Now There Is One More Saint in Heaven

My Mom went with God at about 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, September 1, 2012.

ELIDA NYDIA SORACCO-GODONE

07/06/1924 – 09/01/2012

Elida Nydia SORACCO-GODONE was far from being an ordinary person. There was something about her that impacted and inspired anyone who had the privilege and blessing of being in contact with her.

She was the daughter of Francesco SORACCO, a civil and naval engineer, and Teresa MARESCA-POLLIO, a teacher. She married Armando C.E. GODONE-SIGNANINI, a degreed C.P.A. As of September 1, 2012, they are all reunited in Heaven.

E. Nydia started an early and brilliant career as a professor of literature and lecturer on literary issues, with extensive charitable activity and social involvement in diplomatic circles. Yet, from the very moment she learned that her most cherished life-long dream of motherhood was about to become a reality, she gave up everything to devote herself completely and unconditionally to her daughter, Lillian GODONE-MARESCA.

Lillian was Nydia’s life, goal, and dream—and then her grandchildren would steal her heart. As Lillian prematurely became a widowed mother, Nydia would be not just the most loving and devoted grandma but also an actual co-parent for her grandkids.

Nydia, Lillian, and Lillian’s three older children, Catherine, now 26, and Gerard and Warren, now 15, would soon unanimously and relentlessly share a deep heartfelt desire to expand their family through the miracle of adoption. Lillian always said that even though being widowed and therefore from a legal standpoint a single applicant, every time she referred to adoption she felt compelled to use the plural due to how totally, completely, entirely, unconditionally involved her mother and her three older children were in every step and every effort.

Nydia’s commitment to bringing home her new grandchildren went way beyond emotional and financial support. Not having worked in U.S. and consequently not being at the time entitled to Medicare free of charge, Nydia deemed the international adoption expenses more important than the knee replacement and cataracts surgeries that would have saved her mobility and eyesight. Her heart was still strong those days and she could have lived her final seven years in a much more comfortable and active way. Yet, even after finding herself almost blind and in a wheelchair, she never had any regrets.

Although the story had an immediate happy ending and never made the news, at one point many years ago with no other weapon than her valiant heart, Nydia faced a depraved-looking man with bloodshot eyes to prevent the kidnapping of a seven-year-old child. Assuming that such little boy grew up to become a father and a grandfather, wherever he is today, he owes his life to the brave lady whom the Lord has just called.

Nydia was a cradle Catholic, and a devout and active one all her life. Her daughter reports to have had a magical, fairytale childhood. On one side, Nydia and her husband gave her a very privileged upbringing, but on the other, far from doing that through nannies and tutors, always surrounded her with the most undivided devotion and the most nurturing love. On one hand they taught her all the etiquette rules, but on the other, and even much more emphatically, by word and example they taught her about equality, social sensitivity, social justice, reaching out, and humility, in the light of the Social Teaching of the Catholic Church. On one hand they raised her with the strictest family values, but on the other encouraged her to be open to, and understanding of, people from all walks of life.

Her most cherished values, which she lived up to all her life and passed on to her daughter and grandchildren were her Catholic faith and therefore the sanctity of human life, equality, and social justice, meaning the call to welcome the immigrant and feed the hungry. She always understood family values as family ties that go beyond the nuclear family to embrace the extended family as well, don’t become any weaker as children come off age, and mean that the hopes and concerns of one family member become the hopes and concerns of all.

She had the most impeccable, upstanding, commendable, and inspirational life publicly and privately, at all times and under all circumstances. She was one of those very few people whom nobody could even imagine doing anything less than kind, generous, and good.

She is survived by her daughter, Lillian Godone-Maresca, and her six grandchildren, Catherine, Gerard, Warren, Thomas, Nicholas, and Stephen Godone-Maresca. There are also two grandsons-to-be, whom she never arrived to hug on this earth but whom she loved dearly already and for whom she gave up so very much. Their adoptions from Bulgaria are expected to be finalized within the next couple of months, and then their names will be Maximilian and Philip Godone-Maresca. Lillian and her children very well know that she will still be there wiping away their tears and rejoicing with everyone on the day of those little boys’ homecoming.

Her funeral procession will be held on Wednesday, September 5, at 9 9:00 a.m. from Woodlawn Funeral Home at 600 Pontiac Ave., in Cranston, RI, followed by a Mass of Christian Burial at the Church of St. Rocco, at 927 Atwood Avenue, in Johnston, RI 02912. The funeral will be at Swan Point Cemetery, in Providence, RI.

Honoring E. Nydia Soracco-Godone’s lifelong concern for those less fortunate, the family kindly requests that in lieu of flowers, if you wish, you kindly visit the Facebook page entitled Over One Thousand Good Deeds in Memory of E. Nydia Soracco-Godone. Thank you.

Now they are together in Heaven

The funeral of Maria Pollio-Maresca, her maternal Grandmother (my Great-grandmother). Pallbearers: Front left: my Great-grandfather; front right: great-uncle; second left: great-uncle; second right: my maternal Grandfather

Francesco Soracco, my maternal Grandfather

Teresa Maresca-Soracco, my maternal Grandmother--who was as close to me as my mom was (and is) to my kids

Armando C.E. Godone-Signanini, my Dad

My Dad, in one of the last pictures we have of him

 Some Highlights of her Life

Doesn't she look like the real St. Therese? My Mom on the day of her First Holy Communion

My parents' wedding - Arriving to the Altar with my Grandfather

 

 

 

  

 

Coming out of the Church: Louisa Signanini, my paternal Grandmother, and Francesco Soracco, my maternal Grandfather

Teresa Maresca-Soracco, my maternal Grandma, and Julio Signanini, my paternal Great-uncle (my patternal grandfather had passed away already)

Isn't this a beautiful picture?

The immediate family at the reception

 

My parents at a social event (last couple sitting to the left at the table that is perpendicular to the bottom of the photo)

With my Mom and my Grandma, when I graduated from law school

The tiny baby in my Mom's arms is Catherine

My Mom holding Catherine (photo taken at home)

My parents with Catherine at a restaurant

On the day of Catherine's First Holy Communion

Happiness couldn't be more obvious: My Mom with Warren and Gerard in Disneyland, Dec. 1998

This photo would be used for our 1998 Christmas cards (taken at home)

My Mom reading a story to Gerard and Warren

Right after Catherine's Confirmation, with Bishop Chavez, in San Diego, 04/26/2001

My Mom and Catherine

A couple of Mother's Day pix

 

When Catherine graduated with her M.A., 2004

Christmas 2004

At a fast-food restaurant, soon after Thomas and Nicholas' homecoming, July 2008. Look at the joy in my Mom's eyes!!!

With Gerard

My Mom kissing Thomas, 09/08

At the Air and Space Museum in Balboa Park, San Diego. Can you see the love in her eyes as she looks at Nicholas in the stroller. Side note: Nicholas is now a consistent walker (no more stroller).

My Mom watching Nicholas and Thomas at the Fleet Science Center in Balboa Park, San Diego, 2010

At the Scripps Aquarium, La Jolla, 2010

At Legoland, Nov. 2009. Can you see how she is looking at Nicholas and Thomas? Can you see the infinite love in her face?

Some Christmas pictures, 2009

My mom with Nicholas, back home from the Christmas Eve Mass, 2009

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disneyland photos, July 2010 (right before my first trip to Bulgaria to meet Stephen)

At Disneyland, with Catherine, 07/10. No words needed.

At Disneyland, with Gerard and Nicholas, 07/10

At Disneyland, 07/10, with Warren and Nicholas

At Disneyland, 07/10, with Thomas. Who needs to add any words?

Comforting Nicholas at Disneyland, 07/10. She was always the magical cure for any headache or heartache we might have.

With Thomas again, at Disneyland, 07/10

With Fr. Rick Perozic, at St. Mary's Catholic Church, in Escondido, CA. Photo taken right before our move to RI, 03/10

Thanksgiving 2011 - All together

With Thomas and Nicholas, Dec. 2011

 

My Mom's expression says it all.

Christmas 2011. How are we going to make it through Christmas again without her? The unexplainable issue is that we do feel her with us almost the same as before.

Every Christmas before she used to tell me that I took too many pictures and kept the children waiting for too long. Yet, last Christmas she wanted to be in as many pictures as possible, for us to have the souvenir. She knew.

Thomas' birthday, 02/01/12

March 12, 2012. This is the last all-together picture before she was placed on oxygen. She is smiling because she was with us, but was not feeling well that day--and would be taken to hospital in an ambulancefour days later.

This picture and the ones that follow need no comment at all. Only I'd like to reiterate that she was not feeling well that day--and yet her grandkids filled her with joy.

March 2012. Catherine kissing her in the hospital.

During the thoracentesis to remove fluid from her lungs, 03/12

During thoracentesis, 03/12

The twins' Confirmation--and the first event she was not able to attend.

Pictures with Grandma after their Confirmation. My Mom was on oxygen already.

Dinner celebrating the twins' Confirmation

These photos break anyone's heart: Kissing the pictures of Maximilian and Philip. They will cherish these photos forever. She knew she'd watch their homecoming from Heaven.

Now she's kissing Philip's picture.

The pictures that follow are Easter photos. I was going to add "our last Easter all together," but refuse to do so. She is still with us and will always be.

 

 

Through the Intercession of a New Saint in Heaven

Yesterday evening, still the very same day that my Mom had gone up to Heaven, Warren and I put together a sequence of photos highlighting her life. Except for a couple of pictures that we still need to find, we got the job done. I was even blaming myself, thinking I was abusing Warren's goodwill for the sake of my need to make things public, to show off my Mother and my family. I thought the pain would be excruciating, and felt almost like a child abuser for putting one of my teenage sons through that with me only because I needed his help for the technical aspect of it. Yet, even though there were tears, we felt some sort of unexplainable peace amidst our sorrow. Warren cried over a beautiful photo of my Mom with Gerard and him in Disneyland when the two of them were two years old. The tears will never completely dry out. The memories will never fade. The wish to throw our arms around her will never go away.

But amidst that pain that we share, we also started sharing some unexplainable feeling that she is here, with no signs of physical decline at all, but strong to carry our Cross for us as she was always ready and willing to do throughout all her time on this earth. We felt her presence after putting the pictures together on Saturday evening--the very same day of her passing to Eternity. We felt her presence even more clearly as we woke up on Sunday to stop by the funeral home in order to drop off her clothes and then go to Mass. We felt her presence as she keeps on supporting us, praying for us, holding our hands, and helping us to go on without her. No, I won’t say that. We will never go on without her. We hold on to her and feel her here. In particular there is one picture of her with my children that stays in my mind. It is as if she is here, as real as before, at this very moment, looking not as being snatched away from us by disease but as she used to look back in 2009, already in her old age and in a wheelchair, but with no signs of congestive heart failure, with no signs of any debilitating condition, having that enormous inner strength that she always, invariably had, both in health and in sickness, until her very last day on this earth.

A few days ago, when she was still physically here but the ultimate outcome was obvious and imminent, I was at the supermarket and on the music system Celine Dion was singing “My Heart Will Go On.”  The tears had started rolling down my cheeks. Yet, yesterday morning, one day after her passing to Eternity, I thought about that song again, and about its most poignant part, where the lyrics say “wherever you are, near or far,” and no tears fell down at that point—because I knew for sure, beyond any doubt, that it was near, not far.

I do know that my Mom will keep on coming to the rescue no matter whatever kind of problem we may face. It will be like when back in 2008 in a dream my Dad, who had gone to Heaven in 1993, had knocked at the door of our house with Thomas and Nicholas in his arms and had told me he had been to Haiti himself as the only way to bring them home. Their adoptions were then in process. Actually, as far as Haiti was concerned, the adoptions were already final, but the U.S. Consulate in Port-au-Prince had sent our files to an office from where they could have taken months or even years to return—if they ever returned at all. My Mom, Catherine, who was then 22, and the twins, who were 11 at the time, were simply desperate, praying and crying, crying and praying. That very same morning following such vivid dream I would call the U.S. Consulate in Port-au-Prince. . . and the files were back where they were supposed to be!!! Within less than one week the visas for Thomas and Nicholas had been issued, and I was booking the airplane tickets to bring them home.

The other miracle was a much more patent, much more obvious, and much more unexpected one. I will admit that I was really concerned about how Stephen was going to react. Catherine and the twins have always responded to their Grandma’s total, entire, absolute love and devotion with total, entire, absolute love and devotion in return. I don’t mind openly and publicly admitting that the three of them have been doing much more than I myself ever did. Over the last several years Catherine has been thinking of every single detail so as to buy for her Grandma with her own money every single little thing that might help her better deal with her many physical afflictions. Over the last week it was Catherine’s idea that Grandma’s hand should be held at all times, 24/7, around the clock, without intervals or interruptions of any sort, and not released even for one second so that she would know we were day at absolutely all times.

The twins used to help her climb up on and down from the family van, then transfer from her bed to her wheelchair and from her wheelchair back to bed, and over the last three months have been operating the Hoyer lift. All they have been doing for someone they love so deeply has been a much more meaningful lesson on the pain and suffering of illness than any medical school can provide. As I knew they would, the twins and their older sister have shed tears that could fill entire fountains.

Thomas had been crying for Grandma, sobbing that he was going to miss her, and even remembered about a long lost toy only because that toy reminded him of his beloved Grandma who would never physically hug him again. By then Nicholas had not yet gotten the proper idea of what was going on. He would pat his Grandma to alleviate her pain, and would pat us to slow down our tears, but he still expected Grandma would get up at some point, come to the table, and everything would be the same as it used to be. Last March, after her five-day stay at R.I. Hospital, Nicholas had hugged the paramedics who were bringing his Grandma back home again. On Saturday, when the men from Woodlawn Funeral Home came to pick her up, and he saw them carrying her towards the door, Nicholas would burst in tears—because he had finally understood that this time it would not be the same.

My concern was about Stephen. Since my Mom’s health had taken a rapid turn for the worse, he had been serious, even somber, and well-behaved. Yet, I had not seen any tears in his eyes. I must admit I was really angry—and must confess I had told him a couple of really angry things. I had told him that even if he didn’t feel like crying he should pretend it. I told him he could smell onions if he needed to, but he had to have tears—and he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about because he didn’t know that onions make people’s eyes watery and red. He had kissed Grandma, had held her hand, had prayed with us—but still I felt as if he was trying to keep some distance, and I had fallen unable to tolerate that. I won’t deny that I did tell him a couple of things I should never had said. I did tell him that her Grandma had sacrificed her mobility and her vision for him, Thomas, Nicholas, Maximilian, and Philip to be home. Stephen would misunderstand me, and would think I was blaming it on him that Grandma had been in a wheelchair for her last years on this earth.

After my Mom’s soul went up to Heaven on Saturday morning and still there were no tears on Stephen’s eyes, I felt my whole world was totally sinking under my feet. I felt that day I had lost not only my mother but also my youngest son—and made the mistake of telling him that. For this 2012 / 13 school year I had decided to do homeschooling—but at that moment I felt I would not be able to spend any time with Stephen if he did not care about my Mom. Catherine had assured me she had seen his eyes become red, but that was not enough for me. I felt terribly. I do love Stephen too much---but felt guilty about loving him because I felt I shouldn’t love him if he couldn’t have any tears for my Mom.

In that terrible, horrible, desperate moment I did what I have always done all my life: I turned to my Mom and asked her for help.  At almost the very same moment as the funeral home men were carrying her out, I asked her for her intercession so that I could see in Stephen some reassurance of love.

In the evening Catherine proposed that we should all “camp” together in the living room for the night. She herself didn’t want to be downstairs on her own and cry herself to sleep.  I told Stephen that if he didn’t care about Grandma perhaps he should be the only one to sleep by himself in one of the bedrooms. Stephen is scared of the dark, and never wanted to sleep by himself. Yet, his reaction was even much more emphatic in response to my assertion that he did not care about his Grandma. In an offended and hurt way he replied, “Who said that I don’t care about her?”

While Warren and I were working on the pictures, Catherine and Gerard got Thomas, Nicholas, and Stephen ready to go to sleep. I was about to use a recliner that the twins had just moved for me from the master bedroom that I used to share with my Mom to the dining room area. Stephen then suggested that I could sleep next to him. “If you want, of course,” he added. As I prepared myself to lie down at his side on the open sleeping bag placed on the carpet, he came closer to me, and wanted me to keep close to him. I moved in order to reach for my cell phone and Stephen immediately “stole” the camping pillow that Catherine had just brought from downstairs for me to use.  He told me he had gotten my pillow, and added “Now you have to use me as a pillow.”  He was desperate for affection, reassurance, human contact, any sign of love. He asked me for a hug and a kiss. I very well remembered my request to my Mom, and very well knew through whose intercession that miraculous renewed bonding was happening. Stephen reminded me of my promise made long ago that after Maximilian and Philip came home I’d manage to have more time for all of them. He wanted to know whether that would be true. He really loved me. He really loved all of us, and wanted some more time with his mommy. Having had too much motherly time and motherly care myself when I was growing up, I could never properly understand how a child could need more and more of that time and that care as badly as he does. As a child I desperately wanted to be less taken care of by my parents and grandparents, and to be more popular among my classmates. Stephen instead was always eager to spend some more time with me. And he really loved, and loves, his Grandma.

All doubts had been dissipated. His whole behavioral patterns were, and are, totally changed. His anger had subsided. On Monday, Labor Day, he would ask me several times during the course of the day whether he was behaving well. Yes, he was. Definitely he was. He is no longer the angry little boy who needed to use rude answers and non-compliance as shields. No, against what a first impression might seem to indicate, his case is not one of RAD. Typically he never rejects physical contact. On the contrary, he does actively seek it most of the time. He used to claim he would never apologize, and it really used to look like he never would—but there was not one single time in which he did not say he was sorry in the end. From a Biblical perspective, he has always been the son who replied he would not go to work in his father’s vineyards “but afterwards, being moved with repentance, he went.” (Matthew 21:29). Jesus teaches us that it is that son the one who did his father’s will, the one to whom the Kingdom of Heaven belongs. The problem is that I’m badly used to Catherine and the twins who would not even wait to be asked, but would spontaneously volunteer their help and follow through, seeking to do the heaviest and hardest work of all.

Countless times before I had heard from Catherine that I was being too tough with Stephen—and she was right every time. On the other hand, quite often I can be too permissive because I’m always too busy to correct something and stay there doing nothing else until the result is achieved.

My Mom’s intercession from above was changing all that, making it easier for those whom she loves with no bounds to better show to each other how very much we do love each other as well. And that first night when she was no longer physically with us in the house, I fell asleep stroking Stephen’s face. He has the bad habit of covering a good part of his head during the night. He scared us many times with that. He is afraid of the dark and likes the feeling of snuggling under something when he goes to sleep. On that Saturday night, when we were still barely awake, at one point he stuck his head farther out and told me as he pulled down the blanket that was obviously not justified by the weather but only by his desperate wish to feel safe, “I don’t need this. What I need is a kiss—or two.”

For many weeks now, every Saturday afternoon or Sunday, the Mass has been a time of new big miracles week after week. The following morning, Stephen would spend the whole time of the Mass with his head resting on my lap. He would fall asleep for some periods. I would stroke his face. At one point I had stopped, and he caught my hand, took it to his cheek, and moved it up and down, in a silent way of asking me to keep on stroking him more and more.

A very nice moment was on Monday morning when I said we’d be ending breakfast with pop-tarts. That’s what we have been always doing before. Pop-tarts are a yummy and quick way to end breakfast. Moreover, pop-tarts are has always been a very practical and convenient privilege to withhold, or threaten to withhold, whenever Stephen gave bad answers or Thomas played with electric appliances or electronic devices. We had run out of pop-tarts, and besides it seemed wrong to enjoy treats while someone we love so very much was in her last hours or had just gone with God. My point is, though, that on Monday morning upon learning that we’d be having pop-tarts as usual again, Stephen’s immediate thought association was to say, “I want Grandma here!”

There were two other requests, but I won’t post until I know for sure.

God bless everyone,

Lillian Godone-Maresca

P.S. Please visit my FB page Over One Thousand Good Deeds in Memory of E. Nydia Soracco-Godone.  Thank you all

My Mom

It is useless to keep on pretending that everything is the same as it used to be. Something has changed dramatically already and will remain changed forever. Our family will never be the same as it was. My Mom's heart has been huge all her life. It has always been selfless, generous, considerate, loving beyodn what words can say--but we're talking about her heart in the sense of her soul, the soul of a true saint. On the contrary, her earthly heart, that muscle that is supposed to pump blood back and forth around the physical body, is too weak, too tired ,and is giving up--and there is nothing that medicine can do about it.

The gates of Heaven will be wide open to greet her--but here neither Catherine nor Gerard and Warren nor I are  prepared to see her take that flight up to the eternity. We simply cannot imagine celebrating Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving without my Mom at the table or opening presents by the tree. She will be always with us, taking our slightest needs and wishes up to the Lord--but we won't be able to see her, hug her, kiss her, listen to her voice. She's always been the shoulder on which to cry, the arms of comfort that we'd get around when in need of comfort or hope, the words of praise, encouragement, or consolation that we were eager to hear, the spiritual warfare to protect us whenever any evil had to be fought.

Moreover, within that loving, tender personality, she also had the enormous courage to go to the extreme of putting her life on the line to save a boy she had never seen before. One hot summer day many years ago, with no other weapon that her valiant heart, she faced a depraved-looking man with bloodshot eyes and a knife in his hand who wanted to kidnap a child. Assuming that such little boy grew up to become a father and grandfather, even if he does not clearly recall that day long ago, wherever he is today, he owes his life to my Mom. 

When her heart was strong to have tolerated those operations, my Mom voluntarily refused to get the knee replacement and cataracts surgeries that would have saved her mobility and eyesight. She deemed the international adoption expenses, first from Haiti and then from Bulgaria, with the two failed ones from Russia and Uzbekistan in between, to be more important than her vision and the use of her legs. Even after finding herself almost blind and in a wheelchair, she never had any regrets.

Even back then she could have had Medicare. Yet, not having the necessary work quarters in U.S., it wouldn't have been at no charge. She did have the funds to pay for those monthly premiums, or to have paid for those surgeries out of pocket, but, once again, she preferred to have more grandkids in the home than being able to walk and see. Ironically, currently she does have the entitlement to free Medicare--but her heart is too weak for anything now--even too weak to keep on going any more. Earthly life is slipping away from her. She's been a true saint all her life, and there is no doubt that she will keep on checking every moment uopon us from the eternal dwelling--the same as even now, no matter how very badly she fees, she still sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night--and her first thought is to check to make sure I didn't fall down from my computer chair and am bleeding to death with head trauma on the kitchen floor. She has always reminded us to take a coat because it might get cool after dark. She would always look at the time and remind us to leave well in advance in order not to be late--with no need to speed on the freeway. When it was only a few minutes later than it should have taken us to be back home from wherever we were, she would call in order to be at ease that we were O.K.

Catherine, Gerard, and Warren completely refuse to accept the reality that Grandma is about to take that ultimate flight up to Heaven any moment now. Her body is getting weaker and weaker. Her absolutely selfless soul is desperately engaged in her last earthly act of love. Her debilitated physique is holding on, trying to shout out to us that we need to be prepared, trying to somehow ease the pain of the good-bye for us, trying to give us the time to process the information we have in front of our eyes--and yet we refuse to see.

Just two days ago Catherine called from work to ask how Grandma was doing. I told her that after having some ice cream she seemed to feel a little better--and Catherine's immediate concern was what we'd do in winter, when she won't be able to have ice cream due to the cold. I didn't dare say anything--but I'm conscious that there won't be such a dilemma. It won't be really cold within the next couple of weeks--and after that there is no such thing as being cold in the eternity. Yet, Catherine stilll expects her to be at the Chritmas table. . . and she will be with us for sure, even if our eyes won't be able to see her. 

My Mom is also providing me with an excuse to justify if Thomas, Nicholas, or Stephen does not react the way I expect when the moment arrives. Once I was shown a documentary in which a mother who had adopted a very large sibling group had felt betrayed when the children didn't show as much sorrow as she expected when their grandmother passed away. It was a mandatory adoption training seminar, and in the discussion that ensued I criticized the mother in the video because the children could not be expected to love with all their hearts a grandmother who may have sent them some presents but who was not there to greet them, who didn't get startled every time one of them fell down, who didn't mind risking contagion from a MRSA infection. It had not been a grandmother who had deemed the children more important than her own mobility and eyesight. 

I'm not saying that my younger sons won't suffer. I'm sure they will. Besides, seeing their Grnadma decline, make an effort to talk, and grasp for air is preparing them for what is about to come.

My real concern is the beginning of college for Gerard and Warren, and Catherine's promotion to the position of lead therapist at the agency where she works with special kids--and she does have a very special place in eher heart for special kids.  Financially the promotion won't mean much--but it's at least some well-deserved recognition and an important career move--and she needs to be able to perform efficiently.

The other day in the mornign she was very late and left by the lower storey (the house is split-level), with no time to come upstairs and kiss her Grandma before going to work. She appeared at home in the middle of the day--only to kiss her Grandmother. While switching from office to field work, she had decided to stop by home and show her Grandma one more time how infinitely loved she is.

I'm really concerned about how the twins will react. One single semester with lower grades due to bereavement can be fatal from the perspective of future medical school admission--and that's what they want since the age of five. They want to be pediatricians, like their late dad, who died prematurely in a car accident. Gerard wants to be a general pediatrician, like him, and Warren leans towards pediatric neurology--but they want to make it through medical school together and have their practices together.  A very moving, touching, heartwarming little anecdote is that during the process of deciding our move from San Diego to RI, the twins faked a much greater enthusiasm for the colleges and medical schools on the east coast as opposed to UCSD in La Jolla, CA. They were the most enthusiastic proponents of our out-of-state move--only because they wanted to speed up the homecoming of Maximilian and Philip. After we were already permanently settled in RI they finally disclosed that had they been through the U.C. transfer system, they would have used their 20-soemthing junior college credits they had been accummulating since the age of 10, could have made it into college without taking their ACT's, and , most importantly, would have had priority for medical school admission later on, without all the fierce, ferocious competition they'll have to face here. Considering that neither one of them won't accept admission without his brother, the admission process will be twice as challenging.

This early exposure to so much suffering is far from being what they need at this moment. The beginning of college is supposed to be a time of excitement--not one of tears.  As their counselor, in their Common App for college admission I said that at the age of 14, as they had not turned 15 yet then, they had already been C.N.A.'s, O.T. assistants, P.T. assistants, speech pathology assistants, homework tutors, childcare workers, and child development specialists for their younger brothers, technical support and computer graphics specialists for me, and problem solvers every time--no matter what the problem would be. 

I'm getting off topic. There is no way to pretend any longer. We can't delay the pain. It's happening.

Update. As of this morning, 08/28/12, she entered into a comma. If you want to say a prayer, her name is Nydia Soracco-Godone--a true saint.