Mothers and Daughters

A daughter is a mother's gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self.  And mothers are their daughters' role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships.  ~Victoria Secunda

Today was a hard day. Two months ago today, I sat with my mother in the darkness and listened to her labored breaths begging God to take her quickly. It isn't until most people are much older that they are faced with the reality of losing their 2nd parent and yet, on that day I became an orphan. While for some of you that may sound incredibly dramatic, those who have stood over their dead parent with a distinct feeling of a free fall, there is nothing dramatic about it. Because you don't need to be 10 to be an orphan. The only requirement is the moment your mother or father takes their last breath leaving you standing on top of a family tree, literally out on a limb. 

Just like when my brother died, I am struggling with a new family constellation. And its all too quick and too soon and too much grief to process at the end of the day. I have had many people tell me that I am a survivor. And its true. But that doesn't mean that I want to be. Or that I'm good at it. Surviving, on some level, is my truth. It has defined much of my life. Just like it defined my mother's. 

On the one year anniversary of my brother's death, I wrote a blog outlining what I had learned in the 12 months after his death. The following excerpt was the first lesson I wrote:

- I learned my mother is a much stronger woman than I ever believed. When I was 11 years old, my father died, leaving my mother widowed at 44. Having been a stay at home mother and wife to a domineering Italian businessman, my mother did not have the self esteem to believe that she could go out and start over. It was years before my mother ever got a job and the recurrent themes of a Irish Catholic housewife never really went away. I truly believed my mother could not survive the death of her own child. But she has. She has gotten out of bed and continued to live her life the best she can knowing that she has buried her son. She still laughs and keeps Ralph's memory alive through allowing all of us to celebrate who he was (warts and all). She has helped the grandchildren through losing Ralph by meeting them where they are in the process, even if it means having to read the newspaper article my 7 year old nephew wrote shortly after Ralph passed announcing his death (literally - it read "Extra....Ralph died").

 In my heart, I did not believe it was possible for my mother to survive losing my brother. But she was a survivor. I remember calling her and crying every night saying over and over "I'm just so sad. I've never been this sad in my whole life." And she listened. And comforted. And she stood by me when I almost lost my mind with grief about 6 months after he died. I had no idea how she did it knowing the kind of loss she was enduring herself. 

But now I sit, almost nightly with an 8 year old little boy who cries for his "Mombo", the person he refers to as "the nicest person I ever knew." And I give him the space and time to grieve his own loss. Recently he said to me, "why don't you cry all the time?" I thought about it for a minute and said "Max, I am sad and I cry everyday. You just don't always see it. I miss my mom but I know if she were here, her biggest concern would be if you were okay. So I'm just making sure you are okay." And that's when I figured out how my mother managed to listen and comfort me not only through the loss of my brother but through losing her too.

Motherhood is a powerful force in the universe. It doesn't seem fair that anyone should have to endure the loss of a mother.

And Through Eternity, I'll Sing On

While I'm sure it wasn't God, Jesus or the church's intent, I found a piece of my mother's legacy on Good Friday.

While I had deluded myself into believing that because I knew my mother was dying that I would somehow be spared the deep despair I felt after my brother's death, it came anyway. The loss of my mother is distinctly different and as someone wrote me in the hours after her death " There is a pain so primal, so deep, so alone when you are suddenly motherless." That primal ache has only surfaced in recent days, realizing that I can't pick up the phone to tell her what Max said or did, or just to say "What are you doing?" I can't ask her what is was I said to her a day many years ago that made her laugh, or cry or mad. Those memories are buried with her.

Knowing Easter was coming brought anxiety to my sisters and me as we tried to figure out what to do. Mom always cooked the food, which wasn't anything fancy but the recipes were her's and she never wrote them down. So I went out today to buy the stuff we'd need and played a scene of my mother making potato salad over and over in my head as I tried to remember how it was she made it. By the time I made it to my mother's house I was inconsolable, knowing I could never ask her what the recipe was. And my timing was perfect because I walked in on two of my sisters crying basically over the same thing.

Which brings me back to Good Friday. I sat last night with Max in a Presbyterian church listening to an acoustic collaborative called New York Hymns, which had complied old poetry from the 1500 and 1700's that outlined the Stations of the Cross and set it to reflective acoustic music. I admit, I've never been to Good Friday Mass (as us Catholics call it) so I wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

As I sat and listened to the music, the theme of sacrifice and death overwhelmed me and I started to hear and see my mother's own journey through life in the story. My mother's whole life was about sacrifice. She gave up any sense of individual self the day my oldest sister was born and began to merge her life and identity into her children. She embodied motherhood in a way only certain mothers can or do. And she did it with little complaint. I say little because once, about 20 years ago, I remember my mother having a bit of a breakdown and yelling "I'm not your mother (as we argued with her, starting every statement with "MOM"), I'm Joan!" And I knew that in that moment, she was trying to figure out where we ended and she began. And I can honestly say, I'm not sure she ever figured that one out.

A few months ago, as my mother tried to come to terms with her impending death, she told me the story of watching her own mother die when she was 15 years old. In the last moment of my grandmother's life, she opened her eyes, smiled as if she had seen something so beautiful, closed them and let out a big sigh. And at the end of the story my mother said to me "And my mother was so perfect. She was everything a mother is supposed to be. She was everything I wasn't." And she started to cry. And I began to cry to because my mother, a woman who lost her husband at 44, raised the majority of her children alone, never remarried, and had one of her children living with her at some point in time until the day she died, believed that she wasn't a good mother. My heart broke for her in that moment because I realized that in all of the day to day of life, which is hard and thankless at times, my mother failed to realize that everything we had in life was owed to her.


So the pain is primal and its very lonely when you realize something as simple as your mother's potato salad recipe may be gone. But I worked at it tonight and I think I got it as close as I could have. Without it being my mother making it herself.

Everything I Ever Learned in Life, I Learned From My Mother

I learned that while Sunday dinner is mandatory; all other meals are optional.

I learned that even if your mostly Irish, if your last name is Ciliberti, you need to learn how to make sauce (even if you start with a can).

I learned that, eventually, the sound of the word “mom” said over and over again will cause temporary insanity.

I learned that phrases like “because I said so” and “she is not she; she is your mother” have an actual genetic component.

I learned that Neil Diamond can sing with the best of them, even if he is embarrassing to see in concert.

I learned to dance a tango, sing Christmas songs in July and how to take an ordinary event and use words to turn it into a story.

I learned that there is no greater parental punishment than quiet disappointment.

I learned that laughter is a requirement for living.

I learned that respect is an actual aura that surrounds a person.

I learned that loyalty is only second to love.

I learned that age is truly just a number and your mind determines how old you are.

I learned that stroking a child’s hair, no matter how old that child is, can heal all things.

I learned that sometimes it’s enough to want your children to have it all.

I learned that someone else's definition of happiness holds no bearing on the heart.

I learned how to love amidst pain and heartache.

I learned how to be a mother.

A Never Ending Winter

It is February and for the 41st time in my life (because I'm convinced I felt this way as early as when I was 2 weeks old), I am in the throes of the longest winter of my life. ENOUGH ALREADY!!!! How long can snow possibly stay on the ground? I'll tell you how long. Since December 26, 2010. That's how long.

I have plastic covering my windows, space heaters turned on, regular heat turned on and a heavy coat. The thermostat says 67 degrees but I simply do not believe that. There is something so fundamentally depressing about winter that the mere thought of leaving my house is too much to bear some days.

My arch nemesis Hurricane Schwartz came on the news back in November with his multiple teases to stay tuned to hear about his long term winter forecast. Then he promised us in all of his expertise, that we could look forward to a mild winter. WTF???

Then after a few snowstorms and cold spells that lasted upwards of 400 days, he comes on with teases about his "updated" long term forecast. Guess what Glenn?? If winter is half over and the snow keeps a coming, its no longer a long term forecast, its a 7 day forecast combined with a recap of what has gone on for the past 2 months. SURPRISE!!! We are now in for a cold and snowy winter.

Now Hurricane tried showing up at my 40th birthday party to make amends but too late sucka!!!! It's still cold and the snow hasn't melted! You're days are numbered....

So news of a warm-up this week is met with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. I'll believe it when the damn snow is gone.

10 of The 40 Moments of my Life - Part 4

And so here we are. My 30's. This is by far the hardest of the 40 moments to write. Mostly because I haven't had enough distance from events to have really processed them fully. It's much easier to laugh, cry or analyze situations that have occurred 20+ years ago. But the closer in time the events are to the present, the harder it is to reflect upon them. So bear with me.....

31. Moving Out and Moving On...Again: So I left my marriage and my 20's behind in the same month. In January of 2001, I moved all of my belongings into a studio apartment in the exclusive downtown Kennett Square apartment building known as 131. Thanks to my good friend Steve Warner, a spot in this very exclusive apartment building was made available to me. Complete with its own entrance through a sliding glass window that you stepped down into off the porch, this studio signified my new life as a single woman. I have to say the first few years of my 30's were an intermingling of healing a broken heart and a whole lotta fun. 131 was kinda like a college dorm for my friend Wendy and me. We lived 15 feet apart (she had the fancy 1 1/2 bedroom), were steps from the Kennett Square Inn and spent our evenings watching bad TV over the phone. We dated interesting (in the broadest sense of the word) men and drank a little like we were 22 years old. We had fun. And I needed to have some fun.

32. September 11, 2001: Just like our parents, we will always remember the moment the planes hit and our world changed. I am still dumbstruck to this day by my naivete as to the evils of the world before the morning of September 11. I was positive it was a huge mistake. I was positive it was a huge mistake even after the 2nd plane hit. It wasn't until they hit the Pentagon that I realized this was real. And I distinctly remembering that the world would never be the same. And it hasn't been.


33. Stephen and Max: One of the most life changing moments in my life is meeting Stephen and subsequently having Max. I had known who Stephen was long before we really knew each other. He used to wait on me and Mark when we would dine at the Farm House at Loch Nairn. And we loved for Stephen to wait on us. We felt special and taken care of when Stephen waited on us. So years later, when I went to work at the Great House (which is also at Loch Nairn) as a bartender I slowly came to know Stephen. He had forgotten about me and Mark until I jogged his memory. Apparently, he was in high demand and all of the requests run together. To make a long story short, we started dating and a few months later....surprise....I was pregnant. I will address this now because I get this question at least bi weekly; I truly believe Stephen and I are able to maintain the largely positively relationship that we do for the mere fact that we weren't together for long before we got pregnant. We knew we were taking a chance on each other. And we trusted each other. By the time we figured out that we weren't going to work out, we had developed a deep commitment to Max and each other as a family unit. Stephen is and always will be my family. God had a plan for us.

34. Motherhood: And then there was Max; all 9.6 lbs and 23 inches of him born after 18 hours of labor and an emergency c-section. I remember Stephen coming back from the nursery when I was still high as a kite and in recovery, and me saying to him in a panic and crying, "Where's the baby? You can't leave the baby! He's never been alone before!" I was instantly in love, an anxious mess and sleep deprived to the point of mental breakdown for the first 13 months. I suffered from some pretty severe postpartum depression that I didn't even recognize until I went postal on my boss. I have said it before and I'll say it again - Motherhood is hard; by far the hardest thing I have ever done (in fact I wrote a blog about it). But the rewards are beyond any measure. I have never loved another human being the way I love Max. He is the exact child I was meant to have. And I feel inadequate and honored every day.

35. Back to School: Having Max put many things in perspective for me, one being that I finally needed to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. Becoming a role model to Max became the catalyst for going back to finish graduate school. I wanted to be the person I knew I could be but never had the nerve to be. I never had the belief in myself to move forward in a career in psychology. There are alot of reasons for that but ultimately I think I had an incredible fear of failure. After having Max I decided I couldn't be afraid anymore or I would be teaching him fear. So I went back to school and completed my Masters in Clinical Psychology. And then actually got a job in my field. Which is much more impressive than getting the degree.

36. Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone: About 4 months after starting graduate school, I had another falling out with the same boss (we had issues) and abruptly left my job. I stopped on the way home, grabbed the paper and started looking for a job. And there was an ad for a TSS. I had heard about TSS's but didn't think I had it in me to work with kids with developmental disabilities. I had this perfect little boy and I was afraid of how I would feel being around kids who weren't perfect (or so I thought). But I also knew I was working on facing my fears so I went and interviewed and got the job. And they sent me to this orientation with the county that my current boss at Devereux facilitated. I thought the whole idea behind the orientation was to train me on how to be a TSS. In actuality, it teaches you what a whole bunch of acronyms like IEP, PDD and ODD mean. On the second day, I raised my hand and asked, "When are you gonna teach me what I'm going to be doing?" I was assured it would be on the job training. And it was. But the most powerful and profound lesson I was taught on the very first day with my little 3 year old girl with autism was "Always Assume Intellect." And I did. And that lesson has served me well. It has allowed me to expect great things of people most others assume will never amount to anything. And I have never been disappointed by the abilities of those who are considered intellectually or developmentally delayed. They are some of the smartest, most adaptive people I know.

37. Moving Out and Moving On....for the umpteenth time: Over the years, Stephen and I drifted apart and it became clear it was again time to move on. Again - many people don't understand why we aren't together but we get along better apart than together. It is hard to break up your family unit and I feel like we were forced to make Max grow up faster for it. But we both felt like staying together for Max would send him mixed messages about what a healthy relationship should look like. We handled it as a family - proposing it as an arrangement in which Max would have 2 homes instead of one. Which he conveyed to others in a manner that implied one was our primary home and one was a vacation home. While he was and continues to be sad about the situation at times, he has done remarkably well with it. If I can give any advice to anyone going through a split when kids are involved it is this - your children deserve to feel loved, respected and complete in every sense of the word. If you make your shit your kid's shit, you are screwing with how they see the world. And they deserve better than that.


38. Losing My Brother: Many of you reading this probably feel like you really got to know me through the fact that my brother died. And I told everyone. All the time. And I still do. Losing my brother Ralph was the most profound loss I have ever experienced in my life. And you have to remember, I have experienced alot of personal loss. I lost my father, I have lost close friends, I lost my marriage. And I got through all of those things. But after Ralph died, I hit my lowest low. I have explained it before but I'll do it again; I oozed grief. It poured out of every part of me. And I didn't believe it would ever stop. The first year was incredibly hard and I will admit I still cry almost every day. I miss him. I took him for granted but I have needed to forgive myself for that in order to move on. Because there was one thing I knew about my brother. He believed in me probably more than any other person in my life.  He had a faith and a belief in me that never wavered. All of the doubt and fear I carried around was lost on him. He expected great things of me long before I had ever dreamed them possible.


39. Finding My Voice: I believe wholeheartedly that the greatest gift my brother gave me in his death is that I have finally truly found my voice. The night my brother died, I came home, went on to Facebook and poured my heart out onto a note and hit "share". In the midst of all of the grief, for the first time I truly did not care what others thought of me. At my most vulnerable, I laid my heart and soul out for all to see. And the response was overwhelming. One of my biggest fears over the years was being perceived as weak and vulnerable. But I was and I am. About six months after Ralph died I finally started this blog; something I had always wanted to do but was afraid of what others would think.And it goes deeper than that - I suddenly felt incredible free; freer to be me than I ever had been in my life. And I was happy again. Happy to know that even in tragedy you can be given a gift.


40. Count your Blessings: And here I am. At 40; a moment that I fully embrace and yet I'm faced with another painful realization that life is what happens while you are busy making plans. I had decided about a year ago that I just needed to get to 40 and it would all be ok. I could leave the pain of my 30's behind and start over new. And I would be happy and finally find everything I was looking for. I was shedding alot of old baggage and putting things to bed. I was planning a party to celebrate moving on. A few days before Christmas, my mother became ill. It came on suddenly and hard. High fever and very weak. My sister took her to an urgent care center where they did an x-ray. They discovered a tumor which has since been diagnosed as lung cancer. Over the past few weeks, we have learned that the cancer has metastasized and her treatment options are limited. The interesting thing is what sent my mother to the urgent care center that day had nothing to do with the cancer and she has since recovered. But she now knows that she has cancer and it is not going away.

Remember how I said this decade was the hardest to write? I struggled with even disclosing this. It is too fresh and too painful. Unlike the shock of my brother's death, my family and I are now left with the realization that we are at the beginning of a journey to a goodbye. And the fear is great, the pain is deep and we have to learn how to continue to live knowing that my mother will ultimately die. And she doesn't deserve this. But then I realized I had to disclose this (with my mother's permission) in order to begin to move forward in the process.

In my grief, which feels never ending at times, I have to learn to continue to live. I have to focus on all that is good and pure in my love for my mother and reconcile it with the imperfection of the relationship. And I need to forgive myself for being less than perfect in that love. And I have to count my blessings.

So anyway, when I conceptualized doing this 4 part blog, I never dreamed the last entry would be this. But it is. And I have to learn to live with that. Thank you for coming along on this journey. Thanks for being my friends. Thanks for listening.

10 of The 40 Moments of my Life - Part 3

I must say, that while I would not relive my teen years, I could do a little "Groundhog Day" on much of my 20's. I loved my 20's. A great deal of my memories revolve around a lot of drinking but something about it all of that was just plain, good old fashion fun. I was a very serious teen in many ways and I really let my hair down in my 20's. For the first time in my life, I truly lived in the moment. And what a moment it was....

21. Moving Out and Moving On: While I moved to State College when I was 19 to be with Mark, I  hated it there and spent most of the time wishing I was back at home with my friends and family. It wasn't until I was back home, transferred to Neumann College and learning how to live without Mark, did I really move out and move on. I distinctly remember the day I moved out of my mother's house. In fact, I'm pretty sure I spent that morning journaling. I knew that I would never live under that roof again. Not because I wasn't welcome, but instead because I knew it was my time to move on. I moved into an apartment in Kennett Square with my childhood friend Laura and went about the business of really growing up. Of course, there is a huge learning curve on that one.

22. 12 - 2 Scum Club: Many of you reading this will know what I'm talking about while the rest of you will wonder WTF. There is this counterculture that exists still today. It is made up with all people that don't fit society's mold and expectations about what your life should look like. Because the prevailing cultural message is that the good life requires you to follow the rules, settle down, get a 9 - 5 job and play along. Then there are the rest of us (yes - I still consider myself one of them). We never followed the rules. We didn't like getting up in the morning. We liked our happy hour to start at midnight. And the best night of the week to go out drinking was a Sunday night. We were/are the people who needed to work all those other hours so that the 9 to 5ers could live the good life. So we served your food and made your drinks. Or we built your houses or installed your plumbing. And we loved to hang out in the Chadds Ford Tavern from 12 - 2. Then someone made the mistake of calling us scum. Then, I, with all my wit and charm, though maybe we should make some shirts and wear them on the bartender who attracted on the scum's last night and do a reveal at midnight. So all night long I sold 12-2 Scum Club t-shirts out of my car at a 50 cent per shirt profit (stupid me). And at midnight, the whole bar pulled a superman and viola....the club in all their glory!

23. Life at the Chadds Ford Tavern: While the Kennett Square Inn has been a mainstay in my life since I was 15 years old; the Chadds Ford Tavern was the backdrop to much of the drama that unfolded in my early to mid 20's. Having older siblings who were "regulars" there combined with working in the restaurant business at an early age, no one seemed to notice or care that I was a very young looking 21 year old who only drank fuzzy navels. Three years later, when I actually did turn 21 (and had moved on to Tangeray Sterling Vodka Gimlets, shaken not stirred), I handed my drivers license down the bar. It passed from one patron to the next until it ended up in the bartenders hand. He looked at me and said "Shit. You gotta be kidding me. Can I buy you a drink?" I spent ALOT of time in that bar. This was back when they would still lock a select few in at 2am and we wouldn't leave until the sun was up. One night, my friend Don (you know the guy who installed my toilet - see earlier blog), who was a bartender there, and I stayed in the bar until about 6am drinking and listening to music (I swear that's all). Then we thought it would be a great idea to go to Hank's for breakfast. So we grabbed a few splits of champagne and headed down the road (I know...very irresponsible). He went into one bathroom; me in the other and we popped the splits and then poured them into our orange juice. Then, since we hadn't had enough to drink, we thought it would be a great idea to drink some more. So I headed to his house while he went back to the bar to pick up more booze. I woke up on his couch to find him staring at me drinking a beer and holding a bottle of vodka. I looked at him like he was crazy and rolled over and went back to sleep. A few hours later I woke up and his roommate refused to let me leave. Apparently, he was the only smart one in the building. And there are plenty more where that came from.

24. Becoming a Speed Bump (another Tavern story): I will be the first to admit, I drank alot in my 20's, especially my early 20's. I didn't drink alot in my teens, unless you count the part when I was hanging out in bars in my late teens. So I guess I made up for lost time. Anyway - let me preface this story not only with the fact that I drank alot, but I was also suffering from what I like to call "frontal lobe disorder". "Frontal lobe disorder" is a common disorder that affects ALL young adults between the ages of 18 - 24. It cannot be avoided. You see, research has revealed (for real) that the frontal lobe of the brain, which is responsible for things like impulse control and the ability to make good choices, doesn't fully develop until your mid 20's. So all of those really dumb decisions you make in your late teens and early 20's can be blamed on "frontal lobe disorder". So "frontal lobe disorder" is what lead me to engage in a year and a half relationship with a guy who ultimately ended up running me over with his car. This guy (who many of you know) was not a bad guy. In fact, he was a pretty good guy (waaay deep down) who partied too hard and liked women. I was stupid enough to make myself available to him whenever he wanted. And he was fun and we really did get along. But eventually, I grew tired of being used and abused and decided to confront him.I was kneeling next to his car in the parking lot of the Tavern talking into the window when a nearby car went to pull out. Since those who drink and drive tend to have reflexes that tend be a little off the mark, what transpired was him throwing his car into reverse and my attempt to push out of the way turn into my knee getting caught under the wheel. I think the kicker for me was that after his car stopped about 100 feet away, he jumped out of the car and yelled "Are you ok?" followed a milli-a-second later by "I didn't hit you. You fell down." Which followed with me jumping up and running on a slightly dislocated kneecap towards him screaming "You did hit me. You hit me with your car." And then I unloaded all of my frustration of a year and a half on him (because when you are suffering from "frontal lobe disorder" that is the most important thing). And I will tell you this. My frontal lobe has fully grown (or so I think) and I now realize what an ass I was. And about a year ago I contacted him and let him know I forgave him. Because after 18 years, it was finally time to let it go.

25. Graduating from College: By far, my greatest accomplishment to that point in my life was graduating from college. Not only graduating but getting a 4.0 my last 5 semesters. After leaving Penn State after 2 1/2 years, I transferred home to Neumann College where I finished my bachelors in Psychology. I thrived in the small environment (12 people in my program) which focused on critical thinking skills. I didn't take tests. I wrote papers and I was very good at it. I remember the day I graduated feeling the most centered I had ever felt in my life. Like all was right in the world and that I was responsible for it all. Plus I had a killer party at the Kennett Square Inn.

26: Figuring out Graduate School was not for me: After graduating from college with a Bachelors in Psychology, my career options were limited. Let's remember, I was bartending at the time, making really good money for a 24 year old. There was no way I could justify in my "frontal lobe disordered" mind that taking an entry level job for $8/hour was a good idea. So I did when most psychology majors do; I went to graduate school. I started at Villanova in their Counseling Psychology program specializing in, of all things, addictions!! Funny thing - my professor and mentor and Neumann, as well as the head of the honors department both told me I was making a huge mistake going into Villanova's program. Both insisted that I needed to be in a program that really supported the thinker in me and that the counseling program was not that program. I insisted that I was sick of school and need to get a job. I needed a program that would produce a job at the end. I insisted they did not know what I needed. They were right. I was wrong - Damn Frontal Lobe!!! I'll never forget when it happened. I was sitting in Giordano's, where I was bartending at the time, talking about school when it hit me. I hated it. I wasn't going back next semester. I just decided in that very moment. And I called my mother the next day to tell her and she said, "I was waiting for you to figure it out. You aren't nearly as excited when you talk about your classes as when you were at Neumann." So I took my finals and withdrew. And didn't go back for 7 years.

27. Dewey Beach: Since I had all this free time now that I had dropped out of graduate school. I figured that I might as well become a beach bunny. I honestly have no idea how it came to be but I ended up in a summer rental with 2 of my girlfriends, Jimmy, one of my customers from Giordanos and these other 3 people I had never met. We split the house by bedrooms so the men got their own, so as not to have anything interfere with all the hooking up they would be doing.  My one friend and I were usually only there Sunday through Tuesday and we rarely even made it out on to the beach. I think we just drank alot. And danced at the Bottle and Cork. And we had no air conditioning in our house, so everyone, especially Dale, complained alot. I can remember sitting in the chair one night, closing my eyes, then opening them and it was morning. And in Dewey was, and is the only time in my life I ever blacked out from drinking. The only thing I can attest to is waking up and my hair was wet. I was in Dale's bed and he was in mine. When I went in and asked him why all he said was "go look in the bathroom". And I did. And it was bad. The only part of the story I am willing to disclose in the blog is that I went into the bathroom and they heard a thump. When they came to the door, I said "don't come in" but they did. And I was in the tub. With my feet dangling out. And I had gotten sick. But that's all I'm saying.


28. Reconnecting with Mark: So the winter after the summer spent in Dewey, I reconnected with Mark, the college boyfriend who had left me devastated and destroyed in the parking lot in State College many years before. I was at work one night and got a call from my mother. She said "guess who called here looking for you?" And I said "Mark." I have no idea why I knew it was him, other than I couldn't possibly think of any other person who would call my mother. He had become a State trooper stationed out of Avondale and drove by my mother's everyday. She gave him my number and we made a date to go to lunch. When I got there he told me that he wanted to let me know that his girlfriend had just broken up with him and that he was really hurt by it. And that now, he understood what he had done to me all those years ago. So after lunch, I got in the car, smiled and waved and began to cry. I was so devastated by his nonchalant attitude.But after a few days I had come to see it as closure and put it to bed. A week later, he called me and asked to see me. We married a year and a half later. I will say this - I loved him wholeheartedly.


29. Losing Jimmy: Finding out that my friend Jimmy had committed suicide was by far one of the most devastating moments of my life. In many ways, I looked at his death as even harder to handle than the death of my father. I mean, my father didn't choose to die. How could anyone make a conscious choice to give up on life? I felt hurt, anger and guilt all wrapped into one tiny little package. How didn't I know? He had come to see me, out of the blue, about a month before it happened. He wanted to let me know that he knew he had a drinking problem and that he had stopped. I remember really trying to encourage him. Then I remember seeing him about 2 weeks before he died at a party. He had been drinking and he came over to me to explain. I told him "You have nothing to explain to me Jimmy. One day at at time. You need to just take it a day at a time." I called him a few times after that and he never returned my calls.  So when I heard that he had killed himself, I was heartbroken. I cried for days. I didn't think I would ever stop crying. All I kept thinking about was that he was alone at the end. And that broke my heart. And it still breaks my heart. Because he really wasn't alone. He just thought he was. Suicide is such a waste.

30. Losing my Marriage: And so my marriage wasn't meant to be. Maybe I'm just tired but that's the long and short of it. There wasn't a day of my marriage that I didn't believe that I was going to be married until the day I died. Not until the day Mark came home and told me he didn't want to be married. There's a funny thing about divorce. By the time it actually happens, usually one of the partners has left the building. And it was clear that Mark had left the building. It was very unceremonious and matter of fact. He couldn't understand why I was surprised. But I was. Because while he was stewing in his discontent, he never once told me. Looking back now, I see signs that he was pulling away but they were very subtle. Our work schedules were opposite (I had moved on to the 9 - 5 life while he was on a permanent midnight shift) and he had recently spent alot of time away with the reserves. I just assumed that if he was unhappy, he would have let me know about it. But he didn't. So the divorce was shocking, hurtful and incredibly painful. I felt betrayed and like my entire life was a lie. I won't pretend that I was perfect but I am a firm believer that nothing in life is easy and you just don't walk away because it gets tough. But he disagreed. It was just like a death.

10 of The 40 Moments of my Life - Part 2

Live Aid

Ahh, the teen years....Not a period of my life as a whole I'd like to live over. Adolescence is marked by such personal uncertainty. You have no idea who you are. Do you take a stand or follow the crowd? Are you pretty enough, smart enough, do you people like you? Yes - I had alot of great times as a teen. I made alot of great friends. But I am certain of one thing; the only way I would go back and relive my teen years is if I could take everything I've learned along the way and bring it with me.

11. My Father's Death - Unfortunate but true, the second decade of my life began with the death of my father. I was 11; he was 44. It was the first day of summer vacation, a Friday and early in the morning. I had walked into my parents room to drop off the paper as I did most mornings. Both of my parents were asleep but what was unusual was the fact that my father was laying upside down in the bed. My mother told me later that he had been having trouble breathing and had put his head at the bottom of the bed, which was closer to the open window (no central air back in those days) in an attempt to get some fresh air. A few hours later as my mother sat in the living room, talking to my sisters and me, my father yelled her name. It was the last thing he ever said. He suffered a massive heart attack in my parents bed. My younger sister and I ran to the neighbors, who were nurses to get help, while my other sister called for an ambulance. We stood in the living room and watched them try to shock his heart back into a sustainable rhythm, which never happened. I can honestly say, it was the first heart break of my life. It has colored my life in innumerable ways. Interestingly, for many years I believed that because I was 11 when my father died, I had somehow been spared the brunt of the full impact of his passing. My siblings lives appeared to be influenced in much more profound ways but it is only with time and lots of therapy that I came to realize that being 11 when your parent dies will impact your life in a rudimentary way. At 11, self image is really just beginning to form in a way that defines lifelong personal identity. My family as I knew it (crazy as they could be) ceased to exist. My security was ripped from me at the exact developmental moment in which I was supposed to asking myself  "who am I really and where do I belong?" Heavy stuff for a prepubescent girl.

12. Taking the First Puff - As ridiculous as it seems, only weeks after my father died of a smoking related disease, my friend Lisa and I decided that we should doing a little experimenting. So we stole some of her dad's Winston Lights that he kept in his pickup truck and went out behind the shed and lit up. We did this on and off for a few weeks until somehow, someway, we were busted. While I don't remember the specifics, I remember smelling like cigarettes and being mortified. I also remember telling my mother (in an attempt to garner understanding and sympathy) that maybe if my father hadn't died, I wouldn't have smoked. That didn't go over real well. Unfortunately, that first puff led to many other puffs, which eventually led to a regular smoking habit by about age 16. Which went on for about 15 more years until I had Max. Dumb, dumb, dumb....

13. Discovering U2 - I have told this story many times but it never gets old. Not to anyone who remembers the moment they figured out that music could "change the world." I was about 12 or 13, sitting on the floor in my living room, watching MTV (back when they played actual videos). "Sunday Bloody Sunday" came on and Bono marched across the stage at Red Rocks like he was marching into war (which I think was the actual image he was trying to portray). I was mesmerized. I cannot stress the level of mesmerized I was experiencing enough. My brother Ralph was standing in the dining room, watching me, watch Bono. And he, who believed that music was the root of all that was good and right with the world, knew I was hooked. And I distinctly remember the look on his face. It was almost one of pride that said "She gets it. I always knew she'd get it." Bizarre but very true.


14. Taking the First Drink - I am happy to report that my first drink was not quite as exciting or enticing as the first cigarette. I think I had my first beer at about age 14. Again, with Lisa (we were always getting in trouble) and it was Moosehead beer. It was disgusting and I may have only drank 1/3 of the bottle. On the other hand, Lisa thoroughly enjoyed it. I will say, that experience taught me that I never really wanted a drink bad enough to drink a beer. So I never did. In my life, I have drank, maybe, a total of 2 bottles of beers (and that's all the sips added up). Although I have developed an affinity for vodka.

15. Live Aid - It wouldn't have mattered how old I was when I attended Live Aid (the original one; not the "remake"), it would have made it on to my list. The reasons may have differed but it truly was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm so thankful that I was there. I was 14 and at the height of my "music can change the world phase", which was being reinforced by the whole social climate. There was no advance notice of when tickets went on sale; they just announced on the radio one day. Either Ralph or I heard; not sure which one but he made a run for the car and we were off the Granite Run Mall to hit the Ticket Tron. Of course, all good Ciliberti stories require a comedy of errors, and we aim to please. About 3 miles from home, and 1/2 a mile past Leader Sunoco in Chadds Ford, we ran out of gas. I don't remember if we walked back to the gas station or if we caught a ride but eventually we made it to the mall, running as fast as we could to ensure we got our tickets before they sold out. There were about 3 people in the store and no one looked terribly excited. Except for us, of course. I still am in awe of the fact that my brother, 26 at the time, took me and my teenybopper friend Laura to the all day Woodstock of our time. And he didn't party like it was Woodstock. In fact, I'm pretty sure he didn't "party" at all but of course he could have hid it from me. I mean what 26 year old music loving Dead head wants to take his 14 year old sister to Live Aid. And be responsible?? But he did and for that, I am very thankful.

16. Concerts in General - Concerts really do deserve their own mention on this list, especially during my teen years. My sister Joanie took me to my very first concert, which was U2, a few months before Live Aid. I don't give her as much credit as I do Ralph, because she was always responsible. But I saw U2 at least 6 times in my teens, including at the Amnesty International show at the Meadowlands (another one my brother took me to). I also fell in love with Peter Gabriel as a teen and was lucky enough to see him about 7 times. And I must say I ventured into a few Dead shows in my day, including the very last one before they tore down JFK. But while I loved the music, I found the counterculture just a little too to the left for my taste. Not by much, but enough that I passed on the hit of acid I won when I bought the soda from one of the many encampments that had the "X" on the bottom of it.

17. Stepping Foot into the Kennett Square Inn - All I wanted was to make a little money, not change the course of my life. But I got both. It's interesting when you take this walk down memory lane like I'm doing and you start to see all of moments that really changed who you were. Going to work at the Inn at 15 altered the course of my life (Steve - I can see your head expanding right now so please grab a pin and pop it). I was pretty lost at 15. My father had died, my mother was still very much in the throws of her grief and I wasn't getting alot of direction. I had gone in and filled out an application in October of 1986 and it wasn't until a few months later in January of 1987 that I got a call from a guy named Zack, asking if I still was looking for a job and could I start at 4:30 that day. So I said hold on and I asked my mom (which I find pretty comical looking back on it). And so the story goes. I really could write a book. Over the next 25 years I worked for Steve about a total of 12 years. I consider him to be one of my closest friends and many of the people I worked with and who were customers have become life long friends. They have seen me through the highs and lows of my life. We have fought like family, drank and smoked way too much and laughed all along the way. This may be one of my most grateful lifetime moments.

18. Falling in Love  - There is nothing worse than a teenage girl who thinks she is in love. NOTHING. And unfortunately my first love ended with the tragic notion that he didn't really love me. And he was way too old. And it kinda grosses me out just thinking about it. But I am grateful that it is steeped in my memories of my first days at the Kennett Square Inn, spending time with other people who truly made me happy. I realize that alot of people who were older and wiser than me at the time had to sit by helplessly and watch me get my heart broke, as the rite of passage requires. And I love them for doing it. But there is something absolutely beautiful in the art of falling in love for the first time - something pure and good that you will never feel again in your life. Because when it happens again, you've already learned that the world can be a cruel place. Thanks to your first love. Thanks. Thanks alot.

19. Going to College - I am the first and only of my siblings to attend and graduate from a traditional college. I grew up in an environment that did not place emphasis or importance on higher education but rather on a strong work ethic, which all of my siblings have. So while they didn't attend college, they have all done very well for themselves in their respective fields and I admire each of them for that. But I knew from the time I was very young that I wanted to go to college and become a teacher, which later changed to a psychologist. The problem I encountered was this: no one in my family had every gone to college. I had no role model. I had no support in the sense that there wasn't anyone there to lead me on this journey. In fact, my mother told me that, while she was ok with me going to college, she thought I was too young to go away. She refused to visit colleges with me and ultimately the underlying message of "don't leave me" won out and I chose to stay home and commute the first 1 1/2 years. I loved college. And when I say I loved college, I mean I loved learning. Forget the partying, I had already done that at the KSI. I was there to learn something about everything. Except Math, which I really hated. The interesting thing is (and I'll expand on it in my next installment) is that while I knew I wanted to go to college, I was ill equipped to take that education and use it in a way that one would expect. I couldn't figure out how to get out of the blue collar mentality I was born in to. I wanted the education but not the job that went along with it. I was perfectly fine waiting tables and tending bar. And I'm still very much that way - I often scan the parttime want ads and think "Hmm. Maybe I'll pump gas one night a week." There's something very powerful, moral and good about being raised in a working class home.

20. Meeting Mark - I was 17 when I met the man who would later become my husband, and then my ex husband. I was a freshman in college and he was a "forever junior". He was in my Math class (remember I  said I hated Math) and the teacher was brutal. It was dumb people Math - for the people who had no aspirations of ever doing anything which involved numbers and we still cheated. But anyway, it was a slow start to a strange relationship. I thought he was a bit of a geek but he appeared to admire me in a way that no one really had before. I ended up falling very deeply in love with him and we had a nearly 2 year relationship that was marked with some very stormy moments. I admit that by the time the relationship ended, a role reversal had occurred and the guy who I always thought loved me a little bit more than I loved him, left me devastated and destroyed in the parking lot of a dry cleaner in State College. And this all happened before we got back together in our 20's and married. But you'll hear about that later.