At nine years of age she was making dinners for her family and babysitting her 2 year old brother and 4 year old sister.   It was during these early years of her childhood that she used to hear the sounds of a trumpet come from the magnificent mountains of the land.  It was from a 16 year old boy who used to play his trumpet on the way to work.  That boy would be her future husband.

At 17, she left her family, left her home of Italy to move to Canada to be with the trumpet playing boy.  She was the only member of her immediate family to move away.  It would be some 32 years later before she ever saw them again.  At 18, she and the trumpeter married and at 19, she had her first son John.  Four more siblings followed – Robert, Adam, Romeo (ME) and Elizabeth.  She loves, loves, loves children and family.  First and foremost she was and remains a mother.  That is her job. She has mothered all her life.

Much tragedy has befallen her, the chief being a wretched battle with mental illness that struck in her late 30s.   There have been some wonderfully, joyous moments even with the illness and, in fact, she would not be half the woman she is without it.  That battle with demons and darkness throughout her journey is part of what gives her a wild sense of humor and sly charm.   That delicious charm can be seen behind her confident smirk and fierce eyes.

The trumpet playing boy, became a man and worked hard to support a family of 7.  When he became ill in his early 70s and she supported him throughout what is often referred to as “the long goodbye” (Alzheimer’s disease), her fight with her own disease of mental illness reared its ugly head and beat on her unrelentingly.   Near the end of his battle, we were unsure she was even taking her medication.  I remember during this unpredictable time, her behavior became so unhinged and infuriating, that you just wanted to run away from her.   These dramatic moments are so infused in my memories that they have made it into my writing (including my latest screenplays, BREAK AWAY and A PROMISE I MADE TO MR. BAGELS).  Writers write what they know and then some…that’s where the creative process becomes illuminating and liberating.

And when the trumpet man died, a piece of her died with him.  She had a complete collapse.  She would spend five months in a mental ward.  And when she came out, she was new again.  Mom was back…only to face a mastectomy one year after her mental recovery.

She couldn’t stay at the family home we had grown up in…so we sold it.  And at that time, her state was so delicate, we had doubt she would survive.  We had put her in a semi-retirement home and not only did she survive, but thrived and got better and stronger.  So much so that as a family we decided to take her out of the retirement home where she lived for nearly five years and she moved in with me.

And so for the last eight years, I’ve had the privilege of watching over this woman; of watching this star fight through lingering physical aliments and adjusting her anti-psychotic  meds so that she can be the best version of herself.    Stars are those who make others shine brighter, who would prefer to stay in the wings and let others take a bow.   For all her joy and inviting nature, she is a private woman who does not ask for much and gives constantly.

83 years on this earth and still shinning despite life’s pains.  The candle may have melted some, but the flame remains.  And even long after she departs from this earth one day, some flames are impossible to extinguish for their affects on others are so deep and so wide that their star never dies.