Standing Strong

by Teresa Giudice

  After the reunion, it was a welcome change to celebrate Thanksgiving at the end of the month with the people I love and cherish most. Even though it’s been a tough couple of years for me, I’m still very grateful for all the blessings in my life and the family and friends who’ve supported me through the worst of times.

  In the past we’ve spent Thanksgiving cooking and eating a big meal together with my parents, with Joey and Melissa’s family, with Joe’s side, or any combination of all three. It’s always been a special holiday, because we come together as a group to enjoy one another’s company and a delicious feast. It’s not often that we can do that, because everyone typically has a million things going on in their lives—the kids with school and their activities, and the adults with their parenting duties and their work commitments.

  This year, however, I wanted to start the day off with something different. With Joe gone, I wasn’t in the cheeriest mood, and I didn’t feel like dwelling on that. I decided to filter my sadness and frustration into doing charitable work, which has long been something that’s very important to me, even before I went on The Celebrity Apprentice. I thought it would be nice to continue that tradition with my girls, so I said to them, “Since Daddy’s not here with us this Thanksgiving, let’s all spend the morning helping to feed those less fortunate than we are. People who may not have family or friends or even anything to eat for the holiday.” And they all said yes! I was so happy that they were that enthusiastic about it. It was a proud mommy moment!

  My friend told me about a place called Elijah’s Promise in New Brunswick, New Jersey. They run a soup kitchen, culinary school, catering business, and a café. They serve more than one hundred thousand meals a year and train people to work in the food industry. When I heard that, I thought it was completely amazing and wanted to get involved in any way I could.

  I also thought it was necessary for the girls to see that our lives are very privileged, which is not the norm. I wasn’t sure how they would do with it once we got there, but I was thrilled by how they handled themselves. They put their whole hearts into it. Everybody was impressed with them, because they worked so hard and had a great time. They were super friendly, chatting away, setting the tables, serving plates of food. There’s nothing better than being able to give back to your community, especially on such a meaningful day. It was truly the best!

  After Elijah’s Promise, we spent the afternoon with Joe’s family. They cooked so much food! And I remember we did that mannequin challenge thing at the table, which was funny. We all had to freeze and then someone recorded it. It was a really nice time. Even though Joe’s mom places some of the blame on me for what happened, she adores the girls, and manages to treat me kindly.

  We definitely missed Joe—it’s always harder on special occasions—but we did get to speak to him. He said, “Have a good time. I love you so much.” Holidays are not the right time for visitation, because the inmates have their own stuff going on, which distracts them in a good way. The prisons serve much better food than on normal days. They try to make it as pleasant as possible for the inmates. Of course it’s still sad, but when you’re in there, you don’t even think about that. Every day is just the same day.

  I remember when I was in there, they would make this whole production of decorating for the holidays, and I would think to myself, Do you need to really do that? It’s not going to fool me into believing I’m not in prison. You have to realize, though, that a lot of these people are in there for years and years, so that’s their life. That’s their family. That’s who they’re going to hang out with day in and day out. They have to pretend like that’s their home. I wasn’t in there for that long. It may seem strange to say, but I’m grateful that if I had to be incarcerated at all, it was only for a short amount of time.

  The Sunday after Thanksgiving, we celebrated with my family, so it was me and the kids, Joey and Melissa and their kids, and my parents. We do turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, pies—everything! The girls adore being with their cousins.

  Overall we had a wonderful holiday. We tried something new and we upheld our ritual of surrounding ourselves with loved ones.

  I was almost able to forget that my husband wasn’t there. Almost.

  That’s the thing, even if I can’t forget—even if it eats me up inside—I need to continue to move forward. I need to keep my head held high and carry on for myself and for my four daughters.

  8

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  A VERY UNMERRY CHRISTMAS

  When my mother first got sick, it came out of nowhere. She’d been struggling with her rheumatoid arthritis for a long time, but that wasn’t going to kill her.

  On December 6—I’ll never forget that day—my father called me in a panic because my mother had passed out at home. Her blood pressure had dropped and he said, “Your mother just fell! You have to come over here right now.” They lived about fifteen minutes away from me, so I jumped in the car and called an ambulance at the same time. I thought, if she’s lying on the floor, I won’t be able to pick her up and my father is too weak himself, so I’ll need help.

  The ambulance and I arrived at the same time. They took her to St. Joseph’s hospital in Wayne, New Jersey, and my father and I followed closely behind. Immediately, they told us that she had pneumonia. I remember saying, “What do you mean pneumonia?! Where did this come from?” My dad said she’d had the chills and the runs the night before, but no fever or cold, thank God.

  They kept her in the hospital for two days to make sure things were stable. Only then she started having trouble breathing, so they had to put her on a breathing tube. That was the hardest thing to watch; the tube was so big. For some reason it was the only size they had. The ones she was on later were much smaller and less traumatic-looking. Despite that, I have to say that all the doctors and nurses there were amazing. My brother and I never left her side. We were there every single day. We took turns sleeping in the chair that was next to her bed. The only time I snuck out for a little bit was to drive my kids to their activities. Fortunately, a lot of my kids’ friends’ parents helped me out, because I didn’t even want to leave her for a minute. I would sleep there one or two nights, and then Joey would take over. My brother and I live in the same town, so he was close by as well. My dad was there all the time, too. He was heartbroken. It was so hard to watch him crying over my mother. Melissa came also, but she couldn’t be there as often because someone had to be home with their three kids. And she had to run Envy, her clothing store. We were all a mess, but we were together as a family, just the way my mother wanted.

  Still, at this point, it wasn’t even a thought in our minds that she could die. My father had been on a breathing tube before and had come out fine. They’d told us she was very sick. But she made it through. My mom was so strong and resilient. Every day, I would ask the doctors, “When is she going to get off this tube?” We couldn’t wait for that to happen. We would just be sitting there, watching her, all day. Amazingly, the hours and the minutes passed quickly, even though you’d think it would have been the reverse.

  After five days, they finally took the tube out. Unfortunately, then she started having trouble breathing again and they had to put it back in that night. So she was on it for two more weeks. Then after that they had to take it out, because you’re not supposed to be on it for more than that amount of time. That’s also when they had to do a tracheotomy. To me, that was the most distressing thing ever. I didn’t understand what a trach tube was. I thought she would have to talk holding a machine to her neck for the rest of her life. Fortunately, that was not the case. To tell you the truth, if I would have known what a tracheotomy was, I would have suggested they trach her from the beginning, because it’s actually less traumatic for the patient and less traumatic than watching someone on a breathing machine every single day. It takes a toll on you. But I guess they don’t do it that way.

  Once they performed the tracheotomy, my mother started waking up. When she had t
he breathing tube, she was out, so all we did was watch her sleep. It was breathing for her, but they still kept her sedated, because imagine a tube down your throat! You would go nuts. So for about two and a half weeks we couldn’t talk to her or communicate with her at all. My father had been on a breathing tube for only a day or two—this was all new and unsettling for us.

  When my mom first passed out at her house, she fell on the right side of her body, which meant her whole right side wasn’t working well. She was only moving her left side. We had to call a neurologist in to check her brain with CAT scans. She went through so much, because they didn’t know if she’d had a stroke or what. After so many tests, they said she’d have to have surgery in the back of her neck, because there were these discs pressing against it and that would help her to move her right side again. We transferred her to St. Joseph’s in Patterson. They did a cauterization to make sure her heart was strong enough to do the surgery—I found out later that she’d had a mini heart attack during that period. They did try to do the surgery, but they said one of her veins was 70 percent blocked and that her blood pressure dropped too low, so they had to stop. Eventually, she would need a stent. They told my brother afterward that she almost died. He didn’t tell me or our dad that until much later. He was trying to protect both of us.

  Around this time I had an opportunity to do a television show in Los Angeles with Milania that would have raised money for a charity of my choice. The charity I’d selected was Dina Manzo’s Project Ladybug, an amazing organization that I’d done work for in the past.

  Jim did all the paperwork, and our flights and hotel were booked, but I had to cancel at the last minute. The thought of going to California with my mother lying in a hospital bed was just not something I was ready to do.

  So with my mother in the hospital and no immediate signs of her being released, I realized that I was going to have to cancel our Christmas vacation. I was planning to take my friends, their families, my daughters, and my parents to Punta Cana. My kids hadn’t been away in three years. When all our legal troubles arose, we weren’t allowed to leave the country. Then I went to prison. And then Joe went to prison. They were really looking forward to it. We all were.

  At first, since I thought my mom was on the mend, I just canceled my parents’ reservations. I knew there was no way she’d be able to go even if she did feel better or get sent home from the hospital. I waited as long as I could to make that decision. I figured, okay, so she had pneumonia, but people recover from that.

  I was hopeful for a while, thinking maybe she’d regain enough strength to make the trip. She’d never been hospitalized or even sick like that before. But after two weeks, around the time she went on the breathing tube, I knew it wasn’t in the cards for her to go anywhere.

  I still waited before withdrawing for the rest of us. I was so sure she was going to make it through and be fine. Although, once it became clear that she wasn’t getting out of intensive care, there was no way I could leave with a clear conscience. None of us would have been able to unwind or enjoy the vacation in the way we’d hoped to without the peace of mind of knowing that my mother was recovering.

  We were supposed to leave on December 27, which was my parents’ forty-seventh wedding anniversary. It was going to be their anniversary and Christmas gift from me. They’d had so much fun there in November that I figured we’d all go back to Punta Cana together. The Dominican Republic is really beautiful. And we all needed to feel the sun on our faces and chill out after a very long and challenging few years.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. The kids understood and, of course, we all knew that their nonna’s health was the most important thing of all. Still, we were bummed out, to say the least, even though there was nothing we could do. I really didn’t want to disappoint my kids. I knew that they had their hearts set on the trip and they really deserved it after everything they’d been through.

  You have to understand that, even though I know that what happened to me wasn’t my fault and that there was no criminal intent whatsoever, that didn’t make it any easier for my kids. Which—again—is why when people call me a criminal, I wish they knew the truth. It’s no day at the beach, believe me.

  Recently, I was at a fashion show and there were these twentysomething girls who shouted the word “criminal” at me. And, I just thought, Really? You don’t know me. You don’t know who I really am. You only know the version of me that you see on television. You think that’s what I’m like all the time? Listen, I get that they were young and naive and that they have their whole lives ahead of them to learn how to act appropriately and treat others with respect, but still. They should figure out how to keep their mouths shut, because they don’t know what’s going to happen to them in their future. I used to run my mouth like that, too, and look what happened to me. I used to be very naive. I grew up in an extremely sheltered home.

  But I digress . . .

  Once our vacation and my trip to California were off the schedule, I turned my attention to Christmas festivities, which I was not at all into. I was just sad and depressed. Joe was away. My mom was in the hospital. Our vacation was a bust. And, what was even more upsetting was that Christmas has traditionally been one of my favorite times of year. Sure, it’s always been a lot of work, too, with decorating, buying and wrapping the presents, and cooking, but I was happy to do all of it when things were good for our family. I wanted to create for my kids the same kind of amazing memories I had from my own childhood.

  When I was growing up, Joey and I used to race downstairs early in the morning on the twenty-fifth to find lots of presents under the tree. Nothing extravagant—that wasn’t the way we were raised—but we never wanted for anything. That was important to my father. He worked hard to provide for all of us. And, the thing is, it wasn’t about the gifts. It was about celebrating with our loved ones. We used to have about thirty-five people over to our house on Christmas Eve. You know, the Feast of the Seven Fishes—it’s an Italian-American tradition. So we’d all cook together. Me, my mom, and my dad. We’d make different fish and seafood and then all sorts of desserts, like struffoli, which are these little Italian honey cakes in the shape of balls with sprinkles on them. They’re super easy to make. It’s just flour, eggs, honey, water, salt, butter, sprinkles, and a few other ingredients. Some people use a dash of wine, or lemon and orange zest. They’re delicioso!

  Preparing and eating all the food is my strongest memory of the holidays back then. Gifts were not the focus. It was about the people, the meal, and sitting around the table together.

  Even after Joe and I got married and had kids we carried on those customs. We’d spend Christmas with his family and my family, sometimes both, which was really nice. We would make somebody dress up like Santa Claus every year, which the kids loved. And I’d be up into the middle of the night wrapping the presents. I mean, I know people have seen on Real Housewives that we used to do Christmas big before we had legal and financial troubles. I’m sure people judged us for the excess, but I don’t care. At the time, Joe’s businesses were very successful and we had the means to do it. I don’t understand what’s wrong with that. Our girls are good girls. They’re not spoiled brats. They’re grateful for everything they’re given, so what’s the problem with going all out once in a while?

  Anyway, because I came home so close to Christmas in 2015—I was released from prison just two days before—we couldn’t really, truly celebrate properly. We were all still recovering. So, I wanted this year to be special for my girls, despite the fact that I was really down and Joe was gone. Since we’d been planning to leave for vacation on December 27, and Joey and Melissa had been planning to leave on the twenty-sixth, we were going to re-create the same Feast of the Seven Fishes experience from our childhood at my brother’s house with all our kids and my parents. But, with my mom in the hospital, we decided to do something much more low-key.

  The girls and I still went to Joey and Melissa’s house for Christmas
Eve; only we didn’t cook. My father was at the hospital; he wouldn’t leave my mom’s side. It was really just for the kids that we celebrated. We got dressed up. I wore a long black halter dress with a peephole front. Melissa wore a very pretty, shorter red dress, and she ordered in food for the group. She had another couple over and we basically had dinner, opened a few gifts, took some photos in front of the tree, which was stunning with its white lights and gold flowers and ribbon, and the kids played in the game room—that was it. We’d been to the hospital that day, too, so the mood wasn’t as festive as it normally would have been.

  On Christmas Day, we had our own tree and presents at home. I was at the hospital with my mom all day, and the kids went to visit their father’s family. In the past few years, we haven’t done things as over the top as we once did. You have to do what’s right at the time. In 2015, Gia and Joe took on a lot of what I’d typically have done myself. And, even this past year, 2016, Gia was up with me late on Christmas Eve, helping wrap all the gifts. I remember her saying, “Wow, Mom, this is so much work. I can’t believe it.” I said, “I know! Christmas is draining!”

  The one nice thing about being away for eleven and a half months—probably the only nice thing—is that everyone realizes how much you do for them on a day-to-day basis. My kids definitely did, and Joe did, too. That’s why I always try to look at everything in a positive way. Maybe I needed to go away in order for Joe to appreciate me more.

  That said, it wasn’t the Christmas any of us had hoped for. Without my mom there, and especially with her in the hospital, I felt empty, sad, and unmotivated to celebrate.