Tag Archives: life

My mother in law, Louise Healy🙏🏼

My mother in law, Louise Healy🙏🏼

IMG_4587-2

I am writing this on the cusp of the first anniversary of my mother in law’s passing.  This picture was taken in our back yard in Whittier, California on Mother’s Day.  I’m going to guess that I was 35ish and she was 68ish.  My own mother had died five years prior so the two of us were the guests of honor on this day.  She came over looking glamorous and rested and I wrestled three little boys all week, grocery shopped, cleaned the house and made an exquisite brunch for all of us.  I’m not quite sure I liked her in this picture but this well bred obedient Catholic school girl respected her and honored her on this special day.

The definition of mother-in-law in the Merriam-Webster dictionary is as follows: The mother of someone’s husband or wife.  (No mystery here…)  But when I scrolled down on the page there was a question!  “What made you want to look up mother-in-law?”

Mostly the answers had to do with the spelling of mother-in-law and the plural of mother-in-law.  Also why is it called a mother-in-law quarters?  But down near the end of the comments, a woman by the name of Liz Mayott wrote:

“I love my mother-in-law ❤️.”

Ah.. just why do mother-in-laws get such a bad rap?  I’m sorry to report that the Urban Dictionary defines mother-in-law as “a horrible beast”.  And father-in-law as the sainted man who lives with one’s mother-in-law!

Here’s my best guess…  Mother-in-laws have to learn to play second fiddle to mothers.  When each of my three sons was born I wanted nothing more than my mother to come over and cook for us, swaddle our babies and take care of us and I totally let her.  My mother-in-law waited patiently in the wings until she was invited.  Mother-in-laws know their place.

And MY mother-in-law worked it!

First it was the home cooked meal she delivered when I came home from the hospital with my first son.  It was called “Luxury Stew” and it was so delicious and nurturing that I wrote down the recipe to make again.  But it was so much better when she made it.

FullSizeRender-3

Then came the home made blankets.  Beautiful cross stitched kittens on soft cotton batting.  Crocheted pastel coverlets and tiny baby sweaters. The homemade Christmas stockings that I still stuff every year-  now with things like lottery tickets and hand sanitizer and other accoutrements of young men.  And the handmade Christmas ornaments that I swear multiplied in the storage boxes between Decembers!

She wormed her way into my heart.

The last time I visited my mother-in-law was two years ago.  I was 62ish and she was 93ish.  The two of us had learned a lot in the last 25ish years.  Basically, neither of us had changed much but certainly we both had softened in our appreciation for each other. And we had some important things in common that bonded our relationship.

Both of us mothers of three grown sons.

Both of us now mother-in-laws.

(Interesting how the generation gap between a 35ish year old and a 68ish year old can shrink in 25ish or so years.)

I might not have had a lot of good feelings for my mother-in-law, Louise, on that Mother’s Day in my backyard in Whittier, California.  But I hung in there with her.  She kept her boundaries and played second fiddle like all mother-in-laws have to do.  She knew her place with me.  I respected her.  And I grew to love her.  She stole my heart when I was not looking.  I’m sure you won’t find that in any dictionary.

She passed away a year ago on April 16th.  Her sons are planning a celebration of her life this summer as restrictions open up with Covid 19.

It seems appropriate to post a picture here of me and my two beautiful daughter-in-laws.

Nazaneen and Brianna, please forgive me in advance for all my mother-in-law indiscretions!!  😱

 

IMG_7219

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love one another, but make not a bond of love. Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. ~ Kahlil Gibran, On Marriage

Love one another, but make not a bond of love. Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. ~ Kahlil Gibran, On Marriage

IMG_1278

Of all the hundreds of wedding pictures taken at Patrick and Nazaneen’s glorious wedding, this one intrigues me the most. Two very intuitive young lovers dancing their first dance as husband and wife. What is Patrick saying to his beautiful bride? I wonder…

My father gave me the book “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran when I was a teenager. I’ve referred to its’ wisdom time and again

when I fell in love

when I got married

when I had children.

I am watching the dance with admiration and the utmost respect. And maybe just a little bit of envy. I was so young when I got married- 22 years old. I knew very little about life and love. My father told me often that he didn’t think my husband treasured me enough or loved me enough or protected me enough. I laughed it off, thinking that he was just a jealous dad and he was bitter that some man took me away from him.

But as I have watched these two fall in love and plan for their future I have seen my son very intentionally take his role as a partner, a protector, and a provider. And I have seen beautiful Nazaneen, as she tenderly takes Patrick’s face in her hands to kiss him, so in love and so devoted to his happiness. I am certain that they were born to be together.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart. ~ Kahlil Gibran, On Love

There is something so inspiring about a marriage ceremony.  It makes you fall in love all over again. Not just with someone but with life and living. It renews one’s faith in the order of the universe. It makes one believe in good things ahead. In this time of political strife and climate horrors, people are committing to love. I believe that it makes a difference. Maybe Marianne Williamson is right? Maybe love is the answer.

At the end of their marriage ceremony Patrick took Naz’s hands and in perfect Farsi said these words:

Dooset Daram, Ashegetam, azizam, Ghorboonet Beram.

..at which a gasp/sigh floated up from the guests- at least from the guests who knew Farsi. The rest of us were left with wondering.

What did Patrick say to her?

Amidst the excitement and celebration with family and friends, I forgot to ask Patrick what it meant until weeks later. He said:

I love you.

I am in love with you, my dear.

I would die for you.

Patrick, Papa would be so proud.

Being Sitti

Being Sitti

FullSizeRender-17

I have been reflecting on the awesome responsibility of being a grandmother.  It has been a transition to say the least. And with all transitions there is an adjustment period and an awkward sense of the unknown as well as the anticipation of what is to come and how it will all look once everyone finds their sea legs.

My gracious son and daughter in law let me choose the name I would like to be called by little Boe and it was a quick decision.  Like my Sittis before me, I felt that the Arabic name for grandmother was more than appropriate because it speaks of a long history of Lebanese women who wanted nothing more than to cook, feed, and make a cozy home for their families.  And even though I had the means and awareness to get a college degree and beyond and have a thriving and rewarding career, I have to admit my first goal when I stepped onto a college campus at 17 years old was to get my MRS degree, have a family, and create a loving home for them.

I was named after my maternal Sitti, Rosa Maloof, and of course like all good Catholic girls, the Blessed Virgin Mary.  (My parents must have had high aspirations for me!)  I had to do some fact checking with my brothers and as my memory serves me, I only saw my maternal grandmother three times in my entire life.  She and my grandfather lived in Atlanta and were not fond of flying.  We were a family of eight in California and traveling across the country to see our grandparents was a bit out of the budget.  I was able to spend time with them once as a little girl, once as a teenager, and much later when I was 30.  When my mother passed away at 61 years old, they did not come out for her funeral.  It is still incredulous to me today.  I would move heaven and earth to see my children in any state (or state).

My father’s mother, Louise, died in childbirth along with her fifth child.  My dad was the oldest and we think (our collective memories) he was about 6 years old when she died.  The baby’s name was John and I remember my dad telling me the story- never with a straight face- always with tears running down his cheeks.  My brother John was named after my dad’s little brother.

My grandfather sent for a wife from Lebanon (cousins.. can you do some fact checking for me?  This is part urban legend passed down through oral history).  Her name was Madeleine and she had to quickly adjust to a new country, a new husband, and to my grandfather Thomas’ four children.  They went on to have four more children of their own whom my grandmother favored.  And she favored their children as well.

With that said, I must confess that I don’t remember having a Sitti who wanted to kiss me and hold me, babysit me and get on the floor and play with me and/or agonize over the next time she might be able to spend time with me.

I write all this not so that you will feel sorry for me.  I write it for my own understanding and for my children’s understanding.  I write it to rub a salve on a wound that has just recently been exposed as I reflect on my own experience as a grandmother.  I write it to help me understand this longing in my heart to be near my new grandson and be a part of his life.  I write it because I know I am not alone in this reflection and confession and to open a conversation about the role of a grandmother in a child’s life.

In the song Both Sides Now Joni Mitchell sings “Something’s lost and something’s gained in living every day.”  Life is not always easy.  Family is not always as Norman Rockwell would illustrate but I believe people try.  In the absence of holding me and reading stories to me, my Sittis cooked and cleaned and fed me and I suppose they thought that was enough.  But this Sitti wants something different with her grandchildren.

I would love to hear your thoughts on being a grandparent.

 

 

 

 

Patty to the Rescue!

Patty to the Rescue!

Patty and Rosemarie at Peter's wedding

This is me and my bestie at my son Peter’s wedding.  The day would not have been complete had she not been there to share this special life event with me and my family.

Patty and I have been friends since we were 14 years old.  We were two Catholic girls from large traditional families thrown into the local public high school.  Somehow we found each other amidst the 700 kids in the class of ’74. Our friendship solidified and took on a more spiritual dimension when we attended late night Catechism classes on Mondays at St. Boniface Parish in Anaheim.

We cleaned up real well for this picture, but you should have seen us this weekend. Crazy hair, workout clothes, minimal makeup.

Patty drove up from Southern California, sensing that I was somewhat disoriented due to moving in to my new place while simultaneously holding down my full time job.  She came to my rescue- arriving on Friday night around midnight and staying until Wednesday morning.

When her feet hit the ground Saturday morning, the dust mop was blazing a trail on my new hardwood floor and pictures were being sorted and transported to appropriate rooms.  Patty made lists of what we needed  from Bed, Bath and Beyond, Walmart, and (our personal favorite) TJMaxx. While out shopping, she scanned shelves for her favorite dish towels.  “You have to have more dish towels and I just LOVE this brand!”  She took it upon herself to interrogate a salesperson at Cosco concerning the pros and cons of a set of pots and pans I was lusting after.

She sat with me and “Allison” from 3-day Blinds while I got a bid for shutters for the entire house. After Allison left, Patty was on the phone calling “her people” to compare price points and swiftly made the determination that the bid was much too high!  Off we went roaming my new neighborhood, looking at peoples’ windows to see who had shutters.  “Those are nice!  Let’s go and ask where they got them!” An hour later we were leaving Annie’s house with full knowledge of the guy who did shutters in her last three homes.  Not only did we get a great window treatment lead, but we made a new friend as well.

Patty promptly scheduled “Ed” to come and measure my windows and give me a bid for shutters while I was at work on Monday with my homemade lunch that she made for me.  When I came home, she presented all the figures and announced that this was the best deal!  She had also made plans for a coffee table that I ordered on line to be returned after measuring my space and seeing that there would be no room for knees and other extremities.  There were detailed notes on who she spoke with, their phone numbers, item numbers and instructions on who to call if the return didn’t appear on my bank statement in a week.

We sorted through all the items in my china cabinet and the sideboard, giving everything a new home and a feeling of stability.  Being that I am the woman with the most tablecloths in the world, I was surprised that my sideboard drawers were only half full. Where were my table cloths?  And where were my sons’ senior pictures that were on the sideboard?  A light bulb went off- I had packed a lot of things in the old black Amelia Earhart chest that hadn’t made it into the house yet.  Off we went to the garage.  “Get something for us to sit on while we go through this trunk!” she instructed.

There we sat for the next hour or so, going through my parents’ old trunk, unearthing not only my tablecloths and sons’ pictures, but also old newspaper clippings of my dad’s race for Mayor of Compton and my mom’s engagement announcement from an Atlanta newspaper.  Pictures of my brothers and I at all stages of growth.  Baby clothes and wedding dresses- mine and my mother’s. We talked about our fears of getting older and needing so much to be supported and loved in our lives.  We cried and laughed and then cried some more.

We agreed that we are both very independent and unusual women.   And that neither of us is likely to go down without a fight.  We both cling to items that bring meaning into our lives.  We both take pride in our homes and do our best to create a haven for those we love.  We both had as our major career path getting married and having a family.

When Patty left on Wednesday morning, I had instructions for the rest of the week and a handful of notes detailing every transaction she had maneuvered in the last five days- along with another homemade lunch she made for me to take to work.

My life has been so dominated by male energy.  My very influential father, five brothers, and three sons.  I’ve had many blessings in my life- and I am grateful.  And this friendship is a gift I find quite profound.

God must have known, when he scripted the story of my life, that I would need a Patty.