Twenty Five Years Later...I Still Want to Talk

     Twenty-five years ago this May, I wrote a column and sent it to The Buffalo News.  It was actually a letter I had written to my mother two months after she passed. I titled it, “Just Wanted to Talk.” The News published it on Mother’s Day---my first “motherless” Mother’s Day.

     That letter went on to be published in a book titled, Heartwarmers, which became an Amazon Best Seller. I have gifted it to family and friends who have lost a loved one and wish they could still talk with them as well.

     Now, a quarter-of-a-century later, I still want to talk to my mother, but the passage of time and my advancing years have redirected the topics I wish we could discuss. So, I thought it appropriate to write another letter to my mother—-25-years after her passing—-and all I wish we could talk about today.

Dear Mom,
     Twenty-five years---a quarter of a century. Amazing how time has flown by and life has changed. I am now older than you were when you passed. Your grandchildren are middle-aged. Your great-grandchildren are young adults. Wish you were here with us all. You would be proud.

I now stand as our family’s elder, a reality that is ridiculously funny-- and daunting. It’s lonely not having you and your sisters and brothers around to share both memories and advice. At the same time, I “talk” to all of you in the mornings when I wake up and ask for blessings. (To be clear, I do so in full faith that you hear each and every word and will honor my requests!)

      Yet, just because you’re gone does not mean you are forgotten. I keep my favorite photos of you in special spaces in my home. There is the one of you and your twin sister, looking prim and proper in your high school grad photo with dark sweaters and white pearls. Then there’s the one of you posed in a pair of white shorts and a cinched-in shirt for a “pin-up” pic, looking nothing like a farm girl from Java, NY.  There is also the one of you and me towards the end of your life that is so poignant.

     I also find myself reminding my kids and telling my grandkids stories about you. Mostly they are the ones that have become family legends—riding your bike to work while wearing a pencil skirt and heels, calling The Buffalo Bills “…a bunch of donkeys” whenever they lost, your favored “Not too shabby” phrase about anything you liked, and cheating at Scrabble by turning over a letter and claiming it as a “blank.”


      I also never fail to remind them all of your professional successes in working your way up in Buffalo’s banking industry to become the first woman executive in charge of property management---with only a high school diploma.


      But mostly, Mom, I just wanted to talk and tell you that with the perspective of time and age, I’ve gained the wisdom to understand the challenges you faced, to see the difficulties you endured, and to realize how little your own upbringing and life experiences prepared you for motherhood. From within that wisdom, I now understand that you did the very best you could.


     My children have shown me the grace of forgiveness for my mothering shortcomings and faults, and I am deeply grateful that they continue to accept and love me as I am. That’s why today, on my 25th Mother’s Day without you, I just wanted to talk and tell you the same.
Love,
Christy

 To read the original Just Wanted to Talk click here

It's Never Too Late

I attended Mt.St.Mary's Academy. It is an all-girls Catholic high school that provided me with much more than a book-based education. During my four years there, I learned how to be me, without worry of how others or society view or judge me.

One of my most life-affirming experiences at the Mount was as a member of the school's glee club. The reason? Well, first, I love to sing. Second, the conductor of the club was, Robert F. Schulz.

At the time, I didn't know anything about Mr. Schulz, other than he was a gently-demanding conductor who brought music from our voices that none of us knew we could achieve.

What I learned many years later was that Robert Schulz founded The Buffalo Choral Arts Society served as a guest pianist and conductor with the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra. WOW!

When I discovered Mr. Schulz's repute, I further understood the concert he organized for our glee club during my senior year. He taught us to sing the Messiah. Not just the Hallelujah Chorus. Additional selections as well. Then he joined our voices with the Canisius College Men's Chorus---on the stage of Kleinhans Music Hall---accompanied by the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra!

Calling an experience "life-changing" often sounds trite. Yet in this case, performing that night surrounded by those incredibly talented musicians and singers, in one of America's great concert halls was truly life-changing for me. And ever since, I have dreamed of doing it again.

Today I'm taking the first step towards that dream. Actually, it's more of a huge leap--- in the form of an audition for a Buffalo choral group. I am nervous...a bit scared....but fully determined to do my best and try.

And as I do, I will hold tight to Mr. Schulz's strong belief that a group of young high school girls were talented enough to perform on a stage anywhere, alongside anyone---even now, so many years later.

My New Best Friend

Five years ago this month, I was in a car accident that I should not have survived. Thankfully, there are a number of reasons why I did.

First of all, the grace of God. Then there was the quick arrival of the Elma First Responders, the professional training of the ambulance crew, the amazing Erie County Medical Center ER team and ICU staff, and the love, prayers, and support of family and friends who knew of the accident.

All that said, there is one key element from that accident that most essentially kept me alive
My car.

At the time I was driving a Volvo I had purchased in 2006. It was the first new car I’d ever bought on my own, and I was beyond proud. I decided to name her, “Vivvie,” and together we traveled over 100,000 miles across America.

Over the years Vivvie’s body, like mine, became a bit worse-for-wear. There were nicks and dings on her exterior, and her leather seats began creasing and sagging. Still, like a valiant road warrior, she ran whenever and where ever I asked her to go.

I clearly remember the moment of the accident ---the loud explosion of the air bags, the blackness that veiled my vision, the sense of spinning and whirling, all while desperately trying to understand what was happening.

As it turned out, what was happening was that Vivvie was flying across the road, over a ditch, and into a field of grass and pine trees. As for me, I ended up with a cracked sternum, three fractured ribs, head contusions, an assortment of bumps and bruises, and possible heart damage. Then there was my injured knee--- the size of a football---which I was unable to move for five days, no matter how strongly my brain commanded it.

For weeks following the accident, my life revolved around medical appointments, therapy regimens, recovery forecasts, endless insurance forms, and painful conversations about Vivvie. In the beginning I struggled to engage in those discussions. I loved that car and couldn't imagine traveling without her, even though I knew she was totaled in the accident.

Then one day my daughter engaged my sense of curiosity with the statement, "Mom, you should have seen what your car did."
Did?
I definitely valued Vivvie and the road trip adventures we had shared. But even I knew that she (ok...it) was an inanimate object. Why was my daughter suggesting more? Her next words explained.

”When your car finally stopped, the frame was bent over you, mom. It was like it formed itself protectively around you.” Still today, that description touches my heart.

Eventually I bought another car. It was a difficult process, as I was still shaky from the accident, really not ready. But life goes on and I did too. I'm sure you are thinking that I bought another Volvo. Truthfully, I tried, but time and circumstances were not in my favor. I had to get back on the road. Back to my life. So I purchased a car that was the best of the lot at the time.

Fast forward to February of this year, and that "best of the lot" car decided it was done—literally. It quit functioning. Once again, I was in a position where I had to find a car quickly. Only this time, I was healed and able. This time, I was blessed with a friend closely-connected to an area car dealer. This time, I was able to find a Volvo.

Like me this Volvo is not new—-she’s got some miles on her. Yet every time I get behind her wheel I’m comforted by my belief that, should I get into driving trouble again, she will protect me.

Introducing Vonnie, my new best friend.

Day 17 of 17 Days of the High Holy Month: It's the Irish Way

When I began this project, it was out of a sense of sadness over the 25 year anniversary of my mother’s passing. Yet in completing these 17 videos, the storytelling in each one has brought joy and reminded me of the great value family, friendship and traditions. I hope you enjoy this finalvideo that perfectly exemplifies all of those things.

Day 16 of 17 High Holy Month: Experiencing Buffalo’s Valley "Old Neighborhood" Parade Lineup

Since I was born in Buffalo, NY and have lived most my life here, I thought it was time to experience my hometown’s Valley “Old Neighborhood” Patrick’s Day Parade. It is a shortened version of the city’s traditional St. Pat’s Parade and takes place in the First Ward—the cradle of Irish culture and heritage in the Queen City.

For some reason I thought this parade was a long-running Buffalo tradition. However, today while meandering through the pre-parade lineup, and chatting with organizers and participants, I learned this year marks the 25th anniversary of the event. Which means it began the same year my mother passed.

And so this video project comes full circle…..

Day 14 of the 17 Days of the High Holy Month: The Irish Song

In 1999, my daughter and I visited the Emerald Isle on a quest to try and discover members of our family. While there we managed to take part in a walking pub tour in Dublin, It was there I learned this song that I’ve since performed in theaters for many-a-year.

This is a recording of it that was part of a virtual “live mic” performance.
Enjoy!

High Holy Month Project Payoff

Whenever I tackle a project like the 17 Days of the High Holy Month, I spend time wondering if I should, if I can, if anyone will care.

While I am only two days into the creation of these videos, responses to this project---celebrating the High Holy Month and honoring my mother---have already banished all doubts.

It all began yesterday after sending out my newsletter. In it I included information about my 17 Days project, along with an advance view of Day #1's video.

Within hours, I received an email response from a woman whose name I did not recognize. Opening and reading I was thrilled to discover that the sender was the youngest member of the Walsh Family, who had lived next door to my family during my teen years in Kenmore.

This woman was about five years old when we first met---a delicate sprite with beautiful blond curls and the greenest of eyes. And when we met, she introduced herself succinctly and distinctively.

"My name is Mary Katherine Walsh Katherine."

I found great joy in this sweet child's independent nature and for all the years we were neighbors, I called her by that name, exactly as she deigned.

Swirling memories of our families enveloped me as I read through her email. It had been 50-plus years since we had seen or spoken to each other. I had so many questions and soon began crafting a reply---of course beginning my note with the salutation she had always clearly demanded!

I shared bits and pieces of my life and asked questions about hers. I asked how she had come to my newsletter mailing list, as I was sure our paths had not crossed for many years.

As I sent my email on its way, I found myself wishing for a response. And was most grateful when my wish was granted.

Mary's reply was lengthy and filled with stories about her family and memories about mine. She noted that she had heard me in a radio interview a few years ago and she found comfort in the familiar sound of my voice. Then she shared memories that fully honored the intent of my High Holy Month Project.

"While looking through family photos recently, I came across a photo of your mom singing with my family at my wedding! Your mom was always there for my brothers and sisters, and me. She came to our rescue on more than one occasion and I hope she knew how much we appreciated her. I remember her as having a sharp wit and a cool head in a crisis, of which we seemed to have many, while growing up next door to you."

My mother passed 24 years ago this month. Her family of parents and seven brothers and sisters have also passed. There are very few people alive who can share their experiences---their memories--- of my mother. But when it happens, those stories are the best gift anyone could give to me.

Fifteen days to go.....and I look forward to every experience those days will bring.