A Perfect Day

I’ve often wondered what a “perfect day” would be like. Well, Monday, June 28, 2010 was such a day for me. During our family vacation to St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands we took a day-long excursion aboard the “Bad Kitty," a 49-foot power catamaran. The excursion included four stops throughout the British Virgin Islands. Together we climbed the rock formations at The Baths in Virgin Gorda, enjoyed a Caribbean lunch at the Cooper Island Beach Club, experienced the best ever snorkeling at the Indians in Norman Island and discovered the “Nilla Killa” at the famous Soggy Dollar Bar on Jost Van Dyke.

During our second honeymoon trip to the U.S. and British Virgin Islands in February 2009 to commemorate our 25th anniversary, my husband, Scott, and I took a day trip to St. John. Most of St. John is a national park and this lush island was a welcome relief from touristy, fast-paced island of St. Thomas. So we decided to use St. John as “home base” for our 2010 family vacation to celebrate our daughter’s graduation from high school. Over the years, we hadn’t been able to take many great family vacations and we wanted to create some lasting memories with and for our kids, now 21 (Phil) and 18 (Alyssa).

Through stjohncondos.com, we rented a beautiful two-bedroom, three-bath villa at the Westin Resort. Our hilltop condominium offered us the best of both worlds—the benefits and amenities of a resort with the convenience of a full kitchen, a washer and dryer, and a small pool just outside our doorstep complete with a gas grill and a panoramic view of Great Cruz Bay. The first two days were spent relaxing and exploring the island by day followed by “happy hour” at our pool while grilling steaks, shrimp, potatoes and corn. We “beach hopped” from Hawksnest Bay to Trunk Bay (our favorite) to Cinnamon Bay and explored the offerings of local merchants and the shops and restaurants at Mongoose Junction. We also braved some wild mountain roads and ventured all the way to Coral Bay to lunch at Skinny Legs, self-proclaimed as a “pretty ok bar and grill.”

Then came our perfect day. After “doorstep service” (we were picked up by dinghy on the Westin’s beachfront), our first stop was The Baths, which has truly become one of my favorite places on this earth. We swam to shore to explore this natural wonder with its giant boulders, pools of water and multiple beaches. One stop along our excursion was more beautiful then the next. Lunch at the picturesque and nearly uninhabited Cooper Island was delicious. Snorkeling in clear, azure 30-foot waters at the Indians was amazing. While they offered Rum Punch and introduced “Painkillers” aboard the Bad Kitty, we got to experience the original Nilla Killa at the famous Soggy Dollar Bar. Since you can only get to Jost Van Dyke by boat and there are no docks, you have to swim to shore … so soggy money is acceptable. [We recreated the tasty Nilla Killa at home as follows: 1 oz. vanilla rum, 4 oz. pineapple juice, 2 oz. orange juice, 1 oz. cream of coconut, shake well, pour over ice and top with a splash of grenadine and freshly grated nutmeg—it goes down really easy!]

All of these experiences combined almost created the perfect day, but what made it truly perfect was the appreciation we received from our kids. When we returned to the Westin, they treated us to cocktails at the resort’s luxurious quarter-acre pool and then they informed us they were treating us to dinner. They shopped at the Starfish Market and then grilled up a feast of steak, shrimp and ahi tuna kabobs for us—and they even cleaned the dishes.

There were many “thank yous” and many hugs that evening—but the pleasure was truly ours. I will remember forever how wonderful it was to spend a day in the warm sunshine and cool Caribbean waters with the three loves of my life. It was undoubtedly a perfect day.

View photos of our trip to the U.S. and British Virgin Islands and my perfect day.

The Most Important Lesson I Ever Learned

Tuesday, June 22 marks the 10th anniversary of the death of my mother. I see your reflection in the mirror and in the eyes of my children. I also see you in the rainbows -- from the first double rainbow I ever saw in my life exactly a week after your death to the end of the rainbow that touched down in the street outside the restaurant where your youngest son's rehearsal dinner was being held a year after your death. You've found ways to let me know it will be okay. I've only had one dream about you ... and it was so real. We hugged and you asked "Can you see me?" "Yes, and I can feel you, too," I replied. I hope to dream of you again. I miss you and think of you every day.

The Most Important Lesson I Ever Learned
(Originally published in the Orlando Sentinel, July 10, 2000)

The most important lesson I ever learned is one that I am learning right now. My mother’s sudden and unexpected death on June 22, 2000, turned my world upside down. My mother was the heart and soul of our family, and all of our hearts were broken that day. But she taught me so much during her life, and in death she is teaching me still.

Throughout my 40 years, there were many times I wondered how my mother could be content with her life. She was a stay-at-home mom who never worked outside the home after she married my father 44 years ago. And her favorite “exotic destination” was the lushly-landscaped swimming pool in her very own backyard. How could that be rewarding enough? I spent 20 years juggling a demanding career and a family and trying to manage the stress that went with life in the fast lane. But she always knew what I have only recently realized — making a difference in the life of a child is far more noble and rewarding than any career could ever be.

My parents have often been asked for their “secret formula” for raising kids. They raised four of us. Today each of us is personally fulfilled and professionally successful in our own rights … a surgeon, a public relations professional, a successful salesman and an engineer “whiz kid.” And not one of us has ever been in trouble with the law! No small feat for any parents! Of course there were some trials and tribulations along the way, including a new baby in 1973 when my mother was 40 (way before it was fashionable to be 40 and pregnant). But risks, plans or finances weren’t a consideration for my parents — family was the most important thing. And though I know there were times along the way when our parents probably didn’t like us very much, there was never a time that any one of us ever doubted that we were truly, unconditionally loved. And our parents always made sure that we knew how very proud they were of each and every one of us. There was no big secret — they just filled our lives with love and laughter and everything else took care of itself.

The last book that my mother read was one that I shared with her, “Tuesdays with Morrie.” A passage from that book is so profound … “As long as we can love each other, and remember the feeling of love we had, we can die without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on — in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here. Death ends a life, not a relationship.”

My mother’s death has changed the way I will live the rest of my life. I will no longer let the little things bother me, my family will never come second again, and I will not put things off until tomorrow.

And so, while my mother, Phyllis Portoghese, did not lead a corporation or travel the world, she touched the lives of so many. And as her children and our children continue to touch the lives of others, her memory and her purpose lives on. That is her legacy. That is the most important lesson I will ever learn.

Letter to my Daughter -- High School Graduation

Dear Alyssa:

I can’t believe you have graduated from high school! I remember the day you were born like it was just yesterday. It was absolutely one of the happiest days of my life.

I wanted a little girl SO much. One of these days I’ll tell you about the book How to Choose the Sex of Your Child, but that will have to wait. Suffice it to say, I dreamt about having a daughter … and I even picked out your name years before I was ever pregnant with your big brother, Phil! Alyssa Milano, a cute little girl on Who’s the Boss in the mid- to late- ’80s was the inspiration. I wanted a cute, little Italian name for a cute, little Italian girl … and that’s exactly what we got!

But all throughout the pregnancy, I was convinced that I was having another boy. We found out that I was having a boy during the seventh month of my pregnancy with Phil, but Daddy wouldn’t let me find out the second time around. “You got to do it your way the first time,” he said, “now we do it the old-fashioned way.” In hindsight, however, I think the nurse (who knew I wanted to know) tried to tell me during your sonogram. You were gulping amniotic fluid (which is normal) and the nurse said, “It must be a girl, look at that mouth moving!” To cover herself, she added, “I shouldn’t say that, my son never stops talking.” When you were born on April 2, 1992 at 11:13 p.m., I yelled, “It’s a girl!” You were … and remain … the girl of my dreams.

Now your 18 and I’m so proud of the young woman you have become. You are kind, generous and multi-talented. You are one of those rare people who have equal strength in both the creative and analytical parts of their mind. You are a talented artist—you sing, create paintings, photo collages, and t-shirts—and your baking is truly a fine art. Your greatest academic strength, ironically, is in math. When you were about four, you would set up a “store” on our back porch and put price tags on items and we would “shop” in the store. You would revel in taking the monopoly money from us and making change. Some things never change—you still love money and shopping!

Every parent loves their child, but I think you are one of the most remarkable young women in the world. You are beautiful inside and out. For someone so young, you have so much compassion and wisdom. For your senior autobiography, I had to pick three adjectives to describe you. I chose thoughtful, talented and spiritual. I know that no matter where life’s path takes you, you will succeed … and you will be cherished.

I love you more than life itself ... I love you more ... not possible!

Mom

Mother's Day -- Bittersweet for Motherless Daughters

I rushed into the grocery store and headed toward the deli. The strategically placed Mother’s Day card display did exactly what it was supposed to do ... it stopped me in my tracks. And then I quietly broke down into tears. I navigated my way through the grocery store with bleary eyes, loaded the groceries into my car, and then sobbed all the way home. It’s strange how the most wonderful days can also be the most bittersweet. While I’m thrilled that I am a mother and I know that my children are planning my annual celebration, I mourn the loss of my own mom.

This year marks my tenth Mother’s Day as a motherless daughter. My mother’s sudden and unexpected death on June 22, 2000 turned my world upside down. In hindsight, my mom really was a heart attack waiting to happen. She had all the risk factors ... a sedentary lifestyle, overweight, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and she was a social smoker for decades.

I will remember the last week of my mom’s life for the rest of mine. I can only describe everything that happened as “surreal.” She wasn’t feeling well, but like so many women, my mother ignored the signs of a heart attack (chest pressure, difficulty breathing, pain in her arm, nausea). When, according to the American Heart Association, heart disease and strokes are actually the number one killer of women. In fact, one in 2.5 women die of heart disease, stroke and other cardiovascular diseases, compared with one in 30 who die of breast cancer.

It seemed so unfair to lose someone so young—my mother was only 67 when she died. I figured I had 20 to 30 more years with her. I fully expected her to cry at my daughter’s wedding and hold my grandchildren in her arms. We all have struggled with our “if onlys” and “should haves.” If only she had gone to the doctor earlier, perhaps they could have figured out what was wrong. If only I had been there, I know CPR. But “if onlys’” can drive you crazy.

But my mom taught me so much during her life, and in death she is teaching me still. Her death has changed the way I will live the rest of my life. I will no longer let the little things bother me, my family will never come second again, and I will not put things off until tomorrow. And I also try to take good care of myself. I encourage other women to do the same.

And so, while my mother, Phyllis Portoghese, did not lead a corporation or travel the world, she touched the lives of so many. And as her children and our children continue to touch the lives of others, her memory and her purpose lives on. That is her legacy. I have made it mine.

On Friday May 7, I will support the fight against heart disease by wearing red and attending the Go Red For Women Mother’s Day luncheon in Orlando. In past years, I actually shared my mother’s story ... and I share it again here in the hope that it will encourage other women to take care of themselves and never to ignore the symptoms. It’s a message from the heart.

Growing Pains -- The Teen Years

Written in May 2003 -- As my son, Phillip, graduates from the 8th grade and gets ready to move on to high school, I am keenly aware that this is one of life’s rites of passage and that the growing pains have only just begun.

I have to look up now to look into my son’s eyes. The same eyes that it seems just yesterday stared back at me in newborn wonder in the delivery room. When I held him in my arms for the first time, my heart was full of plans for him. Now his plans typically don’t include me. And the little boy who clung to my hand wherever we went now walks several steps ahead of me.

This was the little boy who while trapped for a time in a thunderstorm, nervously told his babysitter he wanted to “go home to give his mommy a kiss.” Our daily recitations of “I love you” are gone, and his generous hugs and kisses have now been replaced by near misses -- air kisses that never land.

Other treasured traditions have also fallen by the wayside. At the end of each busy day, I used to learn so much about his day, and about him, during our nightly ritual “pillow talks.” But those talks were replaced years ago by monosyllabic exchanges or hasty mumblings that I can barely decipher. I remember my own father telling me when I was a teenager that he couldn’t understand a word of what I was saying. Perhaps this is one of those paybacks my mother warned me about.

My son used to seek my guidance on just about everything, but now he rarely has any use for my advice. It seems that despite my 43 years of life experience, a college degree and more than two decades of working in corporations and an institution of higher education, I’m a moron. Life comes full circle and my teen years are definitely coming back to haunt me!

I know this is all a normal part of growing up and I try not to take it personally. But as my son is growing up, we’re growing apart, and it’s painful.

As I watch my son move on to the next phase of his life, I’m so proud of the young man he has become. His wit, his intelligence and his compassion never cease to amaze me. But while I know he has to start finding his own way in the world, it’s just as hard to let go now as it was when he took his first steps. But he knows that I’ll always be there to catch him if he falls.

And just as I did, I am hopeful he will find his way back home. It’s miraculous how much wiser our parents become as we get older. So perhaps one day soon my son will once again seek my advice -- and perhaps he’ll even take it. And hopefully he will once again look up to me as I now look up to him.

Post script: I'm happy to say that Phil, now 21, has grown up beautifully and he loves his mama so much. A semester abroad in Australia (July to November 2009) transformed his life ... he appreciates his blessings and his family more than ever. He blogged about his experiences, too. Visit Phil in Australia.

The End of an Era—Farewell to Grandma

My family left Brooklyn in 1967 when I was just seven years old. My dad was a civilian with the Navy and he wanted a different life for his kids. His disdain for bustling New York City life was the cause of many heated arguments with his family, but he believed that a different lifestyle would offer more opportunities for his children. He had three naval training centers to choose from -- San Juan, Puerto Rico, Phoenix, Arizona, and Orlando, Florida. He chose the rural, unpopulated town of Orlando, unaware that Walt Disney had also chosen this then-sleepy little town in Central Florida for the city of his dreams. My dad “pried” his wife and three young children from the comfort of the downstairs apartment of his in-laws home on Bay 11th Street and introduced us to the wide open Florida “boondocks” -- complete with severe lightning storms, six-foot-rattlesnakes and a wide array of insects.

Most of my memories of Brooklyn and my paternal grandmother, Domenica “Dora” (Nitti) Portoghese (known to many as Grandma “Nunnie”) were of aunts, uncles and cousins gathered around the huge table in her basement. Hailing from the seacoast town of Bari, Italy, we enjoyed all of her great traditional Italian delicacies and, at the time, some more unusual food -- we were eating calamari way before it was served in mainstream restaurants. Over the next decades visits “home” to Brooklyn were infrequent. As an adult, however, I did make several trips back to New York to reconnect with my extended family. Those trips really began in August 2000 following the death of my beloved mother. I took my dad to visit his mother and then, whenever I could, I would find ways to include visits with her during business trips to maintain the connection.

Unfortunately, on April 20, 2010, I found myself back in New York for my grandmother’s funeral. My older brother, Joe, and I made the trip to represent our 79-year-old dad who could no longer travel easily. Trips to New York have always been an adventure and this trip would be no exception. Just 15 minutes after leaving JFK Airport, the “shortcut” up Atlantic Avenue to our Brooklyn hotel would prove disastrous thanks to double parked cars, speeding traffic and an enormous pothole.

Thump, thump, wobble, wobble. “That doesn’t sound good,” I said. After a few blocks, we pulled over to discover two bent rims and a flat right front tire. After AAA changed the flat tire, it was back to the airport to exchange the car (thankfully the $8.99 add-on insurance would cover the two bent rims) and we finally made it (an hour late) to the wake at Scarpacci’s Funeral Home. Grandson John did a great job reflecting on this little “whippersnapper” of a woman who was quietly demanding and totally aware of everything until the very end.

When we headed back to the funeral home the next morning, we found the entrance to the freeway that we had used the night before was now closed. “Turn around and go back,” I advised my brother.“No, we’ll find another ramp up ahead,” he replied. “Uh, see the sign for the Battery Tunnel?” I quipped sarcastically. “We DON’T want to go to Manhattan!”

Thanks to a quick u-turn and a mobile GPS system, we were able to find our way back to the funeral home “via fewer freeways.” From there, three limousines transported the grandchildren and great grandchildren to Saint Finbars Catholic Church. The three Portoghese children -- Teresa, Joseph and Archangela -- were all married in this beautiful cathedral. And eight of their children -- Vincent, Christine, Doreen, Vincent, John, Joseph, Ann Marie and Dominick -- were all baptized there. Only one -- Rocco -- would be born and baptized years later in Florida. As we walked behind grandma’s casket into the ornate cathedral, I had flashbacks to masses in Latin and kneeling for communion when you had to stick your tongue out to receive the host.

Unfortunately, since she was housebound for years, the young priest had never met grandma -- she had always watched Sunday mass on television. And he apparently hadn’t bothered to read the information that granddaughter Doreen had prepared for him.

“What do you say about someone who has lived 101 years?” he asked us in a very thick African accent as he began his sermon.

Umm ... how about -- she had three children, nine grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren -- I thought to myself.

What can you say about someone who has lived 101 years?” he asked again.

Let’s see -- she came to this country through Ellis Island and her life spanned most of the 20th century. She witnessed countless advances -- indoor plumbing, air conditioning and refrigeration, the automobile, air travel and space exploration -- and too much of man’s inhumanity to man—two world wars, the Korean War, the Viet Nam War and 9-11, practically in her own backyard.

I’m not sure what he said next, but I was jerked back into consciousness when I heard him say …“There’s so much wrong with today’s society. Women today don’t even know how to cook.”

What!? Yeah, she was a great cook, but why doesn’t he say that she experienced a lot of joy, but also a lot of loss. She actually outlived most of her loved ones— her husband, her two dearly-loved daughters and all but two of her eight, younger siblings. If she’d died 10 years ago, this church would have been filled!

“Children are killing one another, there’s so much violence,” he continued. “And divorce is rampant in our society. When you find a good woman, you hold onto to her … when you find a good man, you hold on to him."

“Is this a wedding or a funeral?” I whispered to my brother, “and what does this have to do with grandma?” I noticed granddaughter-in-law Kathy was now crying.

“Does anyone know how long she was married?” I heard him ask. “Seventy-six years,” answered Doreen. “See … that’s not how it is in today’s society,” he chastised. “People give up … some marriages end within the first year.”

She got married at 16, I thought to myself, and it was an arranged marriage. And while a long marriage is admirable, grandpa was a sour young man and a grumpy old man who suffered from paranoid schizophrenia at the end of his life. She probably should have left him! And, by the way, five of her nine grandchildren are divorced so I’m sure this is painful for them. I looked around and saw great granddaughter Jessica begin to raise her hand.

And then … “Excuse me,” said John, who could no longer sit in silence. “Can we move this along? My family is suffering because of the loss of our grandmother and we don’t need your damn commentary on society.”

You go, John, I thought … maybe the “damn” could have been left out … but I’m with you, buddy! While perhaps well meaning, this young priest should have focused on remembering the life of a dear, sweet woman who will be missed … not pontificating about the ills of today’s society!

Following an apology should his “comments have offended anyone,” the priest concluded the funeral mass and we headed out to the cemetery in Staten Island for our final farewell.

Back in Brooklyn at Tommasso’s Restaurant later that afternoon, we all gathered for a five-course Italian feast. Great granddaughter, Alyssa, teased her dad about society driving us to bad behavior and laughter filled the room. “I’ve only been in New York for 24 hours,” said my brother Joe, “but I could write a movie about this!”

As I scanned the room, it struck me that she had done it again -- grandma had brought us all together around the table! And I realized that we were her legacy because to her family was everything. We all will remember and love her forever. And from the oldest grandson Vincent, 60, to the youngest great grandson, eight-week-old Anthony, we’ll always glimpse a little of her when we see our reflection in the mirror … or when, one day not so far into the future, we look into the eyes of our own grandchildren.

That’s what you say about someone who lived for 101 years!

~Ann Marie (Portoghese) Varga