My mother, Clementa "Dena" Ricci, died on October 17th, a week after she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
I was eating a bowl of apple sauce Sunday night when it hit me: I will never eat another one of mom’s unbelievable apple pies again. Or her blueberry pies. Or her carrot cake. And there will never be another pot roast dinner like the ones mom used to turn out regularly: meat done to perfection, tender and thin sliced, all smothered in onions and carrots. Oh, and an additional three or four vegetables just to round out the meal.
All
of us know Mom’s amazing talent with food. All of us kids remember walking up
the driveway after school smelling warm bread. All of us know her fried pizza
dough, her raisin meatballs and her crispy cream puffs with that melt in your
mouth cream filling. It was those cream puffs that sealed the deal between her
and my dad. He just had to marry this gorgeous girl who also happened to make
cream puffs that were out of this world.
It
was hard to give my mom a compliment though. You’d tell her she looked pretty
and she would say, “ah le mortigi shegi,” in Italian, “ah the blind people go
crazy over me.”
She
tickled us with all of her many Italian sayings, we loved them so much that we
made a scrapbook out of them – they had the accumulated wisdom of many past
generations of Italians.
Things
mom loved: babies, brides, broccolilabe and scharoll; (escarole.)
She
loved the Virgin Mary, and while she was dying on Friday, we held hands and said
the Hail Mary together.
Mom
loved making omelets with mint, and tomatoes with eggs, favorites of Michelina,
her own mother. Mom loved making all sorts of yeast breads including the eggs
in the bread basket for Easter, and the extraordinary panettone she made at
Christmas. Thankfully, she taught all of us girls to make it. Mom loved a spic
and span house and worked tirelessly to make it gleam. She loved setting the
table for breakfast at night before she went to bed.
She
loved antiques, and as my sister Holly wrote in her wonderful obituary, ‘“Dee” excelled at stained glass, needlework, and word puzzles, she loved
cooking shows and “poking around junk shops, collecting antique furniture,
glassware and crockery.”
After
mom’s eyesight failed and she couldn’t see the words, she still had an amazing
talent for coming up with the right answers to those word puzzles.
Of
course mom’s greatest love was for her partner of 66 years, my Dad. They had an
incredible marriage and it inspired us to want the same.
I
have had a lot teachers in my life teaching me important things, but my first
and most important teacher has always been my Mom, because she taught me how to
love with her whole heart. Mom had the biggest heart in the world and she
shared it with all of her family and friends she loved so fiercely and freely.
And
so, Mom is gone in one sense, yes, but in another, she will never die, because
her love brought us all here together today and sits with
us now. Mom’s enduring gift to us is to know how to love from the bottom to the
top of our hearts.
Mom
always had a really tough time saying good bye. The day she was diagnosed, mom
was crying and she looked in my eyes and said, “I remember making pipe curls in
your hair for school and then you would go off and we would wave and wave
goodbye.”
As
an adult, leaving 152 Sampson Pkway, mom would stand on the porch. We would
wave, and then I would peep the horn three times and drive off, mom waving the
whole way.
Mom,
we don’t say good bye today, we don’t have to because you will be with us all every
single day for the rest of our lives. God Bless you Mom, we love you like
crazy!
2 comments:
This is lovely tribute to your mother, Claudia. Your mom sounds like a very special woman, and now I understand why you and Holly are the women that you are. May God bless and comfort you and your family during this difficult time.
It is always hard to lose a parent, but you do have so very many beautiful memories. I can see so much of you in your mother's photo! Yet another way that she will always be with you. I'm sure you often see a bit of her every time you look in a mirror.
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