Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Rhode Island Hospital Campus was our venue of choice on Tuesday. We spent the day going from building to building, doctor to doctor. Tori had a very full schedule.
Along the way we ran into many past co-workers, friends, caregivers and continued well-wishers. People – who have never forgotten the little girl with the big brown eyes. Their genuine concern and delight in seeing the now grown and incredible “you’ve come a long way baby” young woman in front of them, palpable and touching.
And then, there in front of us visible through the corridor windows was the tree. The blossoming tree. Or, as I prefer to call it , – my miracle tree. A tree, that in the early PICU days became a symbol of hope and renewal.
I began to explain to Tori her connection to the tree. Moments before my daughter seemed distracted by the constant traffic of the hospital halls and yet when I motioned to the window and spoke of the blossoming buds as an analogy of her recovery she was focused and alert.
In two weeks, on March 26th, we will return to the campus and to the tree. This time I am certain the buds, which seem so ready to welcome spring will have begun to bloom. And just like 10 years ago, with Easter around the corner and the spirit of the season in the air, we wait for, we long for, we work for and we pray for the renewal and rebirth.
Friday, February 15, 2013
It was just Tori and I again today and as we went about our routines, tunes floating in the background, I thought about the supporting role music plays in our life.
Music reaches my daughter in a way other communication cannot. It reaches her very core and speaks to her on a different plane. She responds, she reacts, she communicates, she sings. Not quite the melodic tone of her youth but music to this mothers ears.
Music therapy provides pathways to new beginnings and meaningful interactions. It opens doors and it opens minds.
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Coming into the MADD Candlelight Vigil this evening Tori was quite uncomfortable and extremely vocal. At several points I considered turning around. By the time we arrived she had calmed although still rigid and voicing displeasure. And then there were the faces of the people you have come to know and love-those with whom you have come to share a deep and everlasting bond. I believe all of the commotion; the hugs and conversations distracted her enough to allow time for relaxation to start taking place.
Once the ceremony started Tori settled. She was especially attentive to a beautiful lyrical dance performance and to those that sang. Families are asked to light a candle in honor of their loved one and then there is a presentation where name after name, face after face of those taken and forever altered are shown.
There is so much more to this than names and faces. For they belong to fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, mentors and friends. They are our lifeline – they are our loves.
Watching Tori towards the end of the ceremony and seeing her so comfortable I wondered what could have corrected itself. And it hit me. Always, as the time for the vigil approaches I become uncomfortable and rigid-not quite knowing what to do with all of the emotion welling up inside. And, I retreat. Once I enter the venue and get to see and touch this “family” I settle. Tori is like a sponge. She soaks up the energy around her. I believe she felt my grief and reacted to it. I also believe that as emotional and draining the vigil is there is also an overwhelming sense of love. The love is shown through the connections with our loved ones, the kinship we feel for “other families” and the appreciation for life.
Two songs came into my life this week and they are so different – yet so similar, at least to me in what I believe they say. “Carry On” and “Stand”. We heard many times through the vigil – life goes on.. or, you need to “Carry On” and once doing that we need to take a “Stand”. To pull ourselves up, honor those we love, cherish life and for me personally, rise to the challenge of a pair of big brown eyes that beg to do more and do better so another family does not have to experience this same pain. Because, life as you know it can change in a moment.
Saturday, December 01, 2012
Friday, November 30th, something amazing happened. While Tori was at the horse farm for a therapy session a young volunteer asked if she could speak to me in private. Stepping aside she asked if I had every spoken at Cranston West High School. As I answered that yes I had, her eyes started to tear.
She proceeded to explain that 4 years ago she had been a student sitting in the middle of an auditorium during a pre prom presentation at which I told our story. She went on to say that she had only been at the horse farm for a short while but that a few sessions ago had seen Tori for the first time. About a week later in the middle of the night she woke up knowing exactly who Tori was and where she had seen her before. Immediately she called a friend. She told me that in the wee hours of the morning she told this friend that she had met the girl she was always talking about. The one she gave people examples of when they were making bad choices – the girl who made an impact and changed her life.
She is 21 years old now – a full time college student with a double major, two jobs and volunteer duties. She still tells Toris story. Through 2 sets of watery eyes we continued our conversation talking about life, choices and the what could have beens. Our tears dried and the corners of our mouths turned up as we spoke of shared sentiments and goals. Suddenly and without warning, I started to cry again because there before me… a little younger perhaps, taller certainly, but in spirit and in commitment I saw a wonderful glimpse of what would have been in terms of my daughter had it not been for the choice of one.
We never underestimate the damage one person, one choice can make. On Friday afternoon I was given a gift. The gift of knowing for certain, that ONE person can make a difference in a positive direction as well. Tori Lynn Andreozzi may not be remembered for her martial arts achievements anymore or for the fact she had a winning essay read at the State House or even she earned a place in the Junior Honor Society. Tori Lynn Andreozzi, who people once referred to as the little girl with the big red bow is now the “girl I am always talking about”, the girl who reminds you not to make bad choices and is the reason you call friends in the middle of the night.
Yesterday I received a priceless gift. And in true Tori spirit, whose favorite movie was Pay It Forward, make a difference in your own way. Take the time to be that ONE person.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012 for me was a remarkably unremarkable day. It started routinely enough. Revelry came at the usual time and there was the “changing of the guard” – or report if you would, as the CNA gave her comments on the night. Tori was in limbo – not quite awake yet not quite asleep and I sat quietly bedside keeping watch until the next caregiver arrived.
And that is where routine ended. Somewhere between leaving for a meeting and arriving at same the world changed. Not earth shattering changes, but ripple effect changes for sure. It was an emotional day – trying to be “present” and professional at this meeting and sitting side by side with a force of humanity – a woman who made such an impression in my life. A woman, who on November 7, 2007 presided over the first parole hearing for the offender who struck my daughter. All the while trying to stay composed I was listening to the most impressive man – a passionate leader who inspires. And, while gravitating from tears to hope, I was distracted by text messages of concern regarding my daughters physical presentation and her pulled g-tube! And…, it wouldn’t be enough for the roller coaster of emotion to end there…heck, it was only 9:45am. I then discovered that the kind officer who held the door for me was the same officer who filmed a mock dui crash I had participated in portraying the mother of a fatality victim several years earlier. It was by far the most raw and emotional experience I have ever had and by 11am I walked out of the Cranston Police Department with a DVD of the event.
Late morning and early afternoon were filled with a barrage of phone calls and a juggle of appointments mostly surrounding Tori and some current and pending issues which needed to be resolved medically. Frustration runs high when it comes to the struggles associated with trying to balance her schedule.
Then it was off to meet with another family and share some supplies and support and some laughs. By that time I was truly missing my little girl and was anxious to get home. Yes, Thursday, November 29, 2012 was a day of mixed emotions. But I may have been wrong about one thing. Looking back I think it was actually an unremarkably remarkable day. And for that I am thankful.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
I love Saturdays and Sundays. Yes, because of the obvious-it’s the weekend. But mostly because it means it is just mom and daughter time. I’ll admit – it’s a mixed bag of goods. On one hand it means no extra pair of hands to help with the lifting and turning, the grooming and dressing, the medicating and stretching, the nebulizing and vesting and whatever else might be on the menu for the day. On the other hand….it means the day, and the girl…are mine all mine.
And today until 5pm we used our time up just fine. First and foremost there were snuggles and Lifetime movies. After our fill of those we moved on to our ADL chores accompanied by the silky sounds of girl anthems. Tori endured mom belting out song after song by Carole King, Carly Simon, Pat Benatar, and Pink to name a few. I’m still not sure if her giggles were squeals of delight or “you’ve got to be kidding me’s”.
Once Tori and her room were tidy we moved on to my room and she kept me company while I changed the bed and threw open the windows. Then, we sat in front of them and watched and listened to the water. After, she assisted with a little online Christmas shopping and we viewed some family pictures on the computer.
Around 3pm we decided it was time for a change of scenery and getting into the van went for a ride around the neighborhood. With the rebuilding being done in our town it is not possible to visit our usual haunts and we selected a new route. I love taking Tori for a ride. When I open the passenger window just enough for her to feel the wind on her face she cocks her head slightly back and seems to relax into the breeze. It was a perfect day.
I love Saturdays and Sundays and I am thankful for our mom and daughter time.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Yesterday was a day filled with emotion. And those emotions ran from one end of the scale all the way to the other. It was a day that started and ended with conversations with moms dealing with similar circumstances; caring for young adult children whose lives where forever altered because of one moment in time.
Lives filled with incredible grief, pain and loss. Days filled with uncertainties and battles; not only from the injury within – but from the assault outside. The paperwork; the system; the wait. Adrift at sea at the mercy of the changing tides.
Such different circumstances – different stories. Yet, at the helm of each, guiding her ship with a steady hand, a mother. Determined to navigate through any storm and bring her precious cargo safely to home port. One mom fortunate to have a first mate, right hand, who shares her passion and vision for the journey. Both steadfast in their quest.
It was an emotional day. I cried and I laughed and mostly I was awed and inspired. And throughout the day I kept thinking what keeps someone going and yet I know the answer. It is the unconditional love, the bond that is never broken, that cord that is never truly cut. It is the beacon of light that guides you.
Friday, September 14, 2012
I started to lay out everything I needed for the morning and went to the website for some last minute advice. For the first time I saw the layout of the course and a synopsis of the obstacles. I must admit for a moment I started to have doubts about my abilities to face this task.
I have been preparing myself for some time now. While most would think of a regimen that included good nutrition, strength and agility training with cardio and endurance-my preparation included all of the above but the emphasis was on so much more.
For me this quest is not so much a physical journey as it is an emotional or a spiritual one. For me it marks a choice. One of a return to life. I want to feel again.
We all know about our bodies defense mechanisms and the “fight or flight” mode that takes over to protect us. Almost 10 years ago when tragedy struck survival was absolutely dependent on my ability to stand tall and grounded. I learned very early on that meant you needed a force field to protect your vulnerable layers of emotions. With time I learned you could still feel joy and happiness, it was just always detached-it never reached the core-it didn’t penetrate or go all the way through. As sad as that sounds it was absolutely necessary because it also meant that the shearing pain and unbearable sadness as heavy as it was also didn’t go all the way through. But half of something is still half.
Over time with lots of reflection about building the best life for my family and for myself I know the best way to honor Tori is for us to truly live fully and in the moment. And I realized that mostly from something Tori herself said when she was just 10 years old and excited to be on her first major National karate trip.
We were at the Arizona Biltmore in Phoenix. It was hot and Tori and I stepped out the patio doors. I was standing in the middle of the balcony and she had her back pressed against the outside cinderblock walls. I said, “Tori come next to me because if you stand here you can really feel how hot it is”. Tori disagreed saying you can’t really feel if you walk in and out. She said the walls were hotter because they stayed-because they were there all the time. I asked her what made her think she was right and Tori responded, “Mom, the only way you can really feel is if you’re present”.
It’s time to be present for all of it – to feel it all the way through. I have a hunch there’s no way I can avoid feeling anything about tomorrow. Here goes nothing……
Monday, August 27, 2012
Several weeks ago I sat with a mom of another young woman altered forever many years ago by an assault on her brain. We spoke for hours. She said something that first shocked and then halted me….It has taken me as many weeks to process and to come to terms with some of our conversation. Mind you…it was not her words but my own fears that I needed to reconcile.
I rarely even think of her life before the woman said. “It’s as if the only life I’ve known with her is the one we know now” she continued. And I thought to myself,…how dare she not remember her daughter's life before, how dare she not hang on….when in reality…how dare I dare, to know,,, or think to know,,, what this woman should or should not do…..I am not her…I am not her life. Yes, we may be similar in that we are both mothers with daughters no longer living the life we once thought they would live. Yes, we may be similar in that we both have a child we always assumed we would share a particular type of relationship with at a certain age. Same – but different.
And so I reflected on me…and what I thought – and while I was not yet ready to honestly address some aspects of a perceived then and now relationship – what I was able to look at is my then and now role in terms of plans and dreams for my daughter.
What I was then and what I still am now is a mother who has plans and dreams for her child. While Toris life has been changed and those dreams have been forced to change – we are not left without life and therefore not left without hope or the opportunity to dream. And so my plans and dreams for my child and her altered life have changed.
I have dreams that she live her life to the fullest and to be happy. A bit modified perhaps than the plans and dreams I had for my child before…but when you truly break it down…same…,but different
Saturday, July 28, 2012
My mother told the greatest stories. She was so animated as we would be rolling on the floor listening to the misadventures of her youth. She could be incredibly silly, break out in tiny little character voices or be in great big full voice in song. She could also be incredibly firm and didn’t earn the nickname Big Rit’ for nothing.
Her heart and the random acts of kindness to people who had previously been strangers was as full as her prayer box – all intentions some of those same people would send along asking for her prayers. The rosary was said on her Mothers beads-very special beads that were called upon in times of great need. Those beads have now passed into my hands.
She was really talented. She could play the Hawaiian steel guitar in a way like no other, she would give any schooled event planner a run for their money and Rita Mobley was an original when it came to writing jingles. She could do wonders with ground beef and was so good at mixing up hand me down clothes years later we would marvel when looking at school pictures how a single shirt could seamlessly travel from sibling to sibling school year to school year and never quite look the same.
Today marks 3 years since she passed. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. Sometimes it seems a hundred years ago. I remember at her funeral mass while giving her eulogy saying growing up our house was always full-of laughter, of energy. I felt there should be a sign out front that said:
MOBLEY RESIDENCE, ENTERTAINMENT NIGHTLY, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK
I can tell you – it would have been worth the risk. We had a lot of fun – we have a lot of memories. When I look at my brother and my sisters, even my children or nieces and nephews…I see pieces of my mother and we all carry her with us still. In our hearts, in our minds, in our spirit and in the legacy she left us to carry on. Rita Marie Tanzi Mobley – May 22, 1938 – July 28, 2009. My mother had a lot of DASH between those years.
Don't waste a moment. Make the most of everything you've got-because someday it might be the only thing, the most important thing, someone has to remember you by.
