Mama concluded, “We are each a single ray of light in this world and Brian’s spirit burns as brightly as any I’ve ever seen. Trust me, faith is stronger than any prediction a doctor can make. We just have to believe.”
“We will, Mama,” Ross muttered. The girls quickly agreed.
Mama’s eyes misted over. She bent down, kissed Brian’s head and whispered, “You now have everything you need, little caterpillar.”
At first light the next morning, the phone rang. It was Joan. “How were the boys?” she asked.
“Angels…the both of them.” There was a pause. “How was Frank?”
“Better now.” She paused. “We had a long talk and a lot of things that needed to come out – came out.”
“That’s good,” Mama said. “There’s nothing more toxic than feelings that are left unsaid.”
“We argued for a while and then actually shared a good cry…something we should have done a long time ago. In the end, we agreed that whatever the future holds, we have to face it together…as a family. The boys need…”
“From what I’ve learned,” Mama interrupted, “common ground is the only place you’ll find your footing in a marriage and…” She was also stopped in mid-sentence.
“Good morning, Mama,” Ross said, standing in the doorway and wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Good morning, love,” Mama told him, and then directed her attention back to Joan on the phone. “Looks like some of your common ground just woke up.”
Joan chuckled. “Listen Ma, I just sent Frank to pick up meat pies from Sam’s Bakery and then he’ll be over to pick up the boys. Please be nice to him.”
“I’m always nice,” she teased.
“Then nicer,” Joan countered.
“Relax,” she said, “I’m not here to make trouble. I’m here to help.”
Chapter 7
Summer 1978
Mama’s house was the kind of place where each summer became the best summer of your life. And each year, Heidi, Steph and Ross spent the better part of the summer months at the cottage. It started off as weekends, but after enough begging on behalf of the kids these eventually turned into full weeks. By late August, their parents had finally surrendered and it was one giant slumber party.
Mama’s front yard was plain – except for the four trees she’d planted to celebrate each grandchild’s birth and a two-seat glider built by her late husband, now gone for ten years.
At the front of the house was the beloved three-season porch where the grandkids slept on air mattresses during spring and summer. At twilight, to the sound of rushing waves, they could hear whispered conversations in the darkness; neighbors sitting out, enjoying their safe little world. In the morning, they were usually greeted by robin red breasts foraging for food, or the occasional seagull begging for handouts just outside the screens. Beyond the screen house, at the very tip of the property, was a small wooden deck filled with mismatched chairs painted in different pastel colors.
A statue of St. Jude, the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes, welcomed all guests at the beginning of a brick pathway that led to Mama’s sanctuary in the back yard. A day never passed when Mama didn’t kiss her index finger and place it on his weather-beaten head.
Plants and wild flowers sprung up everywhere. Just past the rose-covered arbor sat a small concrete bird bath with a weather-beaten Adirondack chair facing it. The chalk-red brick meandered in several different directions, but each path led to a round table in the middle of the courtyard, protected by a giant maple arbor. This table hosted hours upon hours of card games, rounds of Parcheesi and priceless conversation.
Fire-red sea grasses grew out of black mulch. Mama loved ceramic frogs and there were a dozen or so carefully placed around the secret garden. There were also a half-dozen bird feeders hanging about. Dragon flies and everything from blue jays to yellow finches claimed the place as home – or at least their summer home. The occasional seagull screeched overhead, drowning out the portable radio that Mama stuck in the window to listen to the Red Sox – or “my boys,” as she called them. An outdoor shower abutted the house and, if you came in from the beach, you weren’t allowed in the house until you got under it and rinsed off every grain of sand.
Bees pollinated the hydrangeas surrounding a big green lamppost that came on at dusk, creating even more atmosphere. Some nights, Heidi, Steph and Ross spent time there in silence, listening to the crickets and peepers. Most nights though, they chased fireflies with empty mayonnaise jars, while Mama sat in her chair cheering them on.
It was such a magical place that even the occasional horsefly attack was worth the risk of spending time there.
While Mama hemmed a laundry basket filled with men’s slacks, Heidi, Steph and Ross played in the backyard. Mama placed a blanket on the grass and put Brian on his belly. She then dropped his favorite toy – a plush puppy that squeaked when you squeezed its belly – on the far side of the blanket across from him. For hours on end, it looked like he was swimming, but going nowhere. “Eventually, he’ll learn to crawl,” Mama promised. To the untrained eye, this would have appeared awfully cruel, but Mama cared too much not to give him the tough love that he needed to make progress.
After Brian spent countless hours struggling and failing to crawl, Heidi finally spoke up in her tiny cousin’s defense. “Mama…please. It’s too hard for him.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “It looks like he isn’t going anywhere, but he’s actually learning about perseverance; about never giving up.”
Steph looked down at the blanket to find Brian paddling hard to nowhere. “Well, he hasn’t given up yet,” she admitted.
“And he won’t!” Mama promised. She took a break from her mending and searched each of their tanned faces. “Here’s the real secret to succeeding in life: You get knocked down, you get back up. You get knocked down again, you get back up. It’s not getting knocked down that’s the problem. Life does that to everyone. It’s when you don’t get back up that you’re in trouble.” She looked down at the struggling toddler and smiled proudly. “Fortunately, Brian refuses to stay down.”
As if on cue, Brian looked up, grinned and then set his sights on the stuffed puppy again. Legs kicking, arms stroking – he continued to give it everything he had.
“That’s Mama’s boy,” she told him. “You just keep pushing, Brian. You’ll get there.”
The summer went by in a flash and it was perfect. After each breakfast, Heidi, Steph and Ross left the cottage and played all day, taking their lunch in the backyard and washing it down with the water from the garden hose. They didn’t even consider going in until the streetlight came on. They climbed trees and fell from branches. They suffered their cuts and bruises, cried for as long as Mama allowed it, and then headed back out into the wild to eat worms that squirmed out of mud pies. They made friends with kids up the street and were allowed to walk to their houses, as long as they “stayed together.” And, as a treat, they sometimes shared a cola, drinking from the same green glass bottle and learning how to share as they did.
By late July, both Heidi and Steph finally learned how to ride their bikes without training wheels – or helmets. Mama threw a backyard cookout to show off the girls’ new skills.
They also spent a lot of time down by the bay. The girls watched Brian in the shade, while Mama taught Ross how to swim. It didn’t take long for the daredevil to paddle off in the shallow water – all by himself.
While the girls joined Ross in the surf, Mama grabbed Brian, painted him white with sun block and then marched him into the water until she was up to her waist. For the longest time, she just stood there holding him in the water, while he flopped and flailed around.
Standing in the surf, Steph nervously asked, “What are you doing, Mama?”
“Taking away Brian’s fear. Once the water starts to feel natural to him, then the swimming will come natural to him. Right now, we’re just removing the fear.” She looked down at him. “Right, b
uddy?” she asked.
Brian contorted and thrashed, struggling violently against the water.
It was the last week of August when the kids – Heidi, Steph and Ross – presented Mama with a priceless gift. “Come out to the yard,” Heidi, the group’s elected representative, told her. “We have something we want to show you.”
Expecting to sit through another one of their backyard plays, Mama stepped out into the yard to find Steph and Ross kneeling before Brian on the blanket. The baby was propped up on his bum, with a rolled towel wedged behind him, allowing him to stay seated. But there are no costumes or props, Mama thought. As she and Heidi took a seat on the blanket beside them, the old lady looked at the kids and shrugged. “What’s up, guys?”
Ross began giggling and couldn’t stop. Heidi grabbed him by the shoulders, “Shhhh, Ross. Let Steph show her.”
Intrigued, Mama looked toward Steph. “Show me what?”
Steph never answered. Instead, wearing a giant smile, she turned toward Brian and clapped twice. Nothing happened. She clapped twice more. “Come on, Brian,” she whispered, obviously pleading for him to comply.
The little guy looked directly at Mama, brought up both of his hands and quickly clapped them together.
Mama’s mouth dropped open, but before she could get a word out, Steph clapped at the baby again. Brian responded with another clap. This time, he added a laugh.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Mama gasped, and her eyes immediately filled with tears. This was no small feat. Brian’s learning to mimic, she thought. “He’s learning!” she said aloud.
The kids looked up at their grandmother for her approval.
“It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received!” she cried out and meant it. While Brian applauded, she hugged each one of them.
After a half hour of clapping with Brian and round after round of tearful kisses, Mama stood and stretched out her creaky back. “We need to call Aunt Joan and Uncle Frank.” She shot them a wink. “And after that, I’m treating you guys to McRay’s for supper. Whatever you want to eat, it’s yours!”
“Anything?” Heidi asked.
“Anything,” she said, smiling. “You’ve earned it.”
Once Brian returned home, the other three kids ate enough sugar to launch any one of them into a diabetic coma. It was a glorious – and somewhat discreet – celebration.
As the leaves turned from green to bright red and orange, a yellow school bus sadly carried the squeals of summer down the road. Life went back to normal and the family returned to Mama’s cottage every Wednesday and Saturday night. Inspired by Brian’s recent progress, the kids kept their promise and spent hours working with him on developing his speech.
“Say Ma, Brian,” Heidi told him.
“Say Ma,” Steph repeated.
“Say Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma…” Ross added.
It was mind numbing to listen to, but the relentless repetition was exactly what he needed. Occasionally, Frank would chime in, “No, say dah dah,” but he didn’t have a shot in hell with the overwhelming push for the boy to say “Ma.”
Before long, Frank began to miss some of the weekly get-togethers. As time went on, his absences became more frequent and Joan’s excuses became less believable. No one ever commented on it – not even Mama.
The weeks turned into months and countless hours were spent trying to teach Brian to utter a word; hours upon hours spent failing again and again.
“Say Ma, Brian,” Heidi told him.
“Say Ma,” Steph repeated.
“Say Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma…” Ross added.
Brian refused to speak. Still, not one of the kids gave up. Each one of them refused to stay knocked down.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early November, a few short months before Brian’s third birthday. Frank was out in the backyard, taking a break from raking the few remaining leaves on the ground to teach Ross how to swing a golf club. Joan was in the kitchen, cleaning up from the pumpkin carving when Brian looked up from his oversized high chair and said, “Ma.”
Joan spun on her heels to face the baby. “Did you say Ma, Brian?” she gasped, hoping against all hope that she hadn’t been hearing things.
He banged a spoon on his tray, but didn’t repeat it.
With a heavy sigh, she reluctantly dismissed it as nothing and turned her back on the little guy to finish the cleaning.
He didn’t like it. He threw his spoon and yelled, “Ma!”
She dropped the sponge onto the floor and hurried to him. “You did call for Mommy!” she said. “You’re learning to talk,” she squealed in joy. “Can you say it again?” she asked. “Can you say…”
“Ma,” he said, and grinned at her like he’d merely been teasing everyone for all these months.
“Oh, God,” she cried. “You’re talking.” She smothered him in kisses.
He laughed. “Ma…Ma…”
After composing herself, she called Frank and Ross in from the yard. By then, Brian was on a roll. “Ma…Ma…Ma…Ma…”
Frank stepped into the kitchen, heard Brian speak and hurried over to him. He lifted his son out of the high chair and spun him in circles. “Daddy’s so proud of you,” he whimpered. “So proud…”
“Ma…Ma…” Brian answered.
Ross was so excited that he couldn’t speak. He simply nodded, while his eyes filled with tears. Joan kneeled down and hugged him. “Thank you for helping your brother,” she told him. “He could have never done this without you.”
Ross nodded again, proud tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Ma…Ma…” Brian said.
While Frank danced Brian around the kitchen, Joan grabbed the telephone and dialed her mother’s house. “Ma, you need to get over here right away.” She paused. “No, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just that…well…Brian has something he wants to say to you.”
Mama was at the house in record time. She hurried through the door and threw her tattered jacket onto the couch. “Where is he?” she panted.
With a grin, Frank pointed toward Brian’s bedroom.
As she entered the room, she spotted Joan and Ross changing Brian on the bed. Mama bent over and gave Ross a kiss. “What’s the…”
“Ma…Ma…Ma…Ma…” Brian said, answering for his mother.
Instantly, Mama began crying and just stood there – shaking her head for the longest time. She grabbed for the crucifix around her necklace and kissed it. “Stupid doctors,” she finally said, sobbing, “what do they know?” She picked up Brian to give him a squeeze and a nibble. Ross hugged her. Joan hugged her. And then she began crying and laughing – all at the same time. “All that money for a speech therapist and he’s learned the same way as any other kid…just by hearing it over and over again.” She ruffled Ross’ hair. “You did this, you know. You taught your baby brother how to speak.”
Ross nodded, proudly.
“And I need to tell your cousins the same,” she added.
“Ma…Ma…Ma…” Brian agreed.
Frank stepped into the threshold and smiled. Mama handed Brian to Joan, marched over to her son-in-law, stood up on her toes and gave him a long, hard hug. Joan froze, unsure of how her husband would receive the unexpected display of affection. He surprised everyone and hugged her back just as hard. It was a moment that transcended all barriers and hard feelings.
In the background, Brian sang, “Ma…Ma…Ma…”
Mama pulled away and wiped her eyes. “We just need him to string them together a little quicker and he’ll have my name down, too.”
“Then can we work on Dada?” Frank asked, playfully.
She nodded. “I guarantee it.”
“Oh, I believe you,” he said. “And I’ll never doubt you again.”
“And from what I can tell, he’ll be crawling by the first snowfall,” she said with a wink.
Chapter 8
Winter 1978
Before the DiMartino/Mauretti clan knew it, winter had arrived and it was Christmas time again. Although
she always displayed the same spirit, this was Mama’s favorite time of the year. She spent a solid week decorating the cottage. There was a holiday village that took up a corner of the dining room, with real plants and tiny white lights mixed in. She gift-wrapped doors, and hung a red and green garland over each doorway. And she had to have a real tree. “They might be messier,” she admitted, “but the smell of pine is worth the extra effort of cleaning up the needles.” She demanded an angel on top of the tree, and used lots of tinsel with strands and strands of colored lights that made the house shimmer in a festive glow.
The smell of Christmas Butterballs filled the air, while quarts of eggnog filled the fridge – though no one ever drank it. Ribbon candy, chocolate covered cherries, thin mints and candied almonds sat in bowls and were replenished throughout the holiday season. Mama loved her black licorice, too. If you took one, though, you had to hide it and eat it in secret. She was generous with everything but her black licorice.
Christmas music played all day, rotating between Nat King Cole, Dean Martin and Bing Crosby. And even after her husband had passed, she still hung lights outside – in the snow and the bay’s freezing winds. All of this, however, seemed no more than a prelude to her annual pilgrimage to the old neighborhood.
It was the first snowfall when Mama suggested that they visit Little Italy for Christmas. Frank and Bob opted out, so Mama, Joan and Bev brought all the kids into the city.
With the kids forming a human chain – hanging off of Brian’s oversized stroller – Mama led her ducklings out of the gray subway and stepped onto the bright, bustling street. Like living dolls, the girls were dressed in wool coats and fur-lined hats. Ross and Brian wore red and black checkered flannel coats with hats to match. Mama inhaled the cold city air and smiled. Since she could remember, her favorite Christmas tradition was to visit the old neighborhood to see the twinkling lights and familiar faces. For her, the real gift of the season was taking a stroll through Little Italy. The lights were nothing spectacular, but she still brought the kids every year. The seasonal decorations were just a convenient excuse for her to take a stroll down memory lane.
Goodnight, Brian Page 6