Blog — Jennifer Castiglione

It was our first plane ride together as two people living in Canada. We were off to Banff. Our first plane ride since Ireland and Northern Ireland (I hope you know why I mentioned them both). It was the first time Leon flew out of Toronto to come back to Toronto without it being for a funeral. More specifically, my mom’s funeral.

We checked in quickly and threw our bags on the belt. We were literally dashing down the glass hall of Terminal 3 of YYZ, hand in hand, the way we always were.

I started to slow my stride and released my hand from his. I looked at these two men, who could only be described as father and son.

Now, it wasn’t until my mom died where I really felt the gravity of saying goodbye to a parent at the airport. At least not from a truly unselfish perspective. Sure, I used to get sad for my sake. What I will miss about home, the adjustment it will be for me and what affect it had on me. None of it was empathy, none of it was guilt, and all of it was selfish- obviously, until now. When the burden of grief spoils you (actually though), you also get struck with a number of other really fun emotions that can all send you down a cornucopia of emotional rabbit holes that are so easily inflicted by moments like the one I’m about to describe.

(Keep in mind this was labour day weekend, so school was likely the cause for a lot of the backwards caps, broken-in Birkenstocks, roughed up backpacks and alas, the airport goodbyes)

I watched this awkward manchismo-ish goodbye. You know, the kind that wraps around the velvet rope twice. The handshake, turned elbow grab, turned hug, turned head nodding mumbles of “you just call whenever you need anything.” I watched them both start to feel it. And then I watched them both start to show it. The boy (we’re talking, mid-twenties) started to look down and nod a lot as he tried to hide his tears and walk away. Probably, so he could turn the corner of security and ball his eyes out alone (which, by the way, he did do later). And the dad was all red with his clenched chin, doing that thing men do when they sort of squeeze their nose for no real reason. Both of them waving at about every ten steps the son took deeper into the queue.

Some people may see this as just another tender siting of two strangers, but not super gut wrenching. So, why did I find this to be an appropriate time to lose all control and sob for about 27 minutes going through security and ruining my normally joyous trip through duty free?

Seven years ago, I lived in Kenya for a summer. I volunteered in an extremely rural bush community helping out at schools with AIDS affected orphans. Six years ago, I moved to Florence. I went for school to paint in a studio with 30 other artists. Five years ago, I moved to Brooklyn, NYC for a summer to take some class that in hindsight was actually a really good call. Finally, four years ago I moved to England, Now, every single one of those airport goodbyes were sad and scary, some more one than the other. But none of them were seasoned with an ounce of guilt or empathy- only self-indulgence. Only the stuff that made it sad for me.

I watch my family and family of friends with their children, their prides and it’s beautiful. Olivia, my niece is the most miraculous thing I’ve ever seen, and she can’t even talk yet. But I can’t help but think that one day, she will read some article about some school and the next thing you know, we’ll be throwing her a goodbye party.

Olivia is 1 and my brother can tell me which food she will spit out and which fabrics give her hives. No scratch, no cut, no scar marks the spot without a parent seeing it, examining it, licking it and remedying it. A child’s whole life is wrapped up by their parent. My whole life was wrapped up in my mother.

I know I may not be a mother yet. But I do know that you raise your baby in hopes it grows up to be strong, brave and with a healthy thirst for what the world has to offer. You want them to learn, and ultimately, you want them to fly. So you build them their wings. Day after day, you patiently sew feathers onto their backs, telling them that they can, they should and they will. And then one day they do. They leave to a place where they will get scars, inside and out, scars you know nothing about, scars you can do nothing about.

This precious entity that you named, cerebrally guided, emotionally prepared will up and leave one day simply because they want to. Because you prepared them. Because it’s “their time”. And because now they can make a decision without you. I know it’s life. And I know life was never meant to be easy- no one claimed it was, but the poetry of this inevitable rhythm that is the evolution of new generations is something almost of tragedy.

So when your mom “fixes your hair” or caresses your cheek, simultaneously she’s trying to comfort you while she studies you. Let her.

You will never not be their baby.

The term Mother, is bestowed upon you the moment your first born takes it’s first breath and my Mom, our Mother, from the very first day, took that term to heart.
She dedicated herself to the job of Motherhood, realizing that her role in our lives, would play a crucial part to how we viewed the world.

She was a fiercely proud mother, who encouraged and supported character, adventure and integrity in all three of us. She was best known for her generous spirit, her amazing sense of humor and her sense of social justice and righteousness. She always defended anybody who was a target of any sort of social injustice. She was never afraid to do the right thing even if it meant doing the hard thing. Her family and preserving a legacy of love were her life’s calling.

I would say, because of her we have exceptionally high standards when it comes to the any holiday season, but especially Christmas. Every December, Mom soaked our home in the traditions she single handedly created. Family and friends would agree, entering the Castiglione home at Christmas was a true sensory experience. The music, the scented candles, the garland- the works. Our mother used to use big boot footprint stencils with fake snow spray and make a path from the chimney to our rooms to make it look like Santa really came in and stomped around to each of our rooms. She was so thorough with keeping the spirit of christmas alive that she would even pretend to get mad at Santa for making such a big mess for her to clean. Mom, loved Christmas time because it consisted of three things she highly valued; family, giving and the allowance to be over-the-top. One year, we had to softly explain to her that Christmas lights on the inside of her car were probably a bit of a safety hazard.

My mom’s license plate was MAJAJE- standing for our names MatthewJason and Jennifer. We called her van the MAJAJE. In our early twenties, Mom was the get away car. Every weekend, the MAJAJE would be waiting outside the latest hangout with Mom in her PJ’s, ensuring we always got home safely. We were always proud to tell our friends we had a ride. I asked her once, why she would stay up late, to drive around in the middle of the night, with a bunch of rowdy semi-adults and she replied, “it’s my job to be your Mother and I’m going to be good at it.”

If love could have saved our Mother, she never would have died. The angels took her far too soon. Her compassion and generosity has touched so many people, I know that in some shape or form, each and every one of you here today and many others that couldn’t be here, would agree. My Mom went far beyond thoughtfulness, she was a champion for love, a warrior for her family, friends, and often strangers. While driving one day, she saw a young woman, in an abusive fight with her boyfriend. She pulled the car over, rolled down her window, and yelled “Get in!” and drove her home. She taught us to always stand up for ourselves and for others. You could tell her heart was so full of family, friends and love and yet, somehow, she always made room for more. She could never do enough for you.

All she ever wanted was for everyone to be happy, she didn’t have to be the one doing it, she just wanted you happy. When we struggled, she was always there for us.
She always asked one of my best friends to call me because she knew I was upset. Until this past week, I always thought it was my friend’s sense of intuition, but honestly, it was always my mom. After me and my friend were done talking, she would message her and ask if I felt better and that’s all she wanted, she didn’t ask what we spoke about, she just wanted me to be okay. My Mom wanted all three of us to be happy and ok regardless of how. She always said, “I can only be as happy as my most unhappy child” And that is true, unconditional love. But it didn’t stop with us, she was driven to mother all of our friends. But it wasn’t just motherhood she was great at. She was a loyal friend, a quirky aunt and a fiercely devoted wife. She was so great at all her roles. Her best friend said that throughout the 35 years of friendship, my mom never let her down once. and this is what made mom so special, she put others first and always wanted to help, she was a missionary’s daughter through and through. During my mother’s last hours, my father said it best “She was not at all religious, but she was the most christian person that he’d ever known.”

Collecting photographs of my mom for the funeral home was really hard- she isn’t in very many, because she took them all. She took them all of you, because she loved you all. She was always the woman behind the camera and the brains behind the operation.

People keep asking what they can do for us, the outpouring of love and empathy has been wonderfully overwhelming and although there is nothing that can soothe the pain of losing a woman like our Mom, there is something you can do for us.

When you see her in one of us… let us know.

When you recollect her spirit… share the story.

When you find a rare photo with her in it… send it over.

And as time goes on and you put today behind you… keep her in your heart and never forget her.

That’s what you can do for us.
She will never know how much I admire her and what a compliment it is when people tell me I look just like her.
She could never know just how proud I am that I am her daughter.

She was my teacher, she was my shoulder, she was my champion but above all else, she really was my best friend.

I love you mom, your shoes will be impossible to fill.
You’re the easiest person to miss and we’re going to miss you everyday, forever.