A tribute and temporary Goodbye to my Mom Carolyn Russo. 

Alternative Title: Carolyn and Joseph, an enduring love story. 

I still can barely say these words out loud because that makes it more real. 

Sunday morning, very early in the morning on Mother’s Day 2017, around 3:35 am, the brightest, most beautiful and vibrant blue eyes I have ever seen fluttered and closed for the final time on this earth. I lost my Momma. My beautiful, hilariously funny, zany, dramatic, kind, selfless, loving and consummately spiritual mother left this earth to join many beloved family members and friends in Heaven.  

 

I don’t expect most anyone to read this in entirety or even at all. I told my dad I would help him write something about my mom for the paper… and I couldn’t help but get carried away. But not being Rockefellers, it isn’t going in the paper.

 

So now it is written to honor my sweet mother and so her friends and family may celebrate my story of her.  We all have Carol stories and all are different. I celebrate the amazing lifetime commitment she and

my dad made to one another, to her family and to their faith. 

 

This is not particularly organized. I started to spill my thoughts in the few spare moments I’ve had this week, just writing what comes to mind and probably writing too much.

 These are my memories, and as memories can be, I might not recall everything as it was, so forgive me please. 

 

Carolyn Mary Vogel Russo

Carolyn Mary Vogel Russo passed peacefully and quietly as she had hoped, at home in her own living room. She was surrounded by her four dedicated children – her “bunnies” or her “chickens” as she called us - Mary, Suzan, Daniel, Catherine - and devoted husband Joseph - of 59 plus years. They had hoped to make it to 60!  

 

It’s all in the family

We are just a regular people, albeit all very different. We all love one another with a deep abiding devotion. We also drive each other nuts sometimes. That’s family. 

 

Some people might poke fun at the closeness of certain families and the incessant phone calls/communication amongst each other. 

 

Ours is that type. I celebrate it.  We are the “Kissing Russo Family”. And when we can’t kiss in person, we call, and call, and call. 

 

Mom and Dad are the most dedicated couple, parents, grandparents and great grandparents I know.  If I am even half the parent or wife to my children and husband, I am proud. 

 

 

Barbie and Italian

When Mom was a teen she had the body of a Barbie doll (very tall with long skinny legs, very thin body all over but very busty).

 She had the face to match:  Beautiful, fair and smooth skin with indecently high cheek bones, bright blue eyes, lush dark hair and gorgeous white teeth. 

 

I remember when I was first conscious of body image and weight – early adolescence. 

I was truly shocked at the realization that Mom spent a great deal of time trying to gain weight. Most of the other mothers I knew seemed to be trying to lose weight, and even some of my friends at ages 10 and 11 were doing so.

 

  My Dad, four months her junior, loved every inch of her, inside and out, from the time they met at 15.

 

 As she grew older and sicker she became less tall and not at all thin (but she was still busty!). But he still told her every day – and I frequently heard this - she was more and more beautiful each passing moment.  I know he not only meant it, he truly loved her more and more every day, inside and out. 

 

Yesterday I was looking for some papers and found a large pile of love notes Dad wrote her just this year. There are hundreds more like it from years’ past scattered in nooks and crannies all over their house. A book in the making…

 

She too left many amazing diaries for us telling us about her life, but mostly about the man she loved who could “Do anything”. 

 

I only recently learned she loved sports as a child! How did I not know this?

 

 

Dad devotedly took care of his bride for the last 63 years, and for that I am in awe and grateful.

 

 In the last few years, without question or complaint, he took care of her most every need, especially as she grew weaker. Cooking (and well!), cleaning, shopping, medicine, doctors, bathing, bills, driving, house alterations, you name it… She, alternatively, felt terrible about it and wanted to do more to help.  She constantly worried about his health during this part of their journey. For his part, he just wanted to keep her safe.

 

 A love like theirs doesn’t come along every day. 

 

The Secret

They both have always told me the secrets to a successful union: “Communication” “Write lots of love letters, even when in the same house.”  “Never go to bed angry.” ”Always Kiss one another goodnight, even  if angry”. “Hold hands when you argue”. “Pray Together”. 

 

EB

We called her the ‘Energizer Bunny’ because she defied so many illnesses during the span of her lifetime. She kept bouncing back, a frenetic optimistic bundle of energy even when very ill. Indeed, the brutal physicality of the human condition foisted upon her never seemed to inspire negativity.

 

Never Quit!

Over her 78 years she outlived many of her physicians.  Time-and-time again they said it was time to throw in the towel, dating back to when she was 26-years-old and lost a kidney to Peritonitis. 

 

During that time, she was mostly unconscious and in the ICU for about 21 days.  She just wasn’t ready to leave my dad with four babies under 5-years-old, so

she fought and fought. Always thin, she returned home almost skeletal. 

 

But she made it!  

 

There is a whole book dedicated to research on my mom’s illnesses by the late Dr. Gerard Eastman. It sits somewhere in Huntington Hospital, NY, the very same hospital my siblings and I were all born in as well as my daughter. 

 

 

 

Over Mom’s lifetime, especially in recent years, some people would comment, often with an accusatory tone: “She is so sick all of the time.” Like it was her fault, or she wanted it that way.  It was incensing! 

 

She certainly never asked to be sick, and for a sickly person she had more energy and spunk than some of the healthiest people I know. 

 

 

 Two days before she left us she said she was looking forward to the next trip she and Dad would soon take in their Pleasure Way (RV). 

 

She was stubborn her whole life, you will see. 

 

 

Three is not enough Doctor!

Following complications with the birth of her third child (my brother Daniel), her obstetrician told her not to have any more children or she wouldn’t survive it.  

 

So, when she became pregnant with her fourth child (Me, the miracle child!), the doc said he resigned and told her to find another 'baby catcher' as he “didn’t want her life on his hands”.

 

 That was more than a few decades ago, and she did more than survive. 

 

She LIVED. 

 

Mom never lost her sense of humor or hope to get well. As of last Friday, as earlier mentioned, she still discussed plans for traveling the world for many more zany adventures with Dad. She also wanted to witness and share her unwavering faith, a gift she often shared with her children and anyone else who would listen.

 

She was never afraid to be a “Fool for Christ” as my dad says, yet she loved people of all faiths, ethnicities, sexual orientation and opinions.

 

 I am not saying she wouldn’t try to convert you, but whether she succeeded or not, she loved, unconditionally, as she said, “All of God’s Creatures.” 

 

 

Every second has been worth it Mom!

The last few months have been especially difficult, but our family members dropped everything as often as possible so we were able to spend as much time as possible at her side. It was a gift for us.

 

 I personally feel as if I have been an absent, anxious, angry and moody mother, wife and friend because I

was so focused on my Mom, even when I wasn’t with her. 

 

For that I apologize to those I might have ignored, most especially my children and husband.  But I will never regret the time I spent with my one and only mother, which still wasn’t enough. 

 

Reality Stinks…

What I have learned in the last few days: The chasm between wanting to see someone relieved of suffering and them truly gone is infinitely endless and infinitely empty. 

 

Indeed, already, in the first hour she was gone I realized how much I would give to just phone her just one more time. I would tell her that one funny thing only she would get, or to ask her about one of Grandma Vogel’s recipes, to ask for a prayer for a friend, or just to vent. 

 

To do it all over again, I would never ever lose patience like I sometimes did, or say I had to go because I had to take care of some inconsequential detail. 

 

I regret every hurt I put upon her, and I know there were many, and often. In contrast, I cannot recall one time my sweet mother hurt me in any way. I may have gotten some of the details in this story wrong, but this part is not selective memory. It is truth.  

 

 

If I ever had one complaint about my mom, it’s that she worried over me too much. Truthfully, I often gave her cause to worry, taking risks I shouldn’t and just doing crazy things. Her worrying is a testimony of her love, so really, a compliment. 

 

 

She loved to Travel

 

My funniest travel memory of my mom was during a ‘girls’ trip’ to Paris, France. 

 

She had become separated from my two sisters and I and my then two-year-old daughter Anastasia at a Metro (subway) entrance. 

 

Not speaking a morsel of French or knowing her environs, she did not want to lose me, as I had once studied in Paris. 

 

So, despite being unwell even then, she summoned her survivalist instinct.  With strength summoned by what must have been pure adrenalin, she singlehandedly pried opened the already firmly closed doors. 

 

Of course, those doors will open by sensor, but either she didn’t know or didn’t think about that. 

 

With her arms spread wide and taut with the weight of the open doors now completely open, her face looked as triumphant - but also those pooling blue eyes emanating complete terror - as Atlas with the globe. The French people nearby were staring at this crazy American woman causing such a scene!

 

Brownouts!  

 

It was an expensive time in Europe as the dollar was extremely weak. 

 

It was also tough to find a hotel room in Paris that would accommodate four women and a toddler, at least without paying a king’s ransom or getting two rooms. 

 

Fortunately, while booking our passage on the ferry from Southampton, our agent managed to find us a lovely (old but large) and affordable hotel in the 15th Arrondissement. 

 

It was spacious, clean, cool.  They even allowed a baby cot in the room which no one else would permit. It was also on about the 21st floor with a huge balcony and spectacular views of the city. 

 

What more could you ask for?

 

The place was a miracle. Manna from heaven.

 

Or so we thought. 

For those who have never visited Paris in July, the beautiful City of Lights can be one of the most suffocatingly hot, crowded places on the planet. 

You might as well melt yourself on an aluminum blanket on a Florida beach and you will achieve the same sensation. 

 

Popularity can be a curse, and for us, Paris’ allure was a curse.

 

Indeed, it seems that half the human-race was in Paris that July, sucking up more electricity than the city’s infrastructure could apparently handle. Thus, there were brownouts in our hotel and in many other places of business. Our spacious room, which had A/C and quaint painted closed windows, lost power about 3 am on night number 1.

The 'quaint painted shut windows' suddenly became a nemesis. The chamber quickly felt as furiously hot as an incinerator, so for a while we camped out on the balcony, at least with fresh, albeit also very hot, air. Aside from not being much cooler, it had little protection for an active toddler who excitedly tried to climb the railing with no protective bars. Soon I became terrified I would fall asleep and she would fall

over and tumble down 21 floors to the dirty Paris pavement. 

 

So, plan B.

 

We weren’t the only unfortunate guests who had lost power, or the first to complain.  Management was not willing to let us move to a 'still fonctionne' room over others. 

Generally, I despise sounding like a litigious obnoxious American, but my daughter’s life could have been at stake. It took some time to convince the front desk that our moving was a priority over many others. I guess a toddler maybe falling over an unsafe railing on a balcony finally won our case.

 

We moved twice in the middle of that long, sleepless night.  I still recall trudging up and down those dark hot staircases with our overly packed (of course) suitcases in tow (l’ascenseur ne fonctionne pas).

The next day the hotel told us they were also having some electrical problems.  If we chose to “we would

have to deal”, with no reduction or refund, balcony worries or not. 

 

No deal. 

It was tough the following day to find a place that had availability, especially big enough for four grown women and a toddler. Nobody cared that the toddler was peanut sized, to them ‘five was five’.

 Two rooms weren’t really in the budget, but at that point we were willing. Unfortunately, even that couldn’t be had it seemed, even if we went to a place like the George Cinq, way the hell out of the budget. 

Paris was completely overrun with tourists, so Mom gave us the idea to go renegade (she also decided we should not have to pay for toilets in restaurants;  that got us in a hell of a lot of trouble. Mom definitely had her rebellious side, and I thank her for the inheritance). 

 

At her urging, after some hours we found an acceptable place that could accommodate four.

 “Four?” I asked.

Her diabolical plan unfolded as this: 

 

 My sister Mary and I (who look somewhat alike) would enter and exit at different times so they thought we were the same person.  We have much different body types, hair color and even skin color, but it remained our only option - or leave Paris. I hadn’t shown them any of my faves yet. 

What they proposed is not as easy to do as say a Hampton Inn. For starters, most European lodging takes your passport upon checking into the hotel and only give it back at departure.  You eat breakfast there, and the lobbies are often very small.  Still, for some reason, Mom’s idea worked. She said God always provides.

We also saved money! 

 

So, we moved our belongings to the hotel in the Latin Quarter via cab.  It was evening by the time we were resettled, and Mom was exhausted. Her daughters, however, were ready to roam the Paris nightlife. 

She said she would stay in the hotel, watch the baby, say her prayers (of course) and “set her hair” so it would look nice for the next day’s adventures.  

 

The 5th floor walkup room was in an exciting spot for nightlife, overlooking a vibrant busy square of bars, restaurants and general joie de vivre. 

 

The hotel was the type whose shutters (also quaint) opened out towards the square.  Dwellers could practically sit outside the window – if it opened, which fortunately this one did - and observe the activity below. 

 

While roaming the area, we came across a choir of Spanish (young adult) men dressed in I guess what were their local (or perhaps) period costumes. 

 

They were in the act of serenading a woman.  

 

Simultaneously the three of us had the grand idea to hire them to serenade Mom. Once hired, they followed us back to the square and began to sing outside Mom’s window, and for a while we thought she was sleeping and wouldn’t emerge. 

 

But, finally, she did. 

 

I wish I had a photo of that priceless moment (No IPhones yet)…. 

 

There she was, sitting on the window sill, half out the window with the biggest, childlike smile on her face I think I have ever seen. 

 

She was thrilled. 

 

I am not sure if she remembered she had those pink fuzzy curlers in her hair or not, but she probably didn’t care.

 

 It is one of the best memories of my life. I wish my dad could have seen it. 

 

 

NYC

Another of my fondest memories is from the early 1990s when I lived in Manhattan.  Two places there on my mother’s coveted list were the Plaza Hotel and the Tavern on the Green. 

 

She was in awe of their perceived glamour and visited them many times just to see them. She had never dined formally at either, but constantly talked about doing so. 

 

Mom would never spend that type of money on herself. 

During my tenure on Wall Street, I had frequent opportunities to dine at some pricey and ritzy, upscale places. At most every event I was invited was always a monumental spread of appetizers, including, ubiquitously it seemed, oodles of fresh chilled jumbo shrimp and cocktail sauce.  

 

I personally never really cared for shrimp cocktail.  Mom, at least ever since she married into an Italian family, on the other hand, was practically an addict (She said she had never had shellfish until she met my Dad).

 

In any case, at some point I was invited to some function or other at the Plaza, and I was given a “Plus One”. 

 

Naturally I asked Mom to be my “Plus One” and she 

was ‘over the moon’.

 

 Unfortunately, on the day of said dinner she had a ‘hair dying mishap’ . Large clumps of hair unfortunately abandoned her scalp -  just minutes before she was to depart for the city. 

Being the determined soul she was, and out of time to have a professional fix, she arrived in NYC with those clumps of hair carefully taped to her head. 

 

She wasn’t missing that dinner! 

 

She was terribly anxious and worried about how the creative hair tape looked. Still, the thought of all those large shrimp cocktails going untasted by her and missing dinner at the Plaza were infinitely more tragic than any bad hair. 

She had done a truly marvelous taping job –well sort of - and we both hoped nobody could see it. Later we just didn’t care, and we are still laughing about that day. 

 Later that year I took her to another event at the Tavern on the Green. After eating as much shrimp as she could fit, she found us some dinner seats next to a very handsome and (I later found out) a high- level officer of a large public company.

 In quick work, she managed to make me a date with him, even though I had zero interest. The next night I was in front row seats at a hockey game in the Garden.  She wanted me to get married! He just wasn’t my type.

 

Frozen Stiff

One of mom's favorite memories that she still talked of – and roared over with laughter even last week - was about yet another time she came to stay with me, this time to see an Off-Off-Broadway play.  It was so bizarre it might have been off-off-off-off Broadway, I don’t recall. 

       The show was somewhere near Washington Square Park in a warehouse, if I recall correctly,  It truly was the most bizarre “play” either of us had ever seen. Indeed, we laughed ourselves silly.

 

Frozen Stiff, as it was called, was about a patriarch of a large family who had passed away and his family discussing the irregular conditions of his will. Prior to his passing he had arranged to have his body frozen until science was advanced enough to give him both life and youth again.

It was an audience participation play and we played all different family members responding to this surprising set of circumstances. Mom was very shy about the limelight but somehow she mustered up her courage and had a hell of a good time.

 It doesn't sound as funny as it was, but hell you people weren’t invited. 

 

Afterwards we went for a ‘slice’ and it was the first time she'd ever had white pizza in her life. For years after that I would bring white pizza to her and she would be as delighted as a child on Christmas morn. 

 And she didn't even like pizza. 

 

 Running

As said, Mom loved visiting me in Manhattan, and unlike some of her friends she had no fear of driving into the city by herself. 

 More often than not, however, my Dad would insist on driving her.

Sometimes she stayed overnight, and I felt like  That Girl   (look it up, early TV series). 

 

And I will never forget our encounter during my first New York City Marathon.

       

It was my first marathon, and I only signed up on a whim.  I kept recalling my friend Betty’s advice: “You know you can walk 26 miles, so if you have to finish that way, you will still finish." Still, there I was, running at a good pace, and upon crossing the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan (at about mile 13), she and Dad were standing on the west Sid of the street, searching each runner’s face, waiting for their crazy baby daughter (“Who runs 26 miles?” “Just get married already, would you?” My dad said these type things with his cute Brooklyn accent).

 

Anyway, Mom had an orange in hand to give me as I ran past. I had no idea what that time would be since it was my first marathon and I hadn’t trained much. Nevertheless, they waited patiently until I came onto First Avenue after about two hours (we had a prearranged meeting spot). 

 

When she spotted me, she was so excited she ran into the runner pack before she realized she was not supposed to be there and was about to get trampled by runners on the run. 

 

She hugged me, laughed and said I was nuts. She then handed me the orange and returned to her place with Dad. I later met them at Central Park (after the finish) and she asked me if I was one of the winners. She loved me so much she didn’t register that thousands of others crossed the finish line ahead of me, right in front of her very eyes. 

 

Me: “Mom, it was just over four hours. The winning woman did it in closer to just over two hours!”

Mom: “No Cathy (she and my dad are the only two people I give permission to call me that…), finishing is winning. I am so proud of you”. 

 

 

The ankle incident

Also during my Manhattan days, she and Dad lived in an 18th century, 3-level home they had purchased on Long Island in the mid 1980s.

For much of that time my two sisters were living overseas and my brother in Florida, all married with children. BORING I thought. 

 

So, I was “it”, and I sure do cherish those years and the fun I had with my parents, especially now. Hindsight. So, when Mom slipped and badly fractured her foot, Dad asked me to come out and help her at that time he was working a lot of late hours. 

Mom had broken both her shoulders during high school (I think doing gymnastics), and she could not handle the weight of crutches. Navigating a multi-level house would not be easy, my dad told me. 

The ever-dutiful daughter, I left work early and took the hour long train and then the mile-long taxi ride to the house.

 As it turned out, I was superfluous as she had already figured it out. There she was, bumping down all those stairs on her behind like she was born that way. Later she insisted on vacuuming the house in a similar

fashion. And most everything else for the next few months. 

 

 A broken foot wasn’t going to deter ‘Can-DO Carol’!  

 

I was truly extraneous, slightly annoyed and not sure why I had cancelled my evening plans in Manhattan. I am sure glad I did. 

 

Dedication

Carolyn was extremely dedicated to her family, friends and her Roman Catholic faith. Until she became too ill, Mom attended daily mass as often as possible. 

 

A day rarely passed that Mom and Dad didn’t pray at least one rosary (often doing so holding hands).  

 

Usually they prayed many more than that, and, also made many novenas. Mom said they needed to pray for so many loved ones and there was not enough time in each day.

 

They weren’t financially wealthy by any stretch, but they certainly always had enough. God always did provide. They even managed to travel the country and the world - many multiple times. Holding hands. 

 

That is rich! 

 

Mom shared her faith with whomever would listen, but didn’t judge those with other and/or dissimilar beliefs.  

 

She never faltered in her quest for respecting life, and to being kind to others, especially those who have been hurt, or are different, handicapped or in any way vulnerable. Still, she was not compliant or conforming just to be. That was just her. 

 

Always Be Kind

A few days before she passed away I told her I had recently had a falling out with a good friend who was historically and frequently very generous to me. However, I felt that the friend had recently not been kind to me and my feelings were very hurt. 

 

Mom and Dad taught us since childhood to think before we speak: “Put brain in gear before putting mouth in motion” is one of my dad’s favorite phrases. 

 

And, they advised, if we are upset about something or with someone, take a step back before acting or speaking - time usually gives perspective.

 

As is often the case - will I ever learn?-  I didn’t heed my parent’s wisdom. Instead I said some very unkind things I shouldn’t have said.

 

  I told Mom that I still felt I was “right” to be upset but I did immediately regretted the retaliatory words and knew I couldn’t take them back. 

 

Mom said to me: “Your grandfather would say ‘That’s a bunch of BUNK’. Say you are sorry and pray for forgiveness.” 

 

She immediately asked for the details and then told me, very nicely, I was probably the one out of line.

  

 Then, characteristically, she took the blame. “I am so sorry honey, you probably acted out of stress and worry for me so took things too personally.” 

I saw some wisdom in her words about maybe acting out of stress but it was not her fault. 

She said my job was to immediately make it right because not only was I probably in the wrong, if something happened… I would regret it forever. 

 

At that point I further analyzed the situation and came to a quick conclusion that she was right and I owed the apology, not the friend.  You cannot take back things you say, but you can work to fix mistakes if your heart is in the right place. 

 

Momma knows best.

 

She hated seeing anyone hurt or scared. She never liked to hurt anyone’s feelings and didn’t ever want us to talk or even think badly about anyone. 

She told us to pray for our enemies, even people who had hurt us desperately.  “If you want to get to Heaven you need to let go of grudges.” 

 

 When we were children she always stressed to us to embrace the downtrodden and the bullied - even if it meant we had no other friends. 

This is a message I have repeatedly tried to impart to my children. It is one of the best things she taught me. And sometimes the hardest to do. 

   I hope I can live up to her and be a kinder person. A better, more patient person. 

 

Thank you, Mom. 

 

Pilgrims

She was a dedicated Charismatic Catholic who accepted, respected and loved others of all walks of life.  

 

Along with my dad, she made pilgrimages to many holy places around the world, including Lourdes, Fatima, Rome, Međugorje and the Holy Lands. She

was proud of her German heritage and her childhood homes of Dayton, Ohio and Huntington, NY. 

 

 

The Kaler Family

 

Some of the best childhood memories in NY were with the Kaler Family – Hayes and Helen and their five children whose ages were interspersed in ours: Pat, Sharon, Chrissy, Timmy and Kevin. Mom had grown up with Helen in Huntington and the friendship stuck (to this day, Love you Aunt Helen!).

 

The Kalers were a camping, singing and dancing crew, just all around fun. They introduced us to the camping life and the related outdoor toileting, the latter much to my mom’s chagrin.  

 

Still, she was a trooper and we had such fun: Many hilarious and storied camping trips to different places in upstate NY. Mom was happier when Helen and Hayes purchased first a camper and then a house on a lake. Indoor toilets!

 There were 13 of us, and in those days seating 13 at a restaurant always caused a stir, but we never wanted to split. In fact, all of us children would ride in each other’s cars which often lead to inadvertently leaving more than one child behind. 

For instance, one time we were about 45 minutes down a mountain in upstate NY when somehow someone realized (maybe a gasoline stop) that Kevin, the Kaler baby (probably 6 or 7 at the time) was not in either car! Cell phones were only in Sci-Fi movies at that point, so the trek back up the mountain was fraught with trepidation. 

 But there was Kevin just calmly sitting and waiting on the hillside.

We could never get enough of that family, and every get together felt like magic. Dinners at Links Log Cabin or each other’s homes, picnics, sleigh riding.  Just singing and dancing and making crazy movies in one our basements were incredibly special moments.  None of us ever wanted those moments to end. 

When we moved to Florida in the 1970s we were truly devastated to say goodbye to the magical connection we all shared. We did have many adventures after those days and they are still family to us, but those really were the days my friends. 

The Vogels

For her entire lifetime, Mom was dedicated to her parents Marie (Brunswick) and Clarence, two beautiful, tough and hardworking and prideful German- Americans from Ohio. 

 

They too had great separate stories and a lifelong love story. Much of my childhood was impacted by their amazing love of us and to one another.  Bunk, my grandpa “The Great Legov” would say to just about anything he disagreed. He was full of good advice, which, as usual, I ignored. For instance, like my grandfather I was an avid reader. He had hundreds of books I would sit in their house in downtown St. Petersburg and “devour” every book in the house when I visited. “Cathy dear,” he would say, “Turn on some light or you will go blind.” My response, with a bit of a tone: 

“I can see just fine Grandpa.” He was right, and my eyesight is terrible. 

 

 My grandmother was the world’s most amazing cook, driven by her childhood on a farm in Ohio. They made everything from scratch, including butter, mayo, clothing, toys, even feminine products - well you name it.

 

 Her legacy lives on as Mom used her wonderful cookbook to feed us throughout our lives. Recently my dad has been the cook and uses many of the recipes as well. We still have the cookbook. She was an artist, a sculptor, and a kind gentle soul. She could cook or sew anything. I adored her. 

 

For a time my grandfather lived in an orphanage, and they both lived through two World Wars, Prohibition and the Great Depression. I wish now I had chronicled more of their lives. 

 

Mother’s Day

Losing Mom on Mother’s Day was bittersweet, but also profoundly special. This weekend was the 100-year anniversary of The Feast of Our Lady of Fatima, a cause to which she was extremely dedicated.  Mom is now with her Holy Mother and her birth mother. What a nice Mother’s Day gift for her!  

 

She wanted no fanfare of a funeral, and no flowers. She just asked for prayers for a peaceful death and for her soul, prayers for her family and friends and peace and love in the world. 

 

For those so inclined, she preferred Mass cards. 

 

 

My siblings and I were so blessed to have this strong, beautiful, selfless and funny woman as a mother and a role model.  We alternatively called her “Can-DO Carol” and “Lucy”. Sometimes she just did the craziest things.

 

 

Losing Elvis

She was a devout Elvis fan, like most young women of the 1950s.  A few years before Elvis passed away, for the first time in her life, ‘she was all shook up’ because she had tickets to see him with a friend. She was so excited. They had plans to sneak to the very front. Bad girl!

 

Unfortunately, a few days before the concert she tripped over an otherwise benign footstool. 

 

It seems her selfish youngest child (Me, the miracle baby) had been reading late that night, feet happily

perched for a time. She fell asleep, but upon wakening she sleepily scurried to bed (it being a school night and fearing admonition), forgetfully leaving the offending stool in an inopportune spot. 

 

That next morning Mom did not see said stool and tripped and sprained her ankle. Chances destroyed, Mom could no longer sneak past security on crutches to get to the front of the stage. She was stuck in her damned seat.  I think it was one of her big regrets in life. I know it is one of mine. 

 

 

 

 

She also liked reminiscing about her childhood and family, especially fond memories about being ‘tortured’ by her older brother Paul, as all big brothers must do, and about riding Paul’s ‘world’s first-ever’ zipline. 

 

She told story after story about “Champ” her Paint (horse) and about renovating the waterfront mansion (on the beautiful Long Island Sound) with her parents.

 

 

It began at aged 13

 

Most especially she loved to share stories about her lifelong romance with my Dad, Joseph, and the story of their courtship and its beginnings (“I’m not going out with that Eye-talian? What guy watches TV at a party?”). Mom, you see, came from a long line of Germans. 

 

What she didn’t know then was that Joseph was quite shy. Also, despite looking “Eye-talian”, he was also half German! 

 

His mom’s name, my paternal grandmother, was Bertha Kessler. Ironically, both of my grandmothers grew up knowing the German language, although they probably didn’t use it after WWII’s onset. 

 

 

 

Mom and Dad both moved to Long Island at the age of 13, he from Brooklyn, she from Dayton, Ohio.

Mom’s family came to NY for a business opportunity for my grandfather, and Dad’s family to escape the city. 

       Before my dad’s family moved from the city they purchased a piece of property in Huntington with plans to build their own home. The house was on a lovely street called Flower Hill Road. 

My Dad, along with his father and brothers, were all tradesmen or tradesmen to be. 

 

So, ably equipped, for quite a long time they travelled to Huntington every weekend to build a home for themselves and my grandmother.  

 

In those days, I was told by my mom, it was acceptable to check out a house under construction without being considered a trespasser. HMM

 

The story goes that my mom and a friend did just that at the Flower Hill Road house, and somehow inadvertently set off a sprinkler or hose.  

Apparently, it damaged my electrician grandfather’s newly installed electrical work. Fortunately, Mom and Dad didn’t meet until two years later. The rest, they say, is history.

 

 

 

NY or Florida?

Their first stint in Florida was compliments of the US Navy in Green Cove Springs (northeastern FL). That was just following their wedding in 1958. Then Dad was shipped overseas and Mom went back to Long Island to stay with her parents.

 

 I believe she was expecting my oldest sister Mary (How do I know, they didn’t choose me first!). 

He came back for a bit when she was born, and then, shipped out again. Upon his next return my sister Sue was conceived. The family joke is her name should be ‘Peabody’. I am not at liberty to explain.    

 

 

 

Oh the Places they lived!

Over the span of their lives together they moved between NY and Florida more than a dozen times. Maybe two dozen. Who’s counting? You are peripatetic, or you aren’t. 

 

Mom and Dad lived at so many addresses in NY and Florida I am sure I cannot name them all, but here are most:

West Shore Road, Flower Hill Road, Ripley Drive, Azalea-ville, Catherine Street, Wheeler Place, Lang Court, Brewster Drive, Linda Place, Brewster Drive, Glena Little Trail, Sterling Court, West Shore Road, Lovers Lane, West Shore Road, Vernon Valley Road, Leeds Street, Magerus Street, Seton Circle, West Shore Road, and most recently, Thacher Avenue.  

 

No matter the address, I don’t recall a day going by without music playing loudly from the stereo, usually at all waking hours except for mealtime and the always sacred 6 pm news hour.

 

She loved a lot…

 Mom loved playing Poker and Rummy, visiting casinos, talking about the crazy Brunswicks. 

 

 

Brunswick is my maternal grandmother Marie’s family (Sadly not the outboard motors or the bowling alleys). 

Grandma Marie’s oldest sister (of 10) was my Great Aunt Regina – better known to all as Aunt “Gene”. She was a deep voiced, outspoken, chain smoking divorced but devout Catholic.  

 

Bootleggin’. 

Prohibition in the 1920s afforded many people the opportunity of transgressing the law for profit, some out of greed and some out of desperation. 

 

For Aunt Gene, it was the latter. 

 

Because how else do you raise, alone as relatively unschooled single woman - four children in the 1920s after you divorce a drunk?

 

Unfortunately, Ohio was the extended turn of one Al Capone. Al was not about to let a tall skinny divorcee

undermine his profits, so he was given the opportunity to quit or be run out of town.

 

 If she had been a man she might have been shot on the spot. Instead, Aunt Gene moved to NY and continued bootlegging and did odd jobs that came her way. After a time she was able to slowly invest in Long Island and Manhattan real estate that ultimately made her a wealthy woman. 

 

Aunt Gene’s adventures and migration to New York are the inadvertent reason my parents met. Her later move to Florida as a Snowbird was also the inadvertent reason for me meeting my husband, but that is another story…

 

 

Mom also loved sharing the story about Manhattanite relatives (the same Brunswicks) who were arrested at a NYC wedding following a drunken family brawl (WHAT, recognize yourself anyone?).  My grandmother Marie was much quieter and more serene than these Brunswicks, but she loved them all fiercely. 

 

 

She loved old movies, musicals, and more recently, Blue Bloods.   Anyone that really knows me knows that I disdain and almost never watch television, but she got me hooked on that show.  

  In fact, this was the last show I ever watched with her, Thursday May 11 at 10 pm.

 

 

 

She loved so many things…

 

 

Mom loved playing Poker and Rummy, visiting casinos. She also loved antiques, garage sales, travel, bargains. She loved to swim. She liked weird food combos like Scallions and butter (Gross), chipped beef on Rye (double Gross!) and anything sweet. She loved popsicles, especially at the end of her life when she had a perpetually bad taste in her mouth and often a burning sensation. They soothed her and she ate, or at least started to eat, several a day in many colors. 

 

She loved old movies, musicals, and more recently, Blue Bloods.   Anyone that really knows me knows that I disdain and almost never watch television, but she got me hooked on that show.  

  In fact, this was the last show I ever watched with her, Thursday May 11 at 10 pm. We laid in her bad and chatted and held hands and talked in between. A cherished night. 

 

 

 

Not   a morning person

 

Unlike her miracle baby (Me again), she wasn’t always running late, but like me, she was not a morning person.  

 

When she and Dad first married, after the honeymoon, they settled in to the new life. It was Dad’s first day back to work, and that morning she awakened even before the birds to be a good 1950’s wife and make him breakfast.

 

 She was so er… ‘unmorninglike’, he told her she never had to get up to make him breakfast again. 

 

That is a smart lady. 

 

Red Bird

Speaking of birds, she was an enthusiastic birdwatcher. She had nearly a dozen bird feeders outside her most recent front window, and sometimes they were so busy it felt like an aviary. 

 

 

Mom was simply dazzled just watching their myriad fascinating daily routines. She was always thrilled when one came even close to the window. 

 

She especially liked the Cardinals. 

 

I am sure it was not because her last names combined (Russo and Vogel) mean Red and Bird in Italian and German, respectively. Redbird. Like my Mother the Redbird, Redbirds are beautiful to watch. 

 

 

 Mom rarely spent money on herself but was always generous with others. 

When we were children it seemed she never bought anything new for herself because she wanted us to have what we wanted first. 

 

She had a childlike appreciation of any gift you gave her and would say things like, “This is really for me?”. 

 

She was the same with any new adventure or trip. She was in awe of all of the cross country and north/south RV trips she and Dad were able to accomplish. They had video footage of nearly every trip. 

 

She did have some flaws: She hated snakes, bullies, snakes, cheaters, snakes, bigots, snakes, pedophiles, snakes, rapists, snakes, dictators, snakes, unfairness, snakes, snobs, snakes, and most especially anyone who hurt her children, her siblings, her parents or her Joe. And did I mention snakes?

 

She still remembers life with trepidation when the ‘damned Nazis’ were trying to take over the world. She remembers rationing, Victory Gardens, blackout curtains and the saving of scrap metal. She could tell you day to day details of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Détente, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, Camelot and the Kennedys.  And more, and for all, she has a story. 

 

Mothers make the world!

I was always somewhat of a stubborn and rebellious individual. As a child and young adult, I failed to understand why a woman would want to be “just a mother” like mine was. I was always ambitious, seeking further degrees and career advancements. I thought that was the secret to happiness. 

 

 Being a slow learner and a self-misguided individual, one day I finally had an epiphany (yes I had to become a mother first): My mother, as all mothers and molders of children should be, was the most important person in the world to me. 

 

I realized her job as a mother (and then mine as a mother), was the most important job in the world. All else pales in comparison. I am not discounting careers and professions, of course, but behind every

successful person is usually a good mother or a similar role model. 

 

One day when I was a teenager, probably already driving and employed myself, Mom decided to work outside the home. Thus, she began a job (doing what I don’t recall).

 

 Being the youngest of four, I was a bit of a brat, and when I came home from school one day and she wasn’t there, I was pissed. I said to her that night, “You never worked when the rest of them were in high school.” Well Mom quit that job the next day and stayed home.  I have felt guilty ever since. 

 

Because she was sick for so long, I knew it could happen at any time. However, when it actually happened, it was tough to believe. 

 

I never knew what a gaping hole in the heart this loss would leave. It became dark suddenly, as if a bright light shifted from the room.  

 

Not everybody has as wonderful a mother as I had. 

 

I have many friends who have told me many stories about awful things their mothers said and/or did over their lifetimes, and I find it unfathomable given what I’ve experienced in my sweet and gentle mother. I hope those in that situation can derive peace, love and nurturing via other outlets. 

 

 

Still, kiss your mothers, as she gave you life. If she is already in heaven, say a prayer for her.

 

Big Love Everywhere

On both sides, our family is very large and extends all around the country. Mom and Dad are both the youngest of five, so I am the ‘baby of the babies’. Also, a miracle baby as aforementioned, more than once. 

 

In Heaven, Mom joins many beloved people in her circle. First, her beloved parents Clarence and Marie Vogel, older sister Mary and older brother Jim as well as the mother of his children Margie (Suman). 

 

She also joins her grandsons Joey and Gregory, both of whom left us too young.

 

 In addition, she joins Dad’s parents Tom (Pop) and Betty Russo, and Aunt Ann and Uncle Al Sokol, Uncle John Russo, Aunts Sally and Olivia Russo and cousin Robert Sokol; Many close cousins like Jackie Brunswick, Mary McDonald and Mary and Gabe G, and Dottie and Ed Stoehs and Joyce and Adam Maliszewski; Dear friends Tessie Klahr, Hayes Kaler, Bill Grueninger Sr., Greg F. and a host of others I am sure I have missed. 

 

Aside from the remaining members of our ‘Six Pack”, mom leaves behind eight remaining grandchildren and two great granddaughters: Freya, Erik, Taylor (Kellan), Nikolas, Brendon, Anastasia, Gabrielle, Lliam, Khloe and Anabel. 

 

Missing her too will be older brother Paul Vogel, her older sister Joan (Joseph) Pohl and their wonderful extended family of eight children (Angie, Bob, Joe, Bill, John, Mary, Lisa and Jim) and their families; Niece and nephew Diana and Doug and their spouses Mike and Nina; Cousin Thea Brunswick and her family, and the extended grandfamily of the late Regina Brunswick (Brian M., Dottie (Dave), Mary

(Skip), Eddie (Cindy), Reggie, Patsy (Lars), Maddy (Joe), Sandy (Mike); Dad’s family, truly her own: Marty Russo, Tony and Marge Russo and Ann Russo and all of their families; Linda and Rod and Richard and Doris. Marion and Bill and more. 

 

Mom had many friends, but I know she was especially devoted to the following (I am sure I have missed some here): Helen Kaler, Marcia Grueninger, Louise Farley, Gloria and Charlie Belvedere and their families; Next door neighbor Ruth. Also, Ann and John Mullin, and a special thank you for their gift to my parents of Life in the Spirit. Ann, she missed seeing you to the end. 

 

 

 

Thank you to all of Mom’s special physicians: Dr. Francis Averil, Dr. Keith Kappler, Dr. Kevin Tralins, Dr. Mark Smith, Dr. Mandel Sher and the late Dr. Steven Schwartz for such dedicated care. Also thank you to St. Jerome’s Catholic Church and Empath Hospice. 

 

For me, I would like to thank some special people who have supported me and my special love for my mom:

My husband Britt, my dad, my children Anastasia and Lliam; My siblings and their families. My wonderful M-I-L Celia Evans. And my lifetime and newer friends who have been so kind and supportive in different ways during my life and this rough time. The hugs, the calls, the emails, texts, food etc.  You know who you are. I am blessed. I love you. 

 

Thank you ,Mom for giving me the best dad and siblings ever. And for teaching me how to pick good people in my life: The best husband, his mother, amazing supportive lifetime friends – girls and guys I can call on - even when not seeing or talking, sometimes for years.  

 

Momma I will miss you and love you forever, and while my heart is broken I know I was blessed.  I know I will see you again at the real Plaza, the one in the sky.

 

 

If you read all this through, may God Bless YOU!