In life we seek the love and approval of others. This begins from when we are babies and children. We just want our parents to show us their love, appreciation and attention. We strive to earn their approval. We all have different experiences based on our unique life situations based on our parents, siblings and environments. Some of us grew up with two loving parents, some people grew up with only having a mother around, some people may have two parents but never felt loved or accepted by them and some of us lost our parents too soon.
I was blessed to be raised by two loving parents, Dottie Jo and Richard. They taught me how to give and receive love. I didn't grow up with a lot of money, but I grew up surrounded by a loving and supportive family. I had two parents who would do anything for me. Dominic, my big brother, and Angela, my kind hearted older sister, were like another set of parents to me as they are eleven and eight years older than me. They protected me and sheltered me from the darkness in our world.
I lost my mom way too soon. My mom passed unexpectedly when I was a senior in college and out of the country in China. In that moment when I found out she was gone I felt my world come crashing down. In reality, I felt like I really lost my mom when I was about thirteen years old. My mom had struggled with an addiction to alcohol since before I was born. My siblings and dad did a really good job at sheltering me from any issues that were happening in our family. I was oblivious to really anything that was going on plus I ignored whatever issues my mom was up against. I didn't want to admit she was an alcoholic or that maybe she was drinking again. It was easier for me to pretend that wasn't true and everything was fine.
There came a point in time my freshman year of high school when I had to finally accept that she was in fact drinking again and not able to care for me anymore. I was scared of the truth and didn't know what it was like to be around her when she was drunk. I didn't know what this meant now that she was off the bandwagon. I was a scared kid who needed her mom, but her mom wasn't able to be there to comfort her. I ended up moving in with my dad to his one bedroom apartment a block from the beach. To be honest, I'm not sure what really happened to my mom. I was too scared to ask. I didn't want to know the truth. It was better that I didn't ask questions that I didn't want the answers to. I pretended that everything was fine in my little world. When friends would ask why I moved in with my Dad I would panic. I don't even remember what I would tell them, I just remember I would want to lie. I was ashamed that my mom was an alcoholic.
I wanted my mom to be normal. I wanted life to go back to the way things were before. I wanted everything to be okay, but I knew it wasn't. I knew that things had changed and I didn't know how to cope with that. I didn't know how to tell my family I was scared and didn't know how to emotionally deal with the situation. In reality I think my brother and sister felt the same way. None of us knew how to cope. It's not something they teach you in school. It's not something our parents taught us either. I never had a lesson in, "this is how you deal with difficult shit." It's a figure it out as you go type deal. For my teenage years I just buried all my emotions in my vault of emotions. I never told anyone how I felt. I just kept it all inside. If anyone asked how I was, I always told them I was fine. I was an expert at lying about my emotions, but partially because I didn’t know what I was really feeling or how to express myself.
This was how I went about my life for the past fifteen plus years. I was always okay. I never wanted to let anyone inside. I thought it was a sign of weakness to ask for help or to let people know the truth. The truth that I didn't know how to cope with the situation with my mom. The truth that I wanted my mom, I wanted to know where she was and how she was doing, but I was too scared to ask because I was also scared of the answer. For almost 8 years I went on like this. If I hadn't talked to my mom in awhile I just assumed she was either in rehab or drinking. It was one or the other. If she wasn't in rehab and my dad or siblings asked if I wanted to talk to her I would usually say no because I was worried she was drinking and I didn't want to talk to her if she was drunk. I remember a few times I did talk to her and it sounded like she was slurring her words and I didn't like that. I didn't like the way that made me feel.
A part of me was angry. I just wanted my mommy. Why couldn't she choose me over the alcohol? Wasn't I good enough? Why wasn't she strong enough? I wanted her to get her shit together so things could go back to the way they were. I wanted my normal mom back. The mom that was always my biggest cheerleader at all of my softball games. The fun mom that always came up with ideas for my friends and I when we were bored. The mom that would rub my back at night with the softest fingertips. I loved my dad for trying, but his fingers weren't as soft as my moms. I was sick of people asking where my mom was or how she was doing. Why was this happening and why can't things be "normal."
I will always remember that night in China. I was on a trip that my economics professor had coordinated with about a dozen students from my university and about two dozen other adults, mostly retirees. Some of the other kids and I were drinking fire water, a liquor in China that did not go down smooth at all. We were taking shots while getting ready to go to a karaoke place. We went down to the lobby and were waiting for our professor to get us a taxi to this place. He finally came down and he looked at me and told me you aren't going to go. If you want to go after, I will take you. I started freaking out inside. Why can't I go? Is it because he knows I have been drinking? But we all have been drinking. My mind was racing as he continued to put everyone else in a cab and send them on their way.
He had me walk with him to an internet cafe. I continued to freak out inside. Where is he taking me? Am I safe? I'm drunk with a Chinese man alone at night. Are we really going to an internet cafe? We walk a short distance and arrive at the internet cafe and walk up the stairs. I am following behind my professor. He has me sit down at a computer with my back to him. I sit and wait as my mind continues to race and my heart is beating out of my chest. Finally he has me sit down at the computer he was at to read an email that my dad had sent to him. I don't even remember everything that is said. My mind went blank. All I know is it said something to the effect that my mom had died and she wouldn't want me to come home early. She would want me to stay until the end of my trip and to call when I got the chance. My professor told me he had already checked to see if I could fly home early from Shanghai, but there were no flights. We only had three days left on our trip, but if I wanted he would take me to the airport to see if I could fly standby to get home sooner. I said I would just wait to go home on our originally scheduled flight because that is what my mom would want.
What the fuck? I just got an email from her the other day. She was fine. I just wanted to go back to my room and cry. I don't remember the walk back to my room. I don't know if I started crying at the internet cafe or if I waited until my roommate opened the door to our room and blurted out that my mom had died. I started bawling and felt sick. I remember continuing to go to the bathroom because I thought I was going to be sick, but nothing ever came out. I was sick with grief. That night and almost every night for the next few months I cried myself to sleep. I would fall asleep crying listening to music from a playlist I had made to try and calm and relax me. To this day I still don't like to listen to "Brass Bed" by Josh Gracin because it reminds me of that dreaded night.
The rest of the trip was a blur. I know the following morning I went down to breakfast where the group was only to ask around if I could borrow someones cell phone to call home. I knew a few people in the group had phones and had hoped to borrow one of them. I had to sit at the breakfast table and retell my horror story from the night before. I was able to borrow a phone after breakfast and I think I talked to my brother. I blocked out the details of the rest of it. I sat in the hallway of our hotel with my back against one of the white pillars as I made the phone call. The rest, only the ethers can remember. I got sick with strep throat from the stress and was miserable the rest of the trip. I sat in our bus and airport just wishing I was home already. I was hot and cold with a fever and chills. My throat hurt so bad I couldn't swallow anything. That’s all I can remember those last few days before I made it home.
I was finally sitting in the airplane on our flight back home to Chicago O'Hare when the stewardess came up to me and told me to come with him. I grabbed my things and followed him to the first class cabin and sat in the open seat he led me to. When he came back I asked him why. He said your friends told me you mom just died. I lost it and started crying. I slept pretty much the whole flight home and was so grateful for the seat lying flat. We made it back to Chicago around midnight and there were no flights to San Diego until the next morning. Judy and Dave, who were on the trip with me, let me stay the night with them in their hotel room near the airport. I got up early the next morning to catch the first flight out to San Diego. Since I had booked it last minute I took the only seat that was available, a middle seat. I just remember being miserable. Five more hours on a flight feeling like shit and I was stuck the middle seat.
My dad and siblings greeted me at the airport at the baggage claim when I arrived back in San Diego. I think I cried when they hugged me. They collected my bags and we went back to my brothers house. I just remember sitting on the couch at my brothers house trying to sip on tea praying for my throat to feel better. I can't remember if it was the day I got home or the following day I had my dad take me urgent care. Sure enough, they confirmed I had strep throat. It took about 24 hours for me to start feeling any better.
Even though I was with my family, I still felt like I couldn't let anyone see me cry. I was distraught inside and struggled to hold it together, but I didn't dare let anyone know that. I was always fine or okay. I didn't want anyone to know I was a mess inside. That I was just trying to hold the pieces together to make it through the day. How do you think a 21 year old girl would feel when she finds out that her mom died unexpectedly and she didn't get to say goodbye?
I'm not sure how many days passed before our family decided to have a celebration of life for my mom at my Aunt Teresa's house. It was relatively quick since I had to go back to Wisconsin before classes started again after the winter break. We knew mom would not want us to have a funeral for her. She would want something light and fun. I remember her full of life and bright like a beautiful bouquet of flowers. We told everyone to dress in bright colors and not to wear black because she would not have wanted that. I remember standing near the front door at Teresa's house greeting aunts, uncles, friends, family friends and accepting all of their condolences. At one point I lost it and broke down in my siblings arms. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep holding it together pretending everything was okay. I pulled myself back together and regained my composure. I was an expert at this as I had done it my whole life.
We had everyone gather in the family room in the back so we could thank everyone for coming. My brother, sister and I stool in front of the group of people that had gathered together that day. We wanted to celebrate moms life and remember all of the happy and joyous moments. I was going to read a poem in her memory. I thought I can for sure read this. I am strong. I will be able to hold it together and read this. I didn’t even make it through the first line before I lost it and handed it off to my brother. I was so proud of him for being able to read the poem.
I went back to school feeling like I was in a cloud of fog. Trying to make it through the day. I managed to be fine until the dreaded moment when someone would ask me how I’m really doing. Then my fragile emotional self would break apart and shatter again and again. I hated that question. I still hate and dread that question. I hated it when my dad passed away eight years later. I hated it when my mom’s mom, Mimi, and my dad’s mom, Grandma Margie, passed away. How do you think I am really feeling when someone I love passed away? When I know I can never hear their voice again or hug them.
I wasn’t able to really eat much for a few weeks after. I was still sick with grief. I would get hungry and make pasta or pick up a Beach Club from Jimmy Johns, but would only manage to eat a few bites before feeling full. If you know me, then you know I love food. I would really try my best to eat, but I just couldn’t.
When I was feeling sad I would call my mom’s voicemail just to hear her sweet voice. One day I called it and the number was no longer in service. I was distraught. I wish I would have recorded her voice. I had already lost my mom and now I have lost the ability to listen to her voice. Now she is really gone. I clung to any personal items I had of hers. Dominc, Angela, and I had gone through her very few boxes of things. I kept some of the clothes that I had gotten her along with a few other momentos. Now, the only things I have of hers are a gold ornament with the letter D, for Dottie Jo as she went by instead of Dorothy Jo, and a glass vase that she had painted with her stamps. At one point in time she had a business called Everythings’ Bloomin. She bought glass vases and flower pots that she would stamp with flower stamps. They were beautiful and bright just like her. I loved how creative she was. Some of the things I remember most about her are her creativeness and love for gardening, both of which I associate with flowers.
When I reflect on her memory today I am grateful to have such a loving mother. I know she did the best she was able to do at that time in her life. Sometimes I wish she were with me to experience different things in life with me. Then I remember how lucky I am to always have her with me. Her spirit is always with me and protecting me. She gets to experience everything through me and with me. Just because she isn’t physically here anymore doesn’t mean isn’t with me.
In fact, I know she has sent many women to me to be mother figures in my life. Of course there is my amazing sister, Angela, and Aunt Teresa. I have Lynn from my childhood best friend Lizzy. There is Tracy from one of my ex-wife Tish. Harriet who has taken me in and adopted me as her third child. Debbie, my sweet step-mom who would give my siblings and I the shirt off her back if we needed it and accepted us as her own children. Most recently, a Balinese woman whom many Auntie, who has taken me under her wing. My Ibu, as they say here in Bali. I extend my deepest gratitude to all the women who have ever been there for me and stepped into my life as mother figure. I feel so blessed to have all these amazing women in life. To be there for me when I needed someone, but it still doesn’t bring my mom back. There are some days I just want HER. To hold me and rub my back.
In loving memory of Dottie Jo DiMaggio, January 15, 2010. Today marks the ten year anniversary that she left us here on earth. This is a personal reminder that we all go through dark and painful times and it is okay to sit with our feelings that aren’t so pleasant. I use and transform these emotions and pain to rise from the ashes into a better and stronger version of myself. Being strong doesn’t mean not showing any emotion. Being strong means being vulnerable and raw and showing what is really inside. Allowing others to see our true colors. That is real bravery and courage. I still hide my tears from others, but I have made a conscious decision to be more open about these feelings with those close to me and to ask for help when I need it. It is not easy, but I am becoming more brave each time. It’s time for the ego to step aside so I can live from my heart space. What is one way you can be more brave and vulnerable in your life?
Looking at things now from another perspective, things would have been very different if I had the tools that I have today. For any one who may be navigating a loss here are some of the tools that can help you find inner peace. 1. Everyday when you wake up and before you go to sleep, find at least three things you are grateful for you in your life. 2. Find at least one lesson you are able to learn or take away from the situation. If you can find the lesson or the silver lining, it enables you to turn a negative into a positive. 3. Sit and quiet your mind. Focus on your breathing. Feel the air coming in and out of your nose as you breath deeply and slowly. Once you have done this for a few minutes, turn your attention to your heart and continue breathing in the same manner. 4. Accept the current situation for what it is and move forward creating the life of your dreams. May all beings find peace and share unconditional love.
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