Journal Entry, November 28, 2023

I am listening to meditation teacher Jack Kornfield lead a visualization designed to help a person work through a difficult situation or memory. I decide I will use this opportunity to find guidance in writing the healing story that seems to be "present."

What difficulty am I trying to work through?

Well it may sounds ridiculous but I'm trying to figure out how to write or finish writing the healing story I began more than four years ago. As I write these words down I think, "Oh, this is so pathetic. Just let the story come, or not. But don't waste your time or that of anyone else on this."

And then part of me whispers: "But this is important. This is important."

"Identify a part of your body that hurts," Jack says. "Now descend into loving awareness into that pain."

Chest. I feel pain and pressure in my chest. This chest cold I have had the last couple of days came out of nowhere and hit me hard. We had to cancel my birthday party yesterday!

"Allow loving awareness to hold it all," Jack says, "not trying to change anything, just like you would hold a child."

A child?

Me. I am the child. Holding myself, as Mary always used to encourage.

"What happens as you do this?" Jack asks. "What do you feel as you hold this situation in loving awareness?"

Confusion. Panic. Breathing. Feeling pressure and pain in my chest.

"Now let yourself imagine where you are situated with this difficult situation. Remember back to this place of difficulty and tell me where you find yourself."

Always always always always beside her bed. Always afraid. My chest. Burns. Her chest. Wheezes.

Do we ever move beyond these traumatic images?

I called my brother the other day and he told me that Mom's illness was also a source of PTSD for him, Mom's not being able to breathe. He too was afraid she'd die. And because he was the oldest, 22 months older than me, he felt even greater pressure to be "the little man" of the house, to take care of me and my younger sister.

Now I am coughing. I am in the hospital, my chest hurts, I have pneumonia and I am three, maybe four. I am terrified and I want my mother. I am holding the square metal crib bars, painted white. I am sobbing, I have been crying for my mother for a long time.

"All of a sudden, just as you're in the thick of it," Jack says, "the doorbell rings. Someone is coming to the door. You are surprised. This person at the door is a luminous being of great courage and wisdom and compassion. Let yourself be surprised!"

Immeditately I know! It's Filomena!

Yes, my great great grandmother, Fi, the eternal grandmother, she is wearing a different dress today. It's an offwhite print with little blue flowers. She has her hair tied back, but some silver wisps escape at her forehead. And unlike her expression in the photo, she is smiling a very kind smile.

"She has a great heart, she is very wise, she has seen it all, and she is so so loving and tender. And she has a trememendous sense of humor."

Filomena is wearing a luminous white apron, with big pockets, over her dress. She is smiling.

She is strong. She picks me up, holds me. I hear her singing in Italian to me, some kind of lullaby. She is able to reassure me that my mother is going to be OK.

She puts me down, and moves through the house. Into the kitchen. She starts cutting up onions and carrots and tomatoes and celery and parsley for minestrone. She bakes bread.

WAIT.

NOW HERE I HAVE THIS QUESTION AND REVELATION: WHY WASN'T MY GRANDMOTHER ALBINA -- my father's mother and Filomena's granddaughter -- WHY WASN'T "Grandma Ricci" THERE WHEN MY MOTHER WAS SO SO SICK AND BARELY ABLE TO BREATHE? ALBINA WAS SO INCREDIBLY RELIGIOUS -- the other day my brother told me that she went to Mass EVERY SINGLE DAY!!!! AND YET SHE NEVER ONCE STEPPED IN TO HELP MY POOR MOTHER WHO WAS SO ILL, AND TRYING SO HARD TO TAKE CARE OF THREE YOUNG CHILDREN!!!!!

I AM FEELING ANGRY AT MY GRANDMOTHER ALBINA. She lived only a couple of miles away, and yet, I never remember her setting foot in our house!!!

Now I remember, very clearly, my mother saying later in life that she, too, was angry at Albina for never coming to help her.

Meanwhile, I think the reason Albina didn't come was that she was ANGRY AT MY FATHER for a variety of reasons. He was guilty of rebelling against her, about religion, for one thing. Also, he insisted on building a house for us, and his mother was sharply opposed!

But most of all, my father, a self-declared agnostic, challenged his mother over religion. She was a devout Catholic. And ironically, later on, when my family moved to Pleasant Valley, in New York State, my grandmother Albina and her husband, Angelo, CAME TO STAY AT OUR HOUSE TO STAY FOR THE WEEKEND OVER AND OVER AGAIN. My mother was an incredible hostess, making meals and entertaining them.

My mother was an angel. And so was her mother, my Grandma Mish. At some point during that period when my mother was so sick, my Grandma Mish -- who lived about half an hour away -- came to our house, packed us up and took us all home to live with her in her house!