When the Jasmine Flowers Disappear
As I am writing this, gentle whiffs of sweet, ripe jasmine flowers are making their way into my room. In Bologna, their delicate yet distinctive profume flows through the air in late spring / beginning of summer to such an extent that it is almost bothersome. It is July 1st, and it is that time when the jasmine flowers strive to eek out the last remnants of their inborn scents before they die.
There was this scent in the air when I was out with my husband in the Bolognese Hills on a Saturday night, July 5th 2014, and I got the call. It was my sister. She said that our mom just died.
That moment is as piercingly clear in my memory as if it were yesterday, despite almost 9 years having passed.
Mom was born and raised in Queens, New York, to an Irish Catholic immigrant father and a 2nd generation Irish Catholic mom. Her upbringing was tough, and she lived on very modest means. Yet she had high aspirations, and that motivation led her to finish high school early and then head on to nursing school at Lenox Hill. She met my dad in her late teens and married a couple of years after. And, yes, her first child came less than a year after their wedding. Mom had a total of 4 kids.
As the film of my life plays in my head, I’m reminded first of what sticks with me most about her: her gentleness, her words of encouragement, her abundance of loving support and wisdom to share.
Then, I’m reminded of the tragedies & struggles that struck her and my family. Surrounding the circumstances of one of the first of these was when I was around 7. My mom gave me a gift, a Dawn doll (remember those?..) However it wasn’t my birthday nor Christmas time. Just out of the blue, a gift.
Now reflecting, I get it… I was spending days at the hospital where my mom was bringing me and my siblings along as a visitor while we waited and waited. For me, though, it was no big deal, and, as it goes, being a kid, you just go along with your family and make the best of it. In fact, I remember, with my brother, discovering frogs in the lawn outside the hospital, and keeping them as pets (until they got smelly and died).
Mom lived her life stoically. She was a private person, though. And she kept a lot to herself, unless, perhaps my father knew, but he died suddenly 2 years before my mom.
Her death, sadly, came very sudden too. Us kids were doing the best to support her after she continued to painfully grieve and suffer after losing her husband while he was mowing the grass in the backyard. She was home when it happened. Can you imagine the guilt she carried with her? Yet she never mentioned talked about it, at least not to me.
Mom was a super achiever. She had great potential too, to live a new, full life at 70. But, as they say in Italian, era più forte di lei…. she just couldn’t shake her misery.
I can’t imagine what it was like for my brother. He got to her home the night of July 4th 2014. She had asked him not to bother her when he got to her house, and he respected her wishes. The next morning, a realtor came to the door to see her. My brother walked up to my mom’s bedroom and found her collapsed on the floor.
Death is never easy. But, the passing of my mom was like ripping open my insides. Gosh, darn it, if you can only go back in time. Yet, these are life’s hard facts.
As my mom’s 9th anniversary is nearing, the wound is opening up. But instead of blood, there are tears. With tears, come healing though.
Not sure if the jasmine flowers are helping me to get over my mom’s passing. But now that I think about it, they could be a message my mom, showing that she is still present… as a gentle sweet fragrance that caresses my mind. Yes, that’s it.
