Alberina Ciolfi

My mom died on Nov 19 2023.  The pic above is one of my favorites taken a few years back. It personifies her joy for life, child-like innocence and the laughter that lived within her despite the burdens she carried.  Her death is life changing for my family and for me personally.   Having been her caregiver for these past 9 years, I can only say I’ll never be the same again.  The emptiness left behind after this extraordinary human being has left us is immeasurable.   And the stories that I have left to tell as to what I have witnessed these past few months as she declined, will fill pages in the years to come.   I will not speak too much more of this woman after today’s blog.  I need to pick up the pieces of my life and a big piece of that is writing as that part of my life has been on pause.  I can hear her say, “don’t cry” and “get writing”.  She wanted you to get on with things, never linger.  She only wished the best for me and to do the things  that I love.  I will cherish her memory forever.  And her smile is forever seared in my mind.  Unforgettable.

For now, I leave you with the eulogy that I wrote and gave at her funeral on November 25, 2023.  I encourage you to read the whole piece without skimming as you will lose the full impact of her story.   This is not a 2 minute read, so carve out some time and read it with a determined focus.

I poured my entire heart and soul into this piece which was the hardest thing I have ever written.  Many thanks to my siblings, particularly to my sister Lisa who helped me, as she always has, with the finer details.

Mom’s Eulogy

I want you to pretend we’re in a big movie theatre. Giant screen. Surround sound. Best way to see a movie. And the movie we’re about to watch is a biography on the life of Alberina Ciolfi.

How do you start such a movie? What’s the first image you’d see?   I’m sure if I asked each of my siblings this question, we’d all come up with a different answer.  

A few months ago I met a doctor with my mom present – this was after we received the cancer diagnosis that ultimately took her life.   He entered the room and said this to me: “Your mother’s is a complicated case.” I nodded, laughed inside…”of course she is” – that’s part of what made her a remarkable human being.

And yet as complicated as she was, she lived her life simply. She only had grade 5 education; yet she was full of wisdom – had a common-sense-way of looking at things. More humble than anyone you would ever meet. She listened more than she spoke, but when she did speak, it was infused with truth and often laced in a wicked sense of humor and sometimes masked in sarcasm. She loved people deeply, she loved to laugh, but she was also a solitary person – private and independent.

She had massive amounts of love for Family, Faith and Food. Her love extended to other activities: washing dishes, doing laundry, folding clothes – it all relaxed her. Going grocery shopping was always an adventure – all these things didn’t just give her purpose, these simple activities that many of us begrudge, gave her joy and centred her.   She loved a good cup of tea. She was an avid reader. 3am bible readings, with a hot cup of tea when she couldn’t sleep – this gave her great comfort.   It was heaven on earth.   Watching tv also gave her comfort. Whether she was listening to her favourite preacher or enjoying a good laugh with an old sitcom.   And she loved movies too.

Speaking of movies, in the 9 years she lived with me in Toronto, I can’t tell you how many movies this woman watched, but it was a lot. And of course I encouraged it when I could. Our family is nuts for movies. My brother John recently told me that when he was 5 years old, mom would plop him down in front of the tv and they would watch movies together. And so the seed was planted early.   Whenever she watched a movie her attention was fully drawn into whatever world she was witnessing.   Which brings me back to the question of how Alberina Ciolfi’s movie would begin.

Maybe that’s the wrong question to ask, maybe the easier question to answer, at least for the moment, is how I wouldn’t begin such a movie. Let’s start there.

I wouldn’t begin her story on the day Alberina was born on January 24 1939 in a town called Castropignano, in the province of Campobasso, in the country of Italy to her parents Adamo and Philomena Luciani.

Nor would I begin her story with the first 17 years of her life spent in ltaly where at the age of 9 she was cooking, cleaning the house, and taking care of her younger sister and brother – Carolina and Liberato. She was practically auditioning for the role of mother at this tender age.

Two important events happened to our mom at 13. Neither one would be the beginning of her story, but both are significant.  She told me she had an experience with God at that age and that her faith going forward became the cornerstone of her life. Mom was a prayer warrior and the bible was her guide.

The other event that happened at 13 was the day she met the love of her life – our father, John Ciolfi.   She saw him in the town, and said to herself: “I’m going to marry that boy one day.”

During the last few months of her life, I asked my mom if there were any other boys who were interested in her and she said: “Yes – seven.” She went onto list their names. They all wrote her letters to have her hand in marriage.   That’s how things were done back then.   My mother turned each one of them down. “They were too young”, she said. She wanted an older man and she fell for my dad – who was 7 and a half years older than her.

And as much as I think this would make a good beginning to her film…if it was one of those cheesy hallmark movies, which this is not…I wouldn’t begin her story there nor when she got a letter from John when she was 17. Dad had moved to Canada. He wanted her hand in marriage. She said yes, left Italy and moved to Canada with blessings from her parents.   And like our mom, dad was a person of fierce faith.

That first year in Canada was brutal for Alberina. She cried for one year, desperately missing her family. But everything changed when her first-born son – John Jr. was born in February 1958. This sounds like a great place to start her movie – sorry John, we’re not starting here either. But that year with her first-born was a magical year, as my mother not only watched over her own son, but also helped care for her nephew, our cousin Carmen. My parents lived with my Aunt Bina and Uncle Ennio for that first year in Canada.  It was a joyous time, she had fond memories of living with them. But we’re not starting here, so don’t get too comfortable.

My parents bought their first house on Empress Avenue and it is here they had my brother Robert in Nov 1964 and my brother Adam in Nov 1965.   The Ciolfi clan had grown to 5 – mom and dad and three boys and the house on Empress became too small…so it was off to Watt Street, where yours truly was born in March 1970 – a perfect place to start our mother’s movie – of course I kid you, it’s not. Nor is the birth of my sister Lisa which happened shortly after in Nov 1971.

Growing up, we went to church every Sunday. A pasta lunch followed. Mom kept house tirelessly every day of the week but the Sabbath was her day of rest and you would find her napping on the couch every Sunday afternoon. My mother had said of that time that we didn’t have much money – but we had everything. We had each other. And we five kids had a blast.

And now that the Ciolfi clan had grown to seven, dad decided to move to a bigger house on Steven Street.   We lived at this house the longest and made many awesome memories. I can’t tell you the amount of friends, cousins and family that came to that house. It was filled with laughter and play and all the food my mother could dish out. We played ball hockey games on the street in front of the house. My siblings and I made dozens of short films. Our basement turned into a mini movie studio. My brothers had a rock band. There was music coming from the basement constantly. And my mom and dad just allowed it. Freedom. And such fun.

But it wasn’t all happy times on Steven Street. A significant event happened to my mother in 1979 and I would be remiss not to include it in her story because as difficult as it is to share, if you want to know my mother, it’s impossible to leave this plot point out of her life.   And although, this once again, will not be the beginning of her movie, it was a moment that changed all our lives going forward.

My mother had a breakdown one evening in 1979. I remember that night as if it happened yesterday.   She eventually was diagnosed with mental illness, although at that time it was not labelled that way. We as a family learned later on that she suffered with schzio-affective disorder, depression and anxiety.   Starting in 1979 this disease complicated our mother’s life. However with proper medication and the help of the family – she rose above it and mostly beat it every day.  

Yes, there were times in the years that followed, our mom would get sick and she would disappear into the illness and oftentimes have stays in the hospital. But in the end, she always returned to herself again. She beat it.

Her fight with this illness and how she overcame it, gave her a compassionate spirit. She was never quick to judge others because she knew what it meant to feel real pain, loss and total confusion. When her mind was clear and happy, the joy and laughter overflowed in her and onto others. There’s a verse from the Bible in Romans 5:3 that personifies our mother – We rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.   She was that hope and light. That verse might be the perfect text to start Alberina’s movie, but we are still seeking the first image.

In all those intervening years some life changing events happened. John got married to Joanna. Robert got married to Sandy. Adam got married to Elizabeth. Lisa got married to Rick. Romeo got married – oh wait a minute, Romeo never got married.

Beautiful grandchildren were born, all with quirky, unique personalities. Leif, Reid, Alexander and Julia. My mother adored each of you. And prayed for you always.   Up until the end of her life, whenever mom was feeling anxious about something, she would often quote her grandson Leif who, as a young boy, would always tell her in times of distress: “Everything’s going to be okay, grandma”. It’s a motto she lived by and quite recently reminded me of.

My mom loved to be at home. She was the true definition of a homemaker. Home was where her heart beat strongest. And when she returned back to her home in Italy in the 90’s and reunited with her mother some 32 years later, she found herself reliving her childhood again. Sadly, her dad, whom she adored, died two years before, so she never got to see him again.You would think her reunion with her mom and siblings would be an emotionally charged and appropriate first scene to Alberina’s movie. Sorry again to disappoint.

Moving onward – in early 2000, our Dad developed Alzheimer Disease. This was a particularly difficult time in my family’s life because as my father deteriorated physically and cognitively, my mother simultaneously over those several years deteriorated mentally.   My brother John was the sole sibling left in Niagara to watch over them, along with my sister in law Joanna, and I know how difficult this was for them. My other siblings and I were in Toronto. And doing long distance caregiving was virtually impossible. But over those years, we saw what was happening and it was heartbreaking on so many levels.

Many movies like to start on the death of someone. It’s a cliché and not very interesting. And I certainly wouldn’t start Alberina Ciolfi’s movie on the death of her husband/our dad who passed away on July 3^rd 2010. My mother was not well at the time, she had been inconsistently taking her medication and we all knew being around her was like walking on eggshells.   It was an impossible situation to deal with. And so it wasn’t a complete shock to us that shortly after our dad’s passing, our mom had a complete mental collapse and ended up in a psych ward for nearly five months.

I remember telling myself at the time that I didn’t think she was going to get out of this alive. Her mind was shattered.  Her body had betrayed her. It was like there was a ghost living in her. And visiting her during those brutal months was difficult to say the least. I was preparing for the worst. But something I have learned over the many years about our mother is that you can never count this woman out so don’t underestimate her. Her strength and courage puts us all to shame.

And now ladies and gentleman, we have arrived at the point where I believe Alberina Ciolfi’s movie should start.  One day, I was visiting my mom in the psych ward – by this point she had spent about three months there. I came to her room but she wasn’t there. So I walked the hallways, looking everywhere for her but I couldn’t find her.

And then I came upon a large room. Now I want you to picture this, because this is the first image of her movie.   This room had a wall of windows.   The sun was blazing outside and it lit up the entire room.   Sitting on a chair, looking out the window and soaking up the sun’s rays was this woman. She was alone. Her back was facing me. The room was empty. I poked my head in, got a closer look and realized it was my mother. “Mom?” I said. She turned to me, ever-so-slowly, smiling, her face beaming and she said: “I just wanted to feel the sun.” And I knew in that moment, after all those torturous months lost in her mind, she had snapped back. Mom had returned to the simple things again. The sun, the bright rays – hitting her and filling her with such hope – ready to face another day.

That image and those words make up the first scene in Alberina Ciolfi’s movie because it speaks to her incredible strength and bravery and how she always tried to remain positive in the face of painful realities.   She never gave up. Her movie would then fill in all the details of the previous years that got her to that moment, while simultaneously moving forward to the life she would live after.  

And what a glorious life it was after. Despite the fact she was in deep mourning after losing her husband, she had more life to live – although at the time, even though she was stable, her mind and body were fragile. So much so that she could not return to Steven Street and manage the house on her own.And so, in January 2011, our mother moved into the Plymouth Retirement Home in Welland.   For the next 4 years, this was her home.  And she grew to love it.

As each year passed during her time there, our mom had gotten stronger both physically and mentally. Usually when an individual moves into a semi-retirement home, unless they pass there, their next stop is a nursing home. Well – not my mother. She broke that rule. She outgrew the retirement home. She got her mind and body back. We were beyond impressed and amazed that our mother somehow miraculously became an even better version of herself.

My siblings and I got together and decided to take our mother out of the retirement home and that she would move in with one of us. But which one? My sister and I own a house in Toronto together and, at the time, she was getting married to Rick. After much talk and some hesitation on everyone’s part because no one really knew how this was going to work, my brother John suggested to me that our mother move in with me at the house in Toronto. And so, shortly after Lisa and Rick were married – Alberina Ciolfi’s story took her to Toronto on December 12 2014 where she lived in yet another home on Danesbury Avenue.

Those 9 years in Toronto gave our mom a new lease on life.   Mom would often say how grateful she was to Lisa for allowing her to move into her house. And though she often told me she missed our dad (or as she would call him “Papa”), her life took on new meaning in Toronto.  At Plymouth – the retirement home – she couldn’t cook, do laundry, go shopping for groceries or do any gardening. Everything was done for her. Well all those things came back to her in full force when she came to live with me.   And she loved every moment.  

I had lived with my sister in this house for many years, so when our mom took her place there, I realized how many of my sister’s characteristics had come from our mother.   I often found myself staring at my mother, across the room, sitting on the couch and I swear I saw my sister. Both ladies would get the same look on their faces – particularly when they were annoyed at something or someone and usually that was me.

I want to return to that sun in the room at the Pyshe Ward.  When she came to Toronto, I would often find my mom sitting on the porch in the early mornings, starting from 6am, soaking in the sun for up to three hours.   And during that window, she often walked around the block, sometimes twice. The sun’s rays, the light, filled her with renewed life. I could see the contentment and joy she felt sitting on a sun-drenched porch or going for a walk. She didn’t need to travel; she didn’t need big gatherings or parties.   The simple pleasures were enough for her.

She often told me: “I love my bed” and at night I would hear her pray while in bed: “Thank you God for this bed”. She did not need much to make her happy. She didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. Food was a passion to her. She cooked right to the very end despite the fact she was gravely ill. Two days before she entered a hospital, never to return to the house on Danesbury, my mom made a huge pot of pasta sauce with 35 meatballs with the help of my sister.   She was determined – undaunted. Mom went out the way she wanted to. Doing the things she loved.

Throughout those 9 years in Toronto, I’d often jokingly say to her: “What are you doing here ma?” And her reply was: “I have no idea” – then we’d laugh our heads off.  And although in the last couple of years some physical and mental issues popped up, we dealt with each one head on. I did my best to give her the most comfort possible. She said to me on many occasions: “I don’t know where I would be without you” and I would repeat the same words back to her. The truth of the matter is, she wasn’t just my mother – she became a dear friend.

It’s always hard to say goodbye to the ones we love. There never seems to be enough time. Our family will miss Alberina Ciolfi. When a love that great passes, the pain is that much greater. As it should be. But her light will shine bright beyond this life. Wherever my mom lived, she lit up a room because home for her truly was where her heart was.

Mom, you lived in some wonderful homes in your life and as we rapidly flash through your movie, we remember: the farm in Italy, the apartment with Aunt Bina and Uncle Ennio, the houses on Empress, Watt, Steven, the Plymouth Retirement Home, the house on Danesbury in Toronto and your final home on earth, the Palliative Care Unit at Baycrest. You were surrounded by earthly angels there as the nurses cared for and treated you with such extraordinary compassion, respect and love.

In her last few moments on this earth, I was with mom along with my siblings Robert, Adam, Lisa and my sister-in-law Elizabeth. We surrounded her bed, holding her hands. That room was filled with overwhelming love. We kept telling her that we would be fine and that she was free to go.   Mom’s room at Baycrest had a large window. It was a cloudy day with the sun breaking through every so often.   And just as she drew her final breaths, the sun’s rays landed on her face.   Mom, when you passed, you got to feel that sun again.  

And now mom, you have gone to your eternal home.   And this of course is the end of your movie here on earth.   But there’s another fantastic movie playing in your new address where I am certain you have reunited with “Papa”.  I look forward to watching that movie one day.

And so mom, I know you’re feeling the sun right now and that you are basking in its healing rays.   And we know you did your very best in your earthly body. You lived a bold, courageous, love-filled life. And in these last couple months when you faced your mortality, I know you were sad to leave us, but you also repeatedly assured us with a fearless confidence that you were not afraid and were ready to go. Your peace was unshakable.   Ma, you have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith.