She was 92 years-old, and still mentally sharp as a tack!
I can describe so many things that make up a Mom, my Mom, and what moms mean to their children, but the easiest and most emphatic way to show the love and importance of a mother, is to listen to the last words of men -- especially those in war -- calling out for "mamma, mamma"...
I'll admit that probably not all do so, but in God's great plan of creation, men recognize where they came from: the body -- and the heart and soul -- of their mothers...
What I can say about my Mother, is that I always remember her beautiful face and smile, even during the tough times going way back in time to the 1940s and 50s, then again, in the 1960s, as both my brother, Richard, and myself enlisted in the service, albeit five years apart...
My brother was involved in the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, and was stationed on the U.S. aircraft carrier, Constellation, in the vicinity of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, under the dictatorship of the radical communist, Fidel Castro...
I know that my Mother stormed Heaven with tons of Rosaries on behalf of my brother for his protection, and that tense and dangerous situation didn't turn into World War III... I remember her crying while on the phone with one of her friends in the apartment complex where we lived in the East Bronx, N.Y., knowing that our neighbor's son had also joined the service.
When I joined the Air Force in July 1965, I trained as a Policeman... My first assignment was the Strategic Air Command air base in Blytheville, Arkansas. Just over two years later, I received my orders for Vietnam. I remember assuring my parents that there were 500,000 other G.I.s there, so I wouldn't be "alone."
Those numbers don't matter in the mind and heart of a Mother: there was only her son going over to that war-ravaged country...
There were more tears and more Rosaries storming Heaven for the safety of her son and his eventual return home...
My dear Aunt, Sister Angela Spinelli, also added to annoying Heaven on my behalf. Even my Father started going back to Mass for my sake, and whether he looked at it in this way or not -- for his!
As I wrote at the beginning of my missive, I can describe many things that make up a Mom -- my Mom -- and one that stands out in my mind is that she was an incredible cook! She was from the "old country," Italy, and it showed in the feasts she would prepare for our family, especially when the entire clan got together; aunts, uncles, grandma and grandpa DeLalla... You get the picture, I'm sure! I can almost still smell some of those great dishes!! There weren't any canned pasta sauces; she made them from scratch, simmering on the stove with meatballs and sausage, and of course, homemade pasta noodles!
I guess I could write a book here, but the most important thing I can say about my Mom, is that she loved our Lady; she wore the Scapular and always had her Rosary with her. I feel confident that she is in good hands and is looking after me -- and my family, right now, as I'm writing this...
We all have different memories and stories we can tell about our Moms, this is just one of millions, I'm sure...
God bless you, Mom, and keep the prayers coming until I see you again...
Saint Stephen, pray for us...
Pray for strength and honor!
Viva Cristo Rey! Bl. Fr. Miguel Pro, Fr. Emil Kapaun and Fr. Vincent Capodanno, pray for us...
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle...
Gene DeLalla
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