A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

I was honored to speak at the 2014 Go Red for Women Luncheon in Orlando on May 9. Sarah Klena, who survived a heart attack two years ago at just 31 years old, spoke before me. And I shared the story about the loss of my mother. Here's my story ...

If “a picture is worth a thousand words” … then this photo is a novel. This is my beautiful daughter, Alyssa, at 8-years old … and she’s even more beautiful today at 22. For the Catholics in the crowd, you know how important First Communion is, especially for the girls. Well, a month after Alyssa’s First Communion, we commemorated that special occasion with a portrait—complete with the updo and French manicure. One shot was more beautiful than the next and I kept saying “Just wait until Grandma sees these photos!” The photographer said “Bring your mom with you when you come to pick them up.”

Well, unfortunately, that was never to be. We didn’t know it at the time, but my mother was actually taking her last breaths while those photos were being taken. We say that Alyssa has an angel on her shoulder.

There are days in your life that stick with you forever. That day, June 22, 2000, is one of mine. My mother hadn’t been feeling well that week and she was having some tests done that day. When we returned from the portrait studio, I called to check on her and the Fire Department answered the phone. I was taken aback … “I’m so sorry,” I said, “I must have misdialed. I was trying to reach my parent’s house.” “Do you have a brother who’s a doctor,” the voice asked? “Yes.” “Well, they think your mother had a heart attack and they’ve taken her to the hospital.” I didn’t think to ask if she was still alive … she wasn’t.

My mother was only 67 when she died. Though she had a history of vascular illness, her death was a shock to all of us. My mother’s parents both lived into their ’90s—her mother actually outlived her by two years—so I assumed that I had decades left with my mom. I fully expected her to cry at my daughter’s wedding and hold my grandchildren in her arms. I am so sad that she only met five of her nine grandchildren … and that they missed out on knowing her.

I think about and miss my mother every day … I see glimpses of her in my brothers, in my children, in my nieces and nephews … and I see her in my own reflection in the mirror. As you can see, I am my mother’s daughter. In addition to looking like my mother, I am keenly aware that genetic tendencies go beyond the surface … our blood is our blueprint. My mother … and her mother before her … had critical risk factors—high blood pressure and high cholesterol. Because of that, I know my numbers, which just last year slowly started to creep up. The 40s were easy ... the 50s suck! So my doctor and I are paying very close attention.

Unlike Sarah, who was struck by a proverbial tornado ... no warning whatsoever. I have the warning signs of a Hurricane. To stay out of the path of the storm, I will continue to strengthen my proverbial house with a healthy diet and exercise.

It’s hard to believe that Sunday will be my 14^th Mother’s Day as a motherless daughter. It’s such a bittersweet holiday for me. While totally grateful for my two beautiful children, I am sad that my mother is gone. If you’re lucky … and I was … there’s no place like Mom.

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.”

I carry my mother in my heart and her death has changed the way I will live the rest of my life … which I intend will be a long, long time.

I want to thank the American Heart Association for all they do to keep these chairs filled. The chair next to Sarah will remain empty in honor of my mother, Phyllis Portoghese, and in remembrance of the many wonderful women … far too many … who left us much too soon. I hope that each of you will help us share the message with others so that we can stop this silent killer in its tracks. Knowledge is power … and there’s strength in numbers.

I thank you for allowing me to share my story. I am grateful to my daughter, other members of my  family, my brother, Dr. Joseph Portoghese and his wife, Lee, and my sister-in-law Theresia, as well as my friends who are here with me today. I Go Red for my mother … but I also Go Red for myself … and for my children. I will cry at my daughter’s wedding … and I fully intend to hold her grandchildren in my arms.