Live Like Leo Did...2017 JHS Senior Awards

She asked me if I'd consider speaking.

I didn't have to think twice. 

For Tonia, I'd do just about anything. 

The following is my speech from last nights JHS Senior Awards. 

It was a true honor to speak about our Leo and to announce the name of the young man who shares so many of Leo's attributes. 

Congratulations, Andrew Watret! It was a pleasure meeting you. 


Leo Alfano Memorial Scholarship Award

What an incredible night for parents and JHS seniors!

With graduation approaching, the future is bright and the possibilities are endless.

No one anticipates tragedies in the face of such promise. 

Unfortunately, they happen.

In a split second.

For us, it's been nearly four years now.

July 18, 2013 our world forever changed.

This graduating class may be one of the last to remember Leo Alfano. Some of your older brothers may have played soccer with him or your older siblings might have graduated at the same time. Or, maybe you know his sister, Filie, or his brother, Peter.

Those of us who love Leo never expected to be giving a Memorial Scholarship in his name.

There's no way we could have.

His personality was so large and full of life that we all imagined many years with him; laughing with him; loving him.

Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way we'd planned.

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

That quote was one of Leo's favorites and he wore it, proudly, as a tattoo on his ribs.

While the Alfano family wants you to know they would love to be giving this award themselves, the emotions of talking about their son...their brother...becomes too much.

And so, here I am.

If you knew Leo, you won't ever forget him.

He grew up, along with one of my sons, as another child in our family.

Actually, I think our son would have rather been an Alfano. He spent so much time there at their house that you would have thought he was.

Leo loved life.

He loved his family.

He loved his friends.

He lived life to the fullest.

He lived in the moment.

What we've all learned since Leo was taken from us is that there is a 'brighter day,' even in the face of unspeakable tragedy.

Those of you sitting in the audience tonight share many of the same attributes that our Leo had. Whether or not you knew him, you ARE him, in your own way.

You're intelligent, you're talented, you're ready to set out on your next great adventure, and you will make a difference in this world.

None of us knows what the future holds but the mere fact you're among this select group of award winners tells me you are well on your way to finding out.

You're the hope for the future.

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

Reading thru the many applications for this scholarship, the committee was struck by how any one could and should be awarded this scholarship. That speaks volumes! Many of you plan to go on to higher education and already have an idea of your career plans and goals.

Keep going! Even when times get tough...and they may.

We could all learn a lot from Leo...live in the moment, love your family and your friends, and be true to who you are. Everything else will fall into place like it should.

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

The sun is shining on this graduating class of 2017. 

Never hesitate to walk into that sunlight.

Live life like Leo did.

On behalf of Sam, Tonia, Peter, and Filie Alfano, I'm honored to announce this years Leo Alfano Memorial Scholarship award winner is Andrew Watret."

It is what it is. 

p

My Perfectly Imperfect Family...

Four kids born within five years. 

Going anywhere, publicly, meant we drew lots of attention. 

Our little stair-steps. 

Three boys and one baby girl. 

Our 'B' kids. 

The 'Killer B's.'

The 'Stewart's.'

We were blessed with wonderful adult friends during those years and equally great pint-sized playmates for our four. 

I'd often hear comments about how well our kids got along together. For the most part, they did. 

I'd hear how they were good students or talented athletes. 

All that was nice, of course. Who doesn't want to hear their children seem to be figuring out this 'life' thing with minimal bumps and scrapes along the way?

As the kids have grown and now are all well into their 20's, I've realized how much more proud I am when I look at them now. 

More bumps and scrapes than I would have ever wished upon them. Some of the pain couldn't be fixed by a bandaid and a hug from mom. I couldn't help them on their journeys. 

Perfectly imperfect. 

Our Braxton has searched for his place in this world. Always knowing he was supposed to make a 'change' yet not quite finding how to do that. As a young man of 26, I now see him in the place he needs to be. He may have had to go to another country to 'find himself,' but he's becoming more of who he truly is than I've ever seen before. He was born an old-soul and has never fit into the mold meant for him. Finally, I see and hear a man content with his life course. I'm more convinced than ever that he will leave his mark on this world. 

Our Blaize had to follow an overachieving and focused older brother. Not easy to walk in those footsteps. While we never made him feel he had to, Blaize took some years actively rejecting that path and set out to be independent of Braxton's example. Some of what was laid out for him was doable. It would work for Blaize. But, after years of coming to terms with who he was, Blaize was able to say, publicly, what he had been holding inside. Even in this age of sexual/gender acceptance, Blaize showed a courage I didn't know he possessed. The final piece of the puzzle came into place and Blaize became everything he was born to be. His courage has me awestruck. I've told him, more than once, that he is the 'voice' for others who haven't yet found theirs. 

Our Brody was born with a carefree and fun-loving spirit. He never competed with his brothers for attention or for anything else. He just was himself. Totally and completely. Sometimes, we don't notice when such a personality starts to change. I didn't. And I'm his mom. Following an unthinkable tragedy when he was 19, Brody started to change. Little by little. Until he finally had enough. It's been nearly a year, and I can see my old Brody again. His struggle with depression impacted us all. We have all grown in awareness and will continue to strive to help Brody in any way we can. It's a learning process. Day to day. The pride I feel that my son had the courage to ask for help is something I've not talked about much. But, I've never been more proud of Brody than I am now. 

Our baby, Bentley. She'll always be that to us and, perhaps, that's been her Achilles heel. Would we ever see her for all she was because she was the baby? Because she was the only girl? Because she was both of those? Until this last year, when she went back to college on her own, she never had the chance to prove she could 'make it on her own.' I've told her, recently, how impressed of her I am. We had things going on with all three of her brothers and she was left on her own. Not that she hadn't been to college before-but never without all or one of 'her boys' by her side. She did it. Incredibly well. She's one hell of a person. Strong yet sensitive. Loving but independent. The baby grew up this year. She's come into her own. 

And so...there they are. 

My four babies. 

Perfectly imperfect. 

If I had known, I would have tried to ease the trials and tribulations. I would have tried to ease the pain. I would have tried to shelter them from these bumps and scrapes. 

I'm guessing that's why I didn't know. 

Life is about making it through the times which challenge us. 

I think they've done that. 

They're going to be fine. 

My 'Killer B's.'

Perfectly imperfect. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

'I love you, I love you, I love you, he said.'

He left us an envelope. 

Amongst the tears and the desperation of trying to remember to verbalize everything I needed in those last minutes...he handed me an envelope. Said it was for both Ed and me. 

He handed one to Blaize. 

He handed one to Brody. 

He handed one to Bentley. 

He had written letters to all of us. 

When Braxton left us back at the end of November, he knew he'd be gone for 27 months. That's the commitment he made to the Peace Corps. 

His journey would take him half a world away. 

How do you begin to say goodbye? He won't come home the entire time. If we want to see him, we will have to go to Guinea. 

We all knew this going in. 

As I left the airport that day, I remember telling Ed that I wasn't ready to read the letter. Brax had told us there were three separate ones inside our envelope. One just for Ed, one just for me, and one for us both. 

It's been over three months. 

The envelope has remained unopened. 

I haven't asked the boys if they've read theirs. 

Beni read hers almost immediately. That's Beni. She couldn't wait. 

I had to. 

I put the envelope in a basket beside our refrigerator. It's a basket that sometimes holds random pieces of mail, ink pens, wedding invitations and the like. Just the stuff I never know where to put. 

So, I put the envelope in there. 

I would check it from time to time. 

There was one morning I woke up and I felt a panic because I couldn't think of where the envelope was. 

I wasn't going to read it. But I needed to make sure I knew where it was. 

Still there. In the basket. 

Unopened. 

Tonight, I came home from work and went right to the basket. 

I opened the letter for both of us. 

Sunday, November 27, 2016

'Mom and Dad,     

I can't believe this day is finally here. There are so many emotions, it is hard to even know what to think. I love you, I love you, I love you...that's all I can say.'

The letter went on for several pages. It took me a long time to get through. I had to stop and wipe the tears as I went. I had to get my emotions under control before I went on. It was as if I could feel my heart tightening with each word. When you love someone, you know what I mean. It's unexplainable. 

I finally finished. 

My cup runneth over. 

My heart is full. 

Insert all of the cliche quotes which mean you feel blessed. 

I folded up the letter. 

Ed will want to read it later. 

He may even read the one just for him. 

Not me. 

The letter with my name on it will wait for another day. 

I can't do it yet. 

My heart will tell me when. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

 

Reconnecting With Me...

I guess I pictured my life a certain way. 

It hasn't turned out the way I saw it in my head. 

Actually, I didn't see myself at this age. 

Trying to imagine what I'd be like several decades down the road wasn't easy to accomplish. How could I possibly know? 

I'm in my 50's now and it seems like it happened so fast. Years have flown. Suddenly, I'm past middle-age. 

Wow. When did that happen?

There have been curveballs thrown at me along the way. 

I didn't anticipate my mom dying when I was in my 30's. It made me grow up overnight. 

I didn't fathom my dad and I becoming estranged soon after. It made me cherish my own children even more. 

Those were awful and totally unexpected events which rocked my base. 

But, the part of my life that has completely blindsided me is the fact my four children GREW UP...they somehow became adults and there are times I struggle to look at them without seeing the faces of the little kids they once were. 

When you're a mom who has four kids within five years, you spend the majority of your 20's, 30's, and 40's immersed in motherhood. 

I didn't picture that I'd be facing this withdrawal that I am. The sadness and emptiness that comes with the end of 'mothering' my kids. 

The reorganizing of who I am. 

I'm a mom. 

I'm a wife. 

I know this. 

I'm more than that, though. 

I don't want to lose ME and sometimes I feel like it would be easy to just see myself as what I am to my family. Instead of who I am to myself. 

On my own. 

I tell my kids to find what makes them happy. 

I've been doing the same. 

Kind of been forced to do it as life doesn't slow down for you to catch up. 

I have to say that I am looking forward to this new year. 

I'm at peace with my journey so far. I wouldn't change a thing because it's brought me to exactly where I'm meant to be. 

I have a wonderful husband of over 28 years. He's a man I've loved since I was 13 and he's my best friend. Can't get much luckier in that department. 

I have been blessed with four healthy and happy children. And although I would turn back the hands of time in a minute to make them all small again, I'm trying to embrace the future with adult children. I'm trying to appreciate 'what's next' instead of long for the past. 

Well, in all honesty, I'll always long for the past-where they're concerned-but I am excited about what the next decade will bring for them all. 

For us, as a family. 

But 2017 is going to be about reconnecting with myself. 

I can't be who I used to be. Nor do I want to. But I can take a part of who I was into the new year. 

It's ok to admit it's tough. And will continue to be tough. 

But life should be about growing and stretching yourself to be more than you were before. 

All I have to do is look at the kids Ed and I have raised to see what my life has been about this far. 

They are the truest reflection of who I am. 

They push me to be a person they can be proud of. 

In the end, I know, no matter what happens from this point on, that having the love and support of Ed and our kids is all I'll ever need. 

Anything extra...well, it's what they call icing on the cake. 

Here's to the new year and all that it implies. 

It is what it is. 

p 

 

New Life...

Finally getting the thing you've been waiting for can be incredible!

In my case, it was a simple phone call. 

I saw a strange sequence of numbers come up on my phone and the only reason I didn't silence it was because I caught a glimpse of the word underneath the numbers...Guinea. 

It was my son calling! My heart skipped a beat. 

But, by the time I clicked on the accept button, the call ended. It wasn't long before a voicemail came up. 

Just hearing his voice, loud and clear, coming through the speaker was incredible. I laughed and I cried at the same time. 

Relief. 

Joy. 

Love. 

I had been waiting days to hear him. 

Almost two weeks with no word. 

He was leaving instructions on how to go online and add minutes to the phone the Peace Corps had given him. He told us not to call him as the charges would be astronomical. But if we add minutes to his phone, he can call us. Maybe once a week or once every two weeks. 

Needless to say, I immediately went to the site he told me about and added the most I could. 

I had no idea how much time that would give us. But I just wanted him to call back!

Within a half an hour the phone rang again. 

All these days and nights of worry melted away when he said, 'Hi, Mom!' 

I ran to get Ed and I put Brax on speaker phone so we could hear what he had to say. 

We only asked a few questions and he was off and running. 

So much to tell us about his new life. 

And, boy, is it ever a NEW life. Nothing is the same as the life he knew. 

As I listened, I realized that my mind was spinning but my heart was mending. 

To hear him so excited and hopeful about what he would be able to learn and, in return, to teach these people on another continent--well, it's exactly what I had hoped to hear. 

The quiet resolve was still in his voice. The immense changes haven't dulled his overall goal. He is there to serve and to help. I couldn't have been more pleased. 

He spoke of deplorable living conditions, unspeakable abuses against both humans and animals, unimaginable health challenges, and lack of basic American comforts. 

While I realized I would have never had the strength to do what he's undertaking, I was so grateful to hear him say he is totally immersing himself in the culture and is blessed with the family who has adopted him for the next 27 months. 

He told us he feels safe and isn't fearful of his surroundings or of the community where he is living and will be working. 

With each word, my heart felt better. 

And better. 

A heart healing. 

No matter where our children find themselves, we only want the best for them. 

We want them safe. 

We want them happy. 

While I would not have chosen this path for my oldest son, I am truly ashamed I never thought about how what I want for him is what the families he will be working with want for their children. The Peace Corps is such a natural fit for Braxton. How did I not see it before? I've been so consumed with my missing him and the thought of him being gone for so long. 

It took my son to show me that we have a very short time on this earth and it is our duty to share our blessings with others. 

It's only been two weeks since he's been gone and he's already taught me that we are all humans with the same basic wants and needs. I'll do anything I can to support him these next few years as he fights for others. 

It's no longer about missing my son. 

It's about sharing him. 

He belongs to Guinea for now. 

This is how a mom's heart begins to heal. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

We May Go, But Our Hearts Stay Home...

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking with sadness at the same time?

I've been feeling so many unfamiliar emotions these past months. As the months have turned into weeks and then days...I started feeling a way I haven't ever before. 

Our kids have each left to go away for college. 

One by one. 

Those days, moving them into their dorms, were so hard because our life shifted. 

One less child at home. 

We did that four times. 

It became a bit easier with each one and our family adjusted to the new living arrangements. 

Today was different. 

We watched Braxton walk away and board an airplane. 

We can't take a weekend trip to the place he's going. 

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking with sadness at the same time?

We've known Braxton was leaving. 

He joined the Peace Corps months ago. 

Yet, the departure date was so far away that I was able to justify it in my mind as a distant event and I was able to rationalize the trip as not something I had to worry about for awhile. 

I watched him unpacking and repacking his bags last night. Double-checking. Triple-checking. How can he possibly know what he needs for 27 months in another continent? 

He's flying out of Illinois and will end up in Pennsylvania for a few days of training. Then, he'll eventually end up in Africa by the middle of this next week. 

His new home. 

He'll be thousands of miles away from us. 

We don't know if he'll be able to text or even call. Mail isn't an option until he gets settled with his host family. So we're not certain how we'll communicate. 

We've always been a family who talks to each other everyday. Even when the kids were in school, if we didn't talk on the phone, we'd make sure we sent goodnight texts. Every single night. 

This is the first time I won't be able to send one to Braxton. 

He won't be able to send one to us. 

I don't like it. 

I like to say goodnight to my kids. Even better, I like to be able to picture where they are. Their dorm room...their fraternity/sorority house...their apartment.

Not this time. 

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking from sadness at the same time?

The flip side of my sadness is immense pride. 

My son is going to serve in the Peace Corps and give back to others for over two years of his life. 

I don't think I would have been strong enough to leave everything I know to go another continent at that age. Actually, I know I wouldn't have been. 

Much like parents whose children serve in the military the pride I feel is bittersweet. You know your child is following their calling and, yet, it takes them away from you. It changes everything about your family dynamic. 

We wouldn't want it any other way. But it doesn't mean it isn't painful to watch unfold. 

I've felt like I haven't been able to find the words which truly describe the roller coaster this has put us all through. Unusual for me, I know. Words are not usually a struggle. 

When it comes down to it, I want all my children to follow their dreams when they have that chance. My job is to be supportive and let them go. 

But the mom in me wants them all to be close...within calling distance...within driving distance. 

It will be over two years before Braxton comes home. 

We know this. 

Our family dynamic changed today like never before. 

I'm going to let the tears flow. 

I'm going to let my heart hurt. 

I'm going to pray for his safety.

I'm going to embrace the change because I know how much it means to Braxton. 

How can your heart be bursting with pride and breaking from sadness at the same time? 

I'll think about the world map the kids gave me for Mother's Day which hangs at the top of our stairs. 

Braxton came up with the quote that sits on a little gold plaque at the left bottom corner: 'We May Go, But Our Hearts Stay Home.'

He's not here...but his heart is. 

I told him this morning...as I was telling him goodbye...that in order to change the world he has to experience it. And I am so proud that he wants to do this service for others. 

I'm extremely lucky to watch my child go and live his life how he wants...following his passion.

But I'm also not afraid to say I'm going to have bad days when I just want him back with us. With me. 

It's going to be a struggle. I'm going to try my best to remember how blessed we are. 

This 27 months apart will make us love each other even more. 

How can I see anything but positive in that?

It is what it is. 

p

 

And the Second One Has Left the Nest...

Blaize left this morning. 

Suitcase in hand...along with whatever else the train allows passengers to take aboard with them. 

Somewhere in his stuff is an air mattress he'll sleep on for the week. Along with various items of necessity to get thru one week without furniture and all the creature comforts of home. 

Within the past few weeks, Blaize accepted a job in Chicago with Jim Beam. Beam Suntory, to be exact. He'll be a Corporate Communications Specialist. 

I have no idea what that truly means. Even though he's tried to explain it to me, I just know that as he describes his duties...his face lights up and his expressions tell me that this is the type of job he's been waiting for...looking for...since graduating this past May with his Master's degree. 

It wasn't easy. It wasn't cheap. He spent lots of money going to and from interviews in Chicago. He'd be in the top three. Then, the top two. Then, the call would come that there might be something else coming soon but they'd given the position to someone else. 

I kept telling him I was sorry but felt the right job was out there and he was obviously on the correct path. 

It wasn't happening as quickly as he'd hoped. But Ed and I were happy to have him stay at home for as long as he needed. 

Five months. 

Now, he's employed and has a studio apartment in Wicker Park. 

It happened. 

Right when it was supposed to happen. 

We'll go this Saturday to move all the furniture, clothes, and other stuff he's packed up to begin this new adventure. 

Damn. 

I'm so proud. 

I realized that we've now seen our two oldest sons move away to take jobs and become the independent men we raised them to be. 

This is what parents hope for. Happy children. Self-sufficient and strong. 

I know this is a blessing. 

I'm thankful he'll be close enough to come back home. Again. A blessing. 

But, as with all mom's, there's that part of me that would have loved to have him stay home even longer. Living in his bedroom with all his things piled around him. 

I'll miss the random plate or glass that Blaize is known for leaving out on the end table over night. He can never seem to remember where the dishwasher is. 

I'll miss seeing him when I get home from work. And I'll miss having him ask what we're doing for dinner. The upside will be that we can now add onions to all our dishes because he's the only one who doesn't like them. 

Where in the world has the time gone? How did he grow up enough to be moving away and starting a 'real' job? 

This life-thing sure has a way of sneaking up on you. 

It's not an ending. 

It's a beginning. 

This will be a side of Blaize I've never seen before. 

I can't wait to get to know him. 

If possible, the love continues to grow for my son. 

This man who used to be a boy. 

It is what it is. 

p