My mother in the 1980s

Death anniversaries are a big deal in Italian-American culture.  As my regular readers know I grew up in a very large ethnic family in New Jersey.

Yesterday, March 24^th, was the anniversary of my mother’s death.  I was in my early twenties when cancer ravaged her body.

After she died my stepfather shared a story with me about my mother’s amazing parental instincts.

Some background:

I was a very conservative kid.  I wore dress shirts to school, had a briefcase, constantly started new “businesses,” hired neighborhood children to assist me in my enterprises, and most of all loved my home (all 1200 square feet of it) and the surrounding area.

When I left for college (just 120 miles away) I was beyond home sick.  I missed the neighborhood and I missed my family.

In fact my first semester I wrote my mother letters (before email) four times a week.

Some mothers would have used this situation to shore up a fragile ego, keeping their sons or daughters dependent and reliant on parental guidance and advice.

Instead my mother’s letters would encourage me to take chances, to explore, to challenge my core beliefs.  She would say, “This is your time, let your feet take you wherever they go and trust yourself.”

Nevertheless my wanderlust developed in slow stages and I would still visit home quite often during college.  Each time I departed to return to school I would get tears in my eyes as I said goodbye to my mother.  She would smile, close to tears as well, and tell me to get going, and that life had so much in store for me.

I would hop into my pick-up truck (yes, proud then and still proud of my first car, a Ford), and drive away, back to the big city.

Re-enter my stepfather . . .

He shared with me that when I drove away, my mother would watch me through the large living room window.  She would break down and cry tears of joy for her son, proud of the fact that he had flown the coop, sad about the fact that he was doing it faster than she ever thought possible.

She did not want to show me those tears.  She felt it would keep me too close to the nest.

Five countries and nine cities later and a whirlwind life of adventure in my pocket, I recently visited with my niece Tess.  She has wanderlust like her grandmother and her uncle.

She just got accepted into several amazing high schools, some far away from home.

She too wants to explore, wants to imagine, and wants the freedom to grow on her own.   And she too has a mother and a father to encourage her to do just that.

I like to think that my family has a genetic predisposition for adventure.  For my mother it was the adventure of raising a family.  For me it has been about taking career and life risks, more than most would find comfortable.

For my niece, who knows, time will tell . . .

She recently wrote a story about me for her English class.  In it she writes about what a visit from me means to her.

“As the car pulls up in the driveway ready to take him back to the airport, I run over for one last squeeze, pulling me into him.  I want to stay there forever.  But all things end and he walks out the door, looking back and waving one last time while we stand close to tears at the window.”

Close to tears again.

And yes, while all things and people end, the legacy lives on . . . My mother lived only 50 years but her spirit is embodied in so many people.

If we take the time to notice, and to appreciate the lessons learned, even anniversaries of the departed can be celebratory.

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If you have any questions about coaching please feel free to contact me at scott@kineticcoaching.co, and remember I always offer a complimentary 30-45 minute session to prospective clients to determine if we want to work together.