WILKES-BARRE — For 58 years, Mother’s Day has been a difficult day for me to get through.
Because on the day before Mother’s Day in 1968, my mom — Elizabeth Kraszewski O’Boyle — was called to heaven — she was 42 years old.
Dad and I were devastated — our lives were changed forever.
My way to deal with it was simple — remember Mom and call on her whenever needed. And it has worked.
Not one day has gone by in the last 58 years that I have not thought about or called on her, and she has always been there for me spiritually. The same goes for my dad, who was called to heaven in November 1995.
That’s why I caution you who have your parents still around. Cherish all of these days before and enjoy each and every second of them.
Don’t complain when they ask you to do this, or go there, or take them wherever they ask. Just do it. And do it with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
I know I have said this before, and I’m sure it is true of all who have lost a loved one — they have remained with me always and, in many ways, I find comfort in that.
Sure, I would prefer to have them here with me. I wish I could call them and hear their voices again. I long to be able to take them to the grocery store, the doctor’s office, or to a baseball game.
On this day, remember my story of the day before Mother’s Day. Cherish your days with your mom and dad and make every “day before” count.
I draw strength from remembering my Mom and Dad. Like most of you, I feel I had the best parents I could have asked for, and they taught me everything I needed to know just by being who they were, so I could become who I am.
It’s a strange, hollow feeling when you realize that both your parents are gone and all you have left are memories. One thing that never comes back is that feeling of security — the feeling of safety found only in a mother’s arms or in a father’s strength.
Lost forever is that feeling that no matter what, everything will be okay.
On this Mother’s Day, I will speak about all my Mom meant to me and who she was.
My Mom taught me to be kind to people, to respect people’s feelings, to listen, to help, and to care. And to love her cooking — oh, how I long for her vegetable red soup with homemade noodles.
And she was also my best friend.
The youngest of nine children born to Polish immigrants, my mother saw the good in everyone, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, or status.
That was the essence of my mom — to do for others. Help where you can. Make a difference, even if it seems small to you; it’s much bigger to the person you are helping.
It’s those things that have stuck with me through the years.
I remember:
How she would sew my old socks together into a ball for us to play baseball in the street, despite the pain she had in her arthritic fingers.
How she would walk with me up and down Reynolds Street to catch the bus to go shopping, whether in Wilkes-Barre or New York City.
Her pierogi and piggies and kielbasa and scalloped potatoes and roast beef and ham and chicken and, well, everything.
How she kept an immaculate house, tolerating two males who were not nearly as neat as she was.
How she learned to drive.
Her decorative Christmas cookies, her meticulous housekeeping chores, her witty sense of humor, accompanied by her infectious laugh, her love of family and friends, her devout religious beliefs, her welcoming personality, her determination to live life as normal as anybody else.
And how she loved art and dreamed of one day seeing the Mona Lisa — DaVinci’s masterpiece that she marveled at because of its simplicity and meaning.
• Side story — In 2000, I decided to take a trip that would include a stop in Paris, a visit to the Louver museum, and a date with the Mona Lisa. It was a trip my mother would have absolutely loved.
When we walked through one gallery into another, we were told, “The Mona Lisa is displayed in this room.” I got emotional, and I choked up a bit, and when I realized that I was about to stare into the eyes of the world’s most famous painting.
But I was not going to view this lovely lady alone. It was at that moment that I decided that I was going to look at the Mona Lisa through the eyes of my mother.
On that September day, Elizabeth Kraszewski O’Boyle finally would get to see her favorite painting.
It was more than emotional for me. It was an experience that I didn’t want to end. I wanted my mom to be there, and in many ways, through my DNA and my faith, she was.
Some final thoughts
Mothers do amazing things on a daily basis that we mere mortals marvel at.
A mother can get her kids off to school after breakfast, make their beds, do the dishes, throw in a wash, do some ironing, fold clothes out of the dryer — and then go to work, where she will do her job better than anyone else, find time to do a little shopping at lunchtime, stop at the store on the way home, cook dinner, pay the bills, take a yoga class, catch up with a few friends, help with homework, do more dishes, finish the laundry, tidy up the house, take the dog for a walk, go to a soccer or Little League game, drive the neighborhood kids home, get everybody to bed and still have time for a favorite TV show before somehow transforming herself into a goddess for dad as they head off to bed.
So to all you sons and daughters out there, yes, treat mom to a great Mother’s Day — and then do it every day. She deserves it.
And always remember all she has done for you.
Happy Mother’s Day.