WILKES-BARRE — As my mom’s birthday approaches, I think of so many lessons I learned from her in the short time we were together.
My mom — Elizabeth Kraszewski O’Boyle — died when she was 42 years old. She would be 101 on Sept. 25.
As much as I value all I learned from her and my Dad, the most difficult part for me is dealing with all that we never got to experience together. I miss all the memories that we never had a chance to make.
That’s why I often find myself creating memories of my parents in my mind. When I am somewhere I know they would enjoy being at with me, I bring them back in my mind. If this sounds a bit odd, it really is a great way to remember your late parents by mentally simulating them with you at significant events, moments and places.
My favorite simulation was in the year 2000, when I traveled to Europe — London, Paris and Rome were the main cities I visited.
I always like to tell the story of my mom’s love of art. My mom had a genuine appreciation for life and people, and she sincerely loved art. Her dream was to one day stand face to face with the Mona Lisa — Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece that hangs in the Louvre Museum in Paris.
Sadly, my mom never got to see the Mona Lisa. She died the day before Mother’s Day in the year I graduated high school. As I said, I often think about how many other “bucket-list items” she never had time to scratch off her list.
So in 2000, I decided to take a trip that would include a stop in Paris, a visit to the Louvre, and a date with the Mona Lisa. It was a trip to London, Paris, Rome and Florence, and was filled with memories that will last a lifetime. It was a trip my mother would have absolutely loved.
So I was more than a little nervous when I entered the massive Louvre to begin my tour. I remember walking past the great masterpieces — “Winged Victory,” “Venus de Milo,” Rembrandts, Renoirs, van Goghs, Michelangelos, Manets and Monets.
And then we walked through one gallery into another, and we were told, “The Mona Lisa is displayed in this room.”
I immediately got emotional, and I choked up a bit and realized that I was about to stare into the eyes of the world’s most famous painting. But I was determined to ensure I was not going to view this lovely lady alone.
I was going to look at the Mona Lisa through the eyes of my mother.
On that September day, Elizabeth Kraszewski O’Boyle finally would get to see her favorite painting.
It was far more emotional than I expected. It was an experience that I didn’t want to end. I wanted my mom to be there and — in many ways, through my DNA and my faith — she was.
There are so many days and events I remember about my parents. I still like to think about the time I arrived at my Dad’s home to tell him we were going for a ride.
“Where we going?” he asked.
I told him it was a surprise.
About an hour into the ride, Dad was getting a little fidgety, and he asked again where we were going. When we crossed over the border into New York, he knew.
“Cooperstown?” he asked.
I confirmed his suspicion. Dad was fine with it now. He had always wanted to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame and that day was his time.
Dad loved every part of the Hall. He visited every floor and every display. He especially loved seeing anything related to the Yankees, his team — our team.
But for me, it was more than appropriate for my dad to be in the Hall of Fame. If there ever is a Father’s Hall of Fame, my dad should be among the first class of inductees.
And now, to try to put into perspective the mystery of what exists deep in one’s heart and soul, I refer to my favorite storyteller — the late singer/songwriter Harry Chapin.
Chapin’s body of work is phenomenal, but there is one song I listen to whenever melancholy overwhelms me — it’s called “A Better Place to Be.”
The song is about a man working as a midnight watchman confiding his sorrows to a waitress who admits she is “not no beauty queen,” but is a good listener.
The heart of the song is an examination of how agonizing isolation can be. Every character in the story is driven entirely by a desire to escape their own emptiness — a beautiful woman in the diner, the watchman, and the waitress are all running from the same void.
The song highlights the idea that even an imperfect, compromised human connection is better than facing the world entirely alone.
Too often, human beings don’t realize that many of us deal with emotions that just can’t be exposed in the everyday execution of one’s life — not at work, not socially, not even in conversation with family and friends.
But those emotions are there, and they sometimes rise from the depths of one’s soul and are reflected in behavioral changes, often causing unsolicited comments like, “Are you OK?” or “You seem different.”
Well, yeah, but not really.
There are issues that affect behavior. Those who have these issues are fortunate if they have family or friends who are genuinely and sincerely concerned to offer support.
Those who do not have such support are left to find their own path out of the woods.
My parents — through my mental simulations — provide that for me.
And that’s a much better place to be.