I was working in Los Angeles when all of a sudden I realized that I had enough money to quit my job and go on a trip. Call it fate, call it what you will; but some force within me told me that it was time to go home. So I left my job, bought a plane ticket and flew to Illinois. My goal was simple -- to be with you, Pia.
During those 15 days that I visited, I have some of the most vivid memories of you. Maybe it’s because those are the last days I ever saw you; but I think it’s more than that. During those 15 days, I witnessed your beauty. The things you did and said confirmed my belief that I had the most special mother in the world, and even if time fades all memories, this one fact will always remain as real and true as the sun.
I remember you sitting with Valentina, night after night, going over the multiplication tables with flash-cards trying to make her learn her math. Each time she missed a problem, you would patiently start over. I was struck by how determined and dedicated you were during those days. After years of searching for happiness somewhere else, I saw in your eyes that you had found your pot of gold. It was always there, right next to you. It was your family. It was all of us.
I remember during those 2 weeks that everyday I sat home and wrote. At night, when you got home from work the first thing you did was come into my room, sit on the bed behind my chair, and ask me how my day had gone. When I told you how difficult the writing was, you told me not to worry, that everything would turn out fine. This has been your motto for years, but as you spoke those words to me during those days, it was somehow different. Your tired eyes looked upon me with a love and concern I had never seen before -- as though you were trying to pass on a secret to me, but you couldn’t say the words. Now I understand what you were trying to say, but I miss your voice. Pia, everything will be fine. But it will take me awhile to accept your wisdom.
I remember one day I met you for lunch on Campus; and after lunch, you asked me what I was going to do. I said I was going home to write. It was a beautiful autumn day, and you suggested I write outside. So I walked back with you to your office, and sat on a concrete bench right outside your window. I spent 2 hours writing there, surrounded by an ocean of autumn leaves, twirling all around me in the wind. I remember the whole time feeling that your were watching me through the window, and I remember thinking -- she is proud -- and it is a feeling I carry with me everyday now as I sit alone in these rooms to write. Your words inspire me, but forgive me for feeling weak when I think of you. I know that in time, the strength you gave me will shine through.
I remember it was the last Saturday of my visit, dad was out of town, and we decided to go and visit every home we had ever lived in since we came to America. Each place we went held a collection of wonderful memories. I remember you laughing when you saw the dwarf pine-trees growing in front of our Crescent Drive home. Dad had planted them, thinking they would grow to be giant trees; but instead, 15 years later, they still remain these tiny shrubs. “I told him!”, you laughed and pointed at the miniature plants. Your eyes lit up with a smile. I miss the way you and dad would quarrel over who was right or wrong about silly things.
As we drove home, I remember telling you a secret, something I had never told you. When I was little, I had cut my leg on a window that was inside a garbage can which I was digging through in search of discarded treasures. When I was 10, I didn’t tell you what really happened for fear of making you mad; instead, I told you that someone had removed their window and set it on the sidewalk to wash it, and I was walking by, looking up at an airplane flying overhead, when suddenly I stepped through the glass. Fifteen years later as we drove home in the car, I finally decided it was time to tell you the truth. You should’ve seen the look on your face. It was that look of yours I have always known and come to love, a look of shock and anger, being pulled at by a smile -- a smile that was always lurking behind your every angry stare. You said to me then, with a laugh, that you should spank me for what I did all those years ago. When I think about all the things I did to make you mad, I remember what you always said to me, “no matter what you do, I will always love you because you are my son”. Although I never told you, I hope you know that I felt the exact same way about you.
On October 15 I left to go back to Los Angeles. At the airport in Chicago you gave me a big hug and said “see you in Hawaii”. That was the last time I saw you alive. And you were right, now I see you when I go to Hawaii where your ashes are spread in the ocean. And I am certain you are in the most beautiful palace of coral that one can find; but even if you weren’t, I am sure you would let God would hear about it and he would relocate you.
I remember when your father died, you told me that you had Valentina wear a flowered dress to the funeral. You said to me that when your time came, you didn’t want people to be dressed in black and crying at your funeral. You said it should be a party with music and dancing, because that is how you lived her life and that is how you want to be remembered.
Pia, it’s hard for me to laugh or celebrate when I think about your death. I miss you, and I still need you to be my mother. For now, I have to let my tears fall. I hope you understand that I hurt only because I loved you so much.
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