Memories of Mom…

A few years ago, I reached the age where I had accumulated more years without my Mother than with her. I lost her when I was a mere 24 not yet old enough to realize how much I was going to need her, nor how much I would end up missing her. At that young age she was still “mom”, you know the “mom” we love but still chafe under as young adults. It isn’t that I took my Mother for granted, I didn’t she taught us that lesson well enough, but I had no idea how much I would miss her and how many times I would need her counsel, her teaching, her understanding, and maybe more than anything those irreplaceable tender moments of a mother’s comfort.

I am not a man to wallow in could have been, should have been, or might have been, no I remain grounded in today looking forward to what will be; but I do so without the sage wisdom, eclectic sense of humor, artist’s vision, and comfort of my Mother’s company and with every year I grow ever more keenly aware of the magnitude of this loss. I amble through the few pictures I have of her remembering the too little time we had, who knew these images would turn out to be so precious?

I watch as my younger sister struggles with the almost intolerably difficult task of raising another woman’s children as her own, is there a more thankless humbling role, probably not. I only wish that those young girls one day realize the tremendous effort and sacrifice that is being made on their behalf, but I know my sister will make the same level of effort regardless, you see she learned from my Mother what it meant to be a mom.

In my wife, the mother of my own children, I see vestiges of my own Mother, although their time together was brutally short. She loves my children without end, she is their comforter, their confidant, and she is a tireless advocate on their behalf and I don’t have the capacity to thank her enough, for they occupy the most precious parts of my heart. And although it wasn’t her burden to bear she stepped into the breach left when my Mother passed and has been my supporter in all things.

So Mom it’s a day like any other, but wherever you happen to be and whatever it is you are doing, know I miss and love you today and all those days still to follow.

About the Author

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Born in Manhattan in 1965 Joseph Castagno is the son of a second generation Italian American father. His mother’s family were mixed heritage people: Indigenous Haudenosaunee, French, some of the earliest Dutch settlers of the Hudson Valley. Growing up with such a multicultural heritage provided him with a view of both the immigrant experience, a perspective on the founding principles and ideals of the United States as well as the original teachings and ways of Northeastern Indigenous people. Having lived all over the United States Joseph has a broad perspective on US society and the variety of social values and customs that make up this great country. He currently resides in Florida with his wife Tammy, having raised four children they are now enjoying their grandchildren. Joseph has always had a passion for reading and writing and has published a number of articles in local papers and magazines. After a long career in healthcare he published his first novel “Jake” in 2016 drawing on his experiences and observations living in the Southeast and Florida. His current novel “Traffic” has just been published and he is currently working on his next novel and spoiling his granddaughters!

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Memories

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