is and who am I to try and change her to what I feel is right in the world……

……..one day after offering another suggestion…getting shot down…is when I came to that realization. I remember telling Ray….I love your mother dearly, think the world of her….however, if something ever happened to you I don’t want to ever turn into her. You can take the home cooked meals, the crocheting and keep them…life and finding ways to continue on are more humanistic to me.


…….a few months later I became a widow. Now I know how she felt…..and yet I couldn’t stay wrapped up in a blanket and hide all my life.

She told me how when I had been going through chemotherapy before Ray died, how he called her and started crying how he would handle everything without me….and now I had to worry about how I was going to handle everything without him. Both sides of the fence, the survivor and the widow – talk about a bizarre feeling.

What nobody knows about is some of the conversations Nanny and I had about widowhood. She wanted me to be everything that she didn’t have the inner strength to do. She felt it was important that I meet someone some day because I was too young to be alone a lot of years.

She thought it wonderful how I went back to school, how I continued to raise my children and how they are thriving, and how I tested my ground to rediscover life with all the pain that I felt inside.


We also had quite a few conversations of our Ray’s of sunshine. We were able to discuss a lot of things we
missed openly.
Whether I agree with it or not, I can now respect her for how she chose to handle her life solo…..I also respect myself for handling life that feels comfortable to my soul. Old world thoughts meet new world thoughts….or is it just a different type of person?

 
 

editor's note: The Healing Corner is a section of this blog that is open for contributions from readers. You can write about yourself, a loved one (with us or deceased), my mom, a pet, a particular time in your life, etc. The sky's the limit with The Healing Corner. I will gladly accept any form of writing (letter, story, poem, haiku,) and you are more than welcome to include pictures. Your submission can include your name, can remain anonymous, or can be accompanied with a pen name; it's entirely up to you. All I ask is that the submission be from the heart. Thank you.

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The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story

Grievances

…death ends a life, but not a relationship. --Tuesdays with Morrie

…the pain can be as deep with different types of relationship. Each one has their own meaning to an individual.

It’s very ironic that this month marks 40 years since my mom’s death. Feb 2nd also marked 100 months since my husband Ray died.

40 years without my mom. That figure in itself is unbelievable. I was a teen--a somewhat rebellious one at that. She never saw me graduate from high school. She never met my husband, she never met my children. I would think I’ve become a woman that she dreamed about raising. I feel confident that I’ve made her proud. Not only from the hurdles I’ve overcome, but because even with her long time muscular illness she always blossomed her love with extra hugs and cuddling. I know compassion because of her illness. I know how to relate to a husband because of her family love. I know how to give extra special hugs to my kids.

I remember she had been gone about 6 years when I was newly married. I hated the fact that she hadn’t met Ray or been part of my wedding plans. I had to learn it is what it is and continuing on is an art to master.

We were newly married, and we had a small argument. An argument over nothing that just seemed to magnify for no apparent reason that two strong willed people in battle. I remember like yesterday, how I went into another room when Ray wouldn’t speak to me. I curled up with my knees into my chest and started to cry...more like wailing as I wanted to run to my mom’s arms and try and understand the constant learning event of bonding two people together as in marriage. Ray heard me that night and came to me. He understood my pain of loss. The argument was over and life continued on.

I shudder to think that my kids will say 40 years since their dad died someday.

The loss of a spouse is so different. We learned how to mesh over 25 years in marriage. After Ray died, I had to learn to separate the me from the we. We spent 25 years of falling into step with one another, and now I needed to learn how to step by myself. Solo parenting, solo life.

The majority of people don’t like to talk about death…almost like it’s contagious.

What isn’t understood are the entire dynamics of widowhood. I don’t want to hear about it being the same to a great grandparent, parent, cat. I’m kinda thinking here that not many people have made love with their cat, parent or grandparent. The intimacy at night, the intimacy in the morning. Intimacy is a lot more than just sex…it’s all the casualness and love in a couple.

It’s not the whole picture, but all the little pieces that make life a masterpiece. Walking in the door and nobody to ask how your day was. Nobody in the car to touch your knee while driving. Nobody to grab your butt at the kitchen sink. Nobody to casually speak with while watching television or eating a meal.

I am thankful for the love of life that we shared. I love the fact that I can bring a lot of our values in life and continue on. Sometimes it takes all the inner strength I can muster...time and patience and finding the pieces of peace come together makes its presence known.