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Loving and being loved is the greatest experience in life. Though intangible to the touch and incomprehensible to the heart, love is real and speaks to our common humanity.
As the son of an Italian immigrant mother, I learned that love is a woven language that can soothe, support, inspire, and empower, but is not always consistent. It has expanded. We also had room for discussion. Sometimes words were expressed that should have been left unsaid. Love is rarely without friction. However, over time, forgiveness and redemption will dissolve the grudge. The heart is repaired. In the end, you realize that love, even when it's at odds, can be understood and cherished if you really listen.
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The essence of love is a clear dedication to promoting the happiness and well-being of the loved one. A promise that is more faithfully expressed in actions than words. I never doubted my mother's love. Everything she did for me made that clear.
As long as God continues to provide a healthy mind and body, mothers will nurture and guide their children. Mothers teach us everything.
Here are some of the things I learned from my mother. It's about being tolerant and empathetic. To be generous and contribute to society. Speak up and speak out about mistakes you may see. To help the weak.
From my mother, Maria, I learned the art of negotiation. She learned this from witnessing the many bargaining battles she waged with farmers at Atwater and Jean-Talon markets, merchants on the Main River, and peddlers who came to her forest home. -Station wagon with panel. It was full of merchandise that he would probably offer her at discounted prices. His sales pitch, which must have certainly been one of the first words my mother learned when she arrived in Canada, was always dismissed with the words, “Too cautious!” Her haggling antics failed spectacularly at Eaton's – but not because I wanted to try them – I was completely baffled.
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My mother was never lazy and was always tending to the giardino in the backyard, preparing meals, washing dishes and laundry, and making school lunches. She never watched TV empty-handed. She was always sewing, knitting, crocheting, and needlework. She also worked full time as a school janitor. She did it all for her family and made it look easy. I know she wasn't.
She said no to most of my Canadian requests, like getting a dog, going to Disney movies, and joining the Boy Scouts. But one day she said yes to something very Canadian.
One evening, an Italian-speaking encyclopedia salesman showed up at our house. His father, Giuseppe, quickly informed him that he had no intention of buying what he was selling. His mother asked the salesman to explain what these books were about. He explained that these beautifully bound books contain articles on different areas of knowledge arranged alphabetically and will help children work on their school projects. “We're going to buy these books,” she said to her father. My love for reading grew even more.
My mother learned English and was able to meet her needs. One of her things was making sure I received proper medical care to cure my chronic asthma. We spent a lot of time at the Montreal Children's Hospital. The eastbound 144 bus was part of our trip home. One day, as the bus rolled down what was then called McGregor's instead of Dr. Penfield's, I pointed to McGill's law faculty and explained that students were learning how to become lawyers in that building. I wanted to study there someday. “Isn't it Perche?” she answered. Why not?
When the family gathered for Sunday lunch, my mother would remind her five grandchildren in adorably poor English, “Never forget, Nonna loves you too much.” . Her love continues in our family.
And I miss her.
Ralph Mastromonaco is a graduate of McGill Law School and practices criminal law in Montreal.
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