It's not a story from my Mom ....

... but a story nonetheless.

Growing up, I was convinced that the only sport that was worth playing was soccer. As far back as I can remember, soccer has always been on TV or on the radio. Soccer was the topic of conversation for my parents and their friends - carrying with it the ability to transform a carefree gathering around the table into the next world war.

At one point, I used to play soccer with a bunch of friends - we never won a game. But after every game, my Dad would ask "how many goals did you score?" My answer was always "None." He would always tell me not to worry, there'd be a goal at the next game. That was about 10 years ago.

After taking a hiatus of about 8 years, I recently joined an indoor soccer team. Last night, I scored my first goal ever. Like a real "shot-on-net" goal, not a "oh-it-bounced-off-my-foot" goal. Making it even more special, my stepson and my husband were there. We ended up losing the game, but that's beside the point.

On the way home, we were chatting about the game and I told my stepson and husband the story about my Dad always asking how many goals I scored. My stepson replies "well, if you want, I will pray with you and we can tell your Dad together." I responded "You know I don't pray, I wasn't raised Catholic." And, in only the way that 10 years olds can do, he says "oh, no problem, I'll tell him for you." Then he looks up to the sky (well, the roof of the car) and says "guess what? Aura scored a goal!!" ... and then says to me "he's proud of you."

When did he turn into an adult?

You know what, though, I know he's proud of me. He always was. It never mattered if I scored a goal or not. I always knew he was proud of me. My Dad was like that. Unconditionally supportive and proud.

Hurricane Irene Hit ... and digs up memories

We were recently hit by Hurricane Irene. Well, I guess technically it was a tropical storm by the time it hit us. While most of the region was left without power, we were fortunate to have never lost power through the whole ordeal. We did lose Cable TV for most of the day during the storm. Cable went out around 11 or so in the morning and returned in time for the VMA awards (around 9pm).

Typically I'd be sarcastic "aww, what a horrible fate bestowed upon us to be left without Cable TV". However, the day spent without cable did manage to resurrect some strong emotions from my Mom. It all started like this ....

Mom: "I'm getting so tired of crocheting all day.I think this is a dumb question, but I'm going to ask anyways."
Me: "Mom, what do you want to ask."
Mom: "Will a DVD work if I put on in?"
Me: she didn't just ask about DVDs "Yep, it will." please don't play the DVD of the "old days" in Terceira
Mom: "OK, well, I'm not going to play one anyways. But was just wondering."
Me: "Oh, ok. I'm gonna go take a nap." please please please no DVDs

Fast forward to around 8pm when I head upstairs to check that her cell phone had minutes on it since we didn't have Cable/Internet and Phone. I walk into her room ... and she's watching a DVD.

And it begins. She starts talking about how she played a DVD that showed my father.

See, my Dad was part of a founding soccer team in Porto Judeu, Terceira. The soccer club was called the Barreiros. During one of my trips to Terceira, I saw that his picture was up on the wall with the rest of the founding team. Well, somehow we managed to get a DVD that documents the history of this little soccer team.

And that's what she was watching when I walked in the room.

She tells me that she liked my Dad since grade school. That she only dated maybe 2-3 guys, but always liked my Dad. She said "oh, your father had girlfriends, he loved to date around, but he told me many times that it was always different when he'd see me." My Dad lived in Graciosa for sometime in his teenage years, so sort of fell out of touch with my Mom. But after his return, he sought her out, determined to date her, and accomplished his mission.

My Mom told me that he would cry often in his later years (after diagnosed with dementia) saying that he was so hurt and sad that he would lose her. He knew he would forget. He did not want to forget the love of his life.

It's the stuff out of movies, that you always wish for, that never seems to happen in real life. Oh, I know they had arguments, everyone does, but to know that they had something since grade school, now that's a fairy tale come true.

She cried so much. I sat with her. Let her keep talking about the love she has for my father. And hugged her. And listened. That is all I can do, listen.

I reiterated to her that I love having her living with me. That I'm lucky to have my Mom with me. She insists that she doesn't want to be a burden. It breaks my heart that she would think she's a burden. After all her and my Dad have done for me, the least I can do is provide for my Mom a safe and loving home.

Thankfully, shortly after our conversation, as if on-cue, Cable came back. And we were instantly distracted by the silly performances on Spanish TV.

Running errands with Mom

My Mom has been asking me these last few weeks to setup an appointment with the Funeral Home for her. She wants to make her final arrangements. Which, although it seems kind of 'morbid' or 'forboding' it actually makes a lot of sense to get all that stuff squared away ahead of time.

The thing is - we went to the same Funeral Home where we had my father's funeral. It was surreal being in there. I now know the level at which my Mom was completely distraught two years ago when we first stepped into the place. Sitting in the office waiting for the funeral director, she asked if they redid their wallpaper and if the antique chair right next to the door were new. Of course, neither was new. Now I know that she was completely oblivious to the entire transaction the last time we were there.

For me, I remembered every detail. From the little non-step right outside the door to the distinct color of the carpet along with the smell of the place. I time traveled back two years to when we were scrambling to set things straight for my Dad. I believe I acted in the same manor as well - put my feelings on hold just long enough to get the job done. I didn't know it, but I could recall the crispness of the paper and had committed to memory the pricing of my father's funeral. It was all so strange.

My Mom held up like a trooper. I could tell by the longing way that she gazed out the door, that she was imagining the last time she saw her husband, her best friend that she has known since childhood. I knew she was picturing the moment she last kissed him good-bye. And she, like me, could probably conjure up a clear image of how he looked at peace lying in the casket. Finally his mind at ease. No longer would he have to worry about forgetting or worry about trying to remember.

Th only sure thing in life is that we will all die. There is no escaping that fact. My Dad taught me not to fear death, but to embrace it and use it as a guide to ensure you're living your life to its fullest. Now my Mom seems to have taken over that role. She tells me all the time "we are all going to die" but then she reminds me "enjoy your life - you are young - now is the time for you to live".

After our appointment, we went shopping and spent some time changing a tire in the pouring rain. How my Dad would've laughed at that :)

My Birthday

Today's my 37th birthday ... and the first thing I thought of this morning was that only a short two years ago I was with my Dad in the hospital. Man, how time flies.

My Mom gave me an extra big hug this morning. She said that I was already born by that time (7:30am) and wished me "muitos anos de vida, saude e amor" (many years of life, health and love). Boy, did the tears start flowing. Gotta love my Mommy ... she's not sappy by any stretch of the imagination, but every once in awhile she comes out with something that forces me to realize that time is precious, and life is too short.

Here's to a happy birthday to myself ... and much love to my family and friends.

A Silva Keg Party??

So this past weekend I had a keg party for my 37th birthday ... the morning after was spent lounging (praying for relief) on the couch. At one point my Mom came downstairs and started to head outside, I told her "you're gonna go look at the mess?" and she's like "yes, it's ok". So she did. She was out there for awhile, no doubt tsking and tasking about the party's aftermath. Or perhaps trying to resurrect the crushed flowers in the garden.

After about what felt like eternity, she came back inside. Even at my age, I was expecting a lecture. Instead, what I got was "remember when your father got a keg for a party?" ... WHAT??!!! I mean, I remember birthday parties and gatherings in our basement, but those memories usually revolve around someone playing an accordian and people singing and eating shellfish. Inevitably, all the kids would end up in the living room upstairs staring at our console TV.

"Yes", she said "don't you remember all the parties we used to have?" I said I sorta remembered. "We used to have parties all the time. Our family would come up from Bristol and you kids would have to sleep on the floor. We weren't going to let them drive home after the amount of alcohol they'd consume." WHAT?!??!?! Even in my hungover daze, I was floored. Shocked even. She always only talked about the one time she tried alcohol and couldn't feel her legs. Nothing talking about crazy drunkfests!!

Then she said it, quite possibly the best compliment ever given: "you're just like your father - you really enjoy having everyone over your house. He used to love to have parties and loved to tell jokes and laugh." She went on to say that she didn't really care for it, she's more of a homebody. But, boy, did my Dad ever love to have a good time!

Yup, in that regards Mom, you're absolutely right. I really enjoy being surrounded by friends and laughter - just like my Daddy.

Necessities ...

My mother was watching the Spanish version of Judge Judy last night. She got all fired up when the case has something to do with a father wanting to leave the mother because the three kids did not have their own bedrooms in their home. This through my mom into a tizzy.

She was raised poor. Like, dirt poor. Her mother would get hole-filled socks from the soldiers at the "Castelo" and use just the like tube part of the socks to sew all together to make a blanket for my Mom and my aunts. She tells stories of how they would have to wash their clothes every day to hang it out to dry to be ready for the next day of school. Can you imagine? Wearing the same thing everyday to school because you really don't have anything else?

The court case on the Spanish channel got her talking about the fact that the house in which she grew up only had one bedroom. I know this because we visited the house when we went to Terceira with my parents in '87. I remember wondering how 6 girls and the parents all slept in that house. I think I might've asked that question, but I didn't really pay attention to the answer. I was only 13, and there were far more important things (like chasing chickens) to be done.

Last night she told the story that her parents would sleep in one bed, and then 4 of the sisters would sleep in another bed - three laying side-by-side and the fourth laying across the foot of the bed. My mother would go sleep at an aunt's house, and my other aunt was not living with them at the time (she was much older) and was staying at yet another relatives. She said though that it didn't seem to bother them. Something about such closeness probably made it nice to sleep. Their mattress though was not something like we have today. It was hay, wrapped with a sheet. But, they were ok. They were all ok. And they were close. As close as they could be.

She went on a rant that the guy on the TV was crazy. That kids don't need all the junk that they're given today. What they need is to be raised by parents that care, and that love them. They don't need the latest gadgets and toys.

Got me thinking about my own upbringing. We didn't have the latest anything. My Mom made our clothes. (My brother and I have so many pictures of matching outfits it's crazy.) But looking back, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Because what we did have was parents that love us. Sure, they were tough and strict. But it's because they wanted us to be raised to be productive and responsible adults, so they were parents - not friends (there's a huge difference). Honestly though, I don't remember what DIDN'T have, I only remember that my Dad would be the first person outside to play in the puddles during summer rain, that my Mom would have a cooler packed to go to Goddard Park as soon as my Dad got home from work, and that my parents, in their own way, encouraged my sense of spirit and self.

I think my Mom remembers her upbringing similarly - it's not about the things you didn't have, but more about the treasured moments.

Rain? Time to play ...

Saturday I was talking to my Mom .. and she asked me if I remember playing in the puddles with my Dad. Do I remember? Of couse I do! It's one of my favorite memories. She said that my Dad couldn't wait to go outside and play in the rain ... we used to head out there and splash around in the puddles to our heart's content.

You see - we didn't have any grass. So the yard was just one big parking lot. It would accumulate lots of puddles. The more to play in!!

My Mom said that he loved playing around, making people laugh .. and mostly he really enjoyed being with us.

I guess it's an appropriate memory, with yesterday being Father's Day and all.

aww man ....

It's been awhile, life has a way of just getting in the way ... I really need to step up the posting and gather stories from my Mom while she's still around to tell them. I'm sad to say that I don't have any stories from her to post right now. I know that I've listened to a few of them, and I keep thinking I'm going to remember them ... but I don't. It bums me out that I can't even recall one story. Especially when every day when I get home from work, she usually has a story or two for me.

I'll be better at this .... promise.