The Potential Significance of Silence

Is silence golden? Well, silence can be deafening when someone wants to speak of something that touched their life dearly and those around them do not want to listen.  If the universe intersects some people in a negative way, they would just as soon not hear the voices that need and should be heard. They would rather be shrouded in ignorance than know the truth.  This self-protection from that which is not pleasant but is someone else’s reality does more harm than good. It is a missed opportunity for growth and learning.

Everyone’s voice matters. Even those with a song that is full of sorrow deserves to be sung, deserves to be heard.  It should not fall on deaf ears; it should be listened to with compassion.  We are all called to be servants of God. Being a Christian, living in his likeness means opening ourselves up to some painful discussions now and then.

The disciplines had to be filled with grief at what they saw Jesus endure. They each had come to know him, one on one, and had some conviction he might be the chosen one.  Yet, his words were filled with not only hope but of justice. He urged others to care for their brothers.  This request involves being supportive of those in need, those hurting and those who need more than a passing glance. That, at times, could be painful and it was for the disciples.

It is unfathomable to speak of living a life of Christianity and following the Church by simply attending.  It is not enough to simply take care of your own immediate family’s needs in your home. No, God intended us to be gateways between him and others in many ways and not all ways are an easy path. Some involve sacrifice. Yet, those hurting in our country are met too quickly with condemnation for their misgivings, be it having committed a crime in their life, being abused, being disabled, or being chronically  or mentally ill. These conditions are often treated as if they are contagious.  Be wary of these folks for they will pass it on!

Steps are needed to show Christianity, not lines from the Bible nor dressing up every Sunday.  One should not speak of living a good life if that life does not involve helping others. What is good about a life that serves no one else? 

People in need deserve disciplines.  They deserve loved ones and friends that are there for them, that listen, that accept, care and respect their story.  Just because it has dips and bends along the way does not make it any less magnificent.  Listening is learning and to the other person it can be the ultimate healing.  

I suppose the end all question in this blog is are you able to be a healer?  Do you have the ability to love others unconditionally?  Can you allow others a voice to be heard without judgment on your part and gain respect for their experiences, though they are different than yours? 

Silence is not golden for a child of abuse. It is not calming either when you have been raped or no one believes you.  Someone chronically ill still needs to be heard; though their voice may be pained it still matters. And you listening has the power to help ease the pain.  Infact, listening can be one of the most uplifting things you can do for others. 

Thus, the silence resounds. It seems to be a prevailing attitude in society, even among families and friends.  People are ignored, not responded to and put by the wayside as if they are not worthy simply because their life is different. They choose to distance themselves from those with negative experiences in life and then, never have to concern themselves with being part of the solution. They are willing to accept the loss of growth because that growth will come with some pain, some tears, and some potential heartache.

Talking to several folks over the past several months has given me a great insight to others perceptions of silence.  I have seen tears, heard shouts and read profanity. All of this because of someone who endured or is enduring misfortune and the very people, family or friend they thought would be there is not. They became a non-priority. The loss of support is painful, sometimes as painful as the original issue at heart.

Know that your silence can hurt. In the worst case scenario, it can kill. You can walk away with no misgiving, no guilt, at least for the moment. But is there a price you pay, we all pay, for your silence?  Are you impeding the growth of those around you when they need you the most? Could the best lessons in life be learned through the very folks you are shutting out? I could make a case for yes, they are.  Your silence is deafening but by not listening, you are stunting your own growth.  And they, God willing, will continue to grow. 

Silence can be rigid and unforgiving and black instead of golden.  

Special thank you to a few recent friendships that had a great deal of input and influence in this blog.  You all know who you are! I am blessed to have you in my life. Those that choose to have you in theirs are as well.  Those that don't, I think we can all agree, this blog is reflective of them. 

Grandma Gliatti - Breadth of Life

Grandma & Grandpa Gliatti

Attending a wedding for an Italian relative a few weeks back it could not help but bring memories of my grandma, Grandma Gliatti.  It sometimes feels like yesterday that I was sitting in her kitchen at her rickety table telling her stories of what was going on at school. She would lean in so interested in my life. I was always amazed at how she would keenly actively listen to all of her grandchildren share their stories when there were so darn many of us.  I use to think she must really have a huge heart. Now I know, looking back, she did. 

Funny how you take those family get togethers back in the day for granted, thinking that things will always be that way. Years go by and the next thing you know, it is just like the movie, Four Weddings and a Funeral, those being the only times you see each other.  I wonder what my grandma must be thinking in heaven to see her trend did not stick. Infact, it went away as soon as she passed. 

In her time on earth, it did not seem to matter than no one had, on the surface all that much in common. All that mattered is that we were related to her.  That was enough, the love of family too, it brought us all together countless times to just enjoy each other’s company. Oh, even more importantly than that, to enjoy Grandma’s unmistakable awesome cooking! 

Walking in Grandma’s house in Toledo, Ohio one was almost immediately hit with the aroma of homemade bread baking.  It was almost like Pavlov’s classical conditioning training, instantaneously mouth watering.  No need for butter, jam or honey with her bread, no sir, just  tear off a hunk as quick as you can or loss a chance completely  as it disappears faster than you can say “Can I have a piece please?”   And once you bit into that a piece of that bread,  you are met with the best tasting bread in the world, it simply melts in the mouth.  Years of perfecting the art of Italian bread making, something Grandma doesn’t take lightly but mastered. Boy did we luck out when they passed out Grandmas!  Living during the depression and remaining poor till the day she died, bread was not a choice to make, it was a necessity.  Apparently flour was the main commodity they had at home.  Funny how perspectives are so different, to her it was a hardship of sorts and to those of us that visited, we saw it as a treat.  Yep, it was a downright blessing!

Funny, now that she is gone, and the bread is too, we see it as something so special lost with Grandma Gliatti that is irreplaceable. Nobody makes it like her.  Gone is her ravioli and her lasagna and the other dishes she threw together with no recipe anyone could follow in her footsteps or match her flair for coming up with the world’s greatest Italian food.   Just a memory that the palate will never forget.   I can’t help but wonder if God has her preparing His banqueting table.   I would lay odds on it….

After the wedding ceremony, my cousin Joey and I were outside the reception hall discussing days gone by.   Reminiscing,  we reflected on the countless family party gatherings with no particular theme, nothing to celebrate at all but just about being together. That was just enough back in the day.  Just the sheer joy of being with family.  

In sharp contrast, half of our family’s offspring doesn’t even know each other.   I am not so sure it is all that different in other people’s families either, sad to say.  We live in different times.  Sometimes these changes are not good; extended families become a low priority.  With so much unhappiness, turmoil and distrust in the world, it seems odd that families would not want to reunite and would become so disjointed.  But again, it is not just happening in our Italian family.  I hope our kids can change this trend. We need extended roots to stay grounded and connected.  

As the wedding progressed that evening, I sat back and admired the beauty of the celebration, watching the mother of the groom, my cousin Julie. From across the banquet hall, I saw glimpses of her mom, my dear Aunt Carmen in my Cousin Julie’s smile.  The beauty of my aunt was evident on my cousin’s face.  That sincere smile of contentment was indeed passed on, as well to her so Nick, the groom as he lovingly embraced his new wife Beth.   How wonderful it is to see the circle of life, love and family play out right before your eyes. And yes, I do think my grandma was there.  I think anytime a group of the Gliatti clan are gathered to celebrate or commemorate a key moment in someone’s life her and Grandpa want to partake in the celebration.    I actually feel the essence of the whole family there even if they aren’t in attendance. Perhaps that is what makes me sad somewhat too because it never seems, anymore, that everyone is present these days like they use to be.  It makes me miss my Grandma even more.  I didn’t realize when she left; she took the connection we all had as a family with her.

As I left the reception that night, it dawned on me again how grateful I was for those memories of my childhood in Toledo, Ohio at that little house in Point Place with my Grandma Gliatti.  All the trips there, to that little brick house that was so full of laughter, times watching Grandma sit on the couch and say the rosary while she watched Mass on TV and wait for her to cook up something yummy and then dote on us.  Those weekends spent with cousins, aunts and uncles helped formulate my idea of what openness and fun could be about and what kind of future I wanted in my own life with a family of my own some day.  It also opened my eyes to the importance Grandma saw in family and that value I developed with my own children and have tried to pass along to them as well.   I think she planted a seed in me and it took root. Those of us that looked up to her, the grandkids that have memories of her, Joey and I both felt, have been forever touched and changed by her. The memories and moments she gave us have left an indelible imprint on our lives.    Love and miss you always Grandma!  Until we see you again…..

Strides for Life

This week has been a blur for me, in many ways. My mother had a stroke at the beginning of the week. I live out of state from her, actually a few states over to be more precise. Consequently, I have spent a great deal of time on the telephone talking to doctors and nurses to keep abreast of her situation. Then when you throw in the relative calls on her side of the family, there adds a deeper dimension to the week, a more emotional component.

Many of you who have followed my blog know that my mother and I only reconnected a few years ago. Therefore, most members of her family have only came into my life recently, as in the last few months, some in the last few years. Funny though, some I feel I have known for a lifetime, in a good way. This past week was a reminder of how blessed I am to know and be a part of this family. I am amazed at the out pouring of these wonderful people towards my mother, who has made her share of mistakes in life and towards me, someone new to the family picture. It is a humbling experience to know that this extended family, just introduced to me recently, could already feel so connected to me quickly.


Within twenty four hours after the first stroke, my mother suffered a second one that appears to be, if not more devastating than the first, than equally so. The stroke was in the right side of her brain so the left side of her body is affected. I researched the short and long term effects of that side of the brain, after strokes, to better understand her condition. I discovered all the changes my mother is experiencing and will experience, if God continues to give her more time. And yes, I have prayed humbly that the plan for my mom allows for more days. The memories, thus far, have been few. I would like to make a few more good memories with my mother, God willing.

I was proud of myself that most of the week, I kept pretty stoic. On Friday, I let my feelings surface as the reality of losing the opportunity to ever walk somewhere with my mother hit me. To date, she cannot walk unaided. The wonderment of what her future might look like and if she could be happy with it concerns me. My mom lives life to the fullest. That has been part of her problem, part of her weakness. Yet, at times, part of the wonderment of knowing and being around my mother.

Today, I was scheduled to volunteer for an event downtown for the annual Making Strides against Breast Cancer Walk. This event is very heartfelt to me. I first learned of it when I was diagnosed with cancer in Sept. 2007. My mastectomy was scheduled for early in Oct. so I knew walking was out of the question that year. But after I saw the news coverage, post event, I vowed to have a team the following year.

Exactly one year later, while still in chemo treatment, I pushed up my sleeves and formed a team called Make Some Noise with a group of my strong supporters. This was comprised of the folks that were there for me during my long battle to get well and stay on the ‘other side’ of the dreaded disease. I walked that walk with my head held high. I felt tears sting my eyes as I walked across the bridge into the downtown area by LP Field and saw 10,000 people all walking for the same cause, a cure for breast cancer.

Now today, after a week of fielding phone calls and praying my mother would live, I found myself back at the very same place I was at in 2008, just 3 years ago. This time, I am sitting close to two very dear friends that have volunteered with me. One is a breast cancer survivor herself and married to a cancer survivor. The other friend has a mother who just recovered from breast cancer. Both are extremely dear to me and I think understand my pain and turmoil about my mother. I sit and register folks for this walk and watch others do the same. Scores of folks come and go, families, young and old just to take a stand for cancer, just to let it be known they care about life.

I think about my mother a lot during the time I am sitting there. I reflected on my own journey, on how each donor dollar that was given to this event, prior to me being diagnosed, helped fund the drugs that were discovered that cured me. I again feel humbled and blessed. This feels good, unlike many of the emotions I have felt this past week. I watch someone full of life having fun with others there, possibly looking for a new soul mate. Yes, he is full of life and seems void of any sense of the pain and mixed emotions I feel. I am somewhat envious of the new promise he finds in anther's eyes and wonder if the following year they will be here together. But I see others wearing shirts to commemorate their mothers, their wives, their friends that have passed away from breast cancer and I am touched by their dedication. I then feel the warmth of happiness inside my soul that I have found meaning in my life also. It took me getting cancer and surviving it, but after that battle, I found the person that gave me my life, I found my mom.


I walk away from today, from the Making Strides against Breast Cancer, a survivor but a great deal more than that. I walk away a proud daughter of a woman in Michigan fighting to survive a stroke. I walk away as a girl who found her mom. I am also a grandmother who found compassion in her heart to forgive her true mother for not being all the things we have come to expect from a maternal mother in our lives. Yes, I walk away from the event feeling whole and better than before I got there, just like I did in 2008. Funny how this one event, since 2007, has impacted my life so much.


To commemorate this day, I arranged to have my mother, who is finally sitting up, alert, in bed talk to her husband. He, Wade, is a long past stroke victim and fighting Stage 4 cancer himself with a trachea and feeding tube in him from a traumatic surgery months ago. I call my mother's nurse in Michigan and tell her my plan. I then speak to my mother, who is beside herself with worry, heart ache, head pain and missing her husband. I ask Mom if she would like a little surprise. I tell her to hang up the phone and wait a minute and then pick it back up when it rings. I tell her to promise me to pick it up and someone who wants to talk to her will be on the phone. She understands and says she will but it is clear she thinks it is me that is calling back. I let her think that.


I then call Wade and practically yell at him to get a pen quickly. He is hard of hearing and moves slowly. Apparently he has trouble finding one and is telling me so, as I am saying hurriedly, please Wade, go faster! He is probably looking at the receiver thinking I am as demanding as my mother can be! Apparently he locates one and starts writing the numbers down, each one, as I shout each one out to be certain he hears it. We go through this routine several times before he gets it right. In fact, I am not at all sure he has it correct. With his titanium tongue, his speech is extremely difficult to comprehend but it sounded pretty close to the number anyways. He yells back, at one point, asking who's number am I writing? Whoops, I forgot to tell him! I tell him it is his wife, my mom, who is missing him horribly. I know Wade, he loves my mom and is sick with worry. She also was his primary care taker. He starts to choke up and I tell him there is no time for that, “She is waiting for you Wade, you have to call in just a couple minutes.” And I hang up.


I waited about fifteen minutes and called him back to ensure he got through to her. As soon as he picked up the phone, I could tell he was smiling. I could feel it coming off the receiver. I immediately said to him, “You talked to Mom right?” He was laughing when he replied that oh yes he had. He told me she cried. When he said this, he cried. My day ended with a little glimpse of heaven.

Here the Comes Sun

“Here comes the sun and I say, it’s all right” and she sings gleefully as she spins around and around and then races in a circle as if she is a dog chasing her tail. But it is simply little Ava singing her new favorite song from a movie. The movie has not even ended yet but, in anticipation, she is up already from her seat off the couch, dancing and running in circles singing as loud as can be for all the world to hear about the sun coming out and I can’t help but laugh out loud as she sings “Little darling.” To hear this line sung by a little three year old wearing a shirt that says “Thing 1!” Oh, what would Dr. Seuss have to say about that?

I think this song is just a classic because of what it says. No matter what is going on in the world, what tragedies befall us, the sun will eventually break through. Amen for the sun’s ability to do that. Amen for God willing it to be so.

This weekend was a walk for Autism and we were participating for my grandson Ty. Autism is something that will affect my grandson Ty Ry for the rest of his life and our entire family. It has heightened our awareness keenly of the need of family support systems. We need to be there for Ty and for each other as he journeys through life. How appropriate that on this same weekend we have this walk, my nephew would choose to come to Nashville for the first time ever and participate in this walk. What a beautiful thing to show, even in the years of absence he remembers the bond with his cousin, Mike that he began playing with at about the same age Ty is now. It was also a chance for us meet his son Dominic for the first time.

Dominic had begun living with his father in the past year more often than not. However, I am not sure he really knew much about us, the extended family. So I am certain, when he learned of this trip, he was probably quite nervous, excited and apprehensive also as most little 3rd grade boys would be. We were strangers to him. And yet, he came here shy, full of apprehension and left here after three days, full of smiles, laughing and good memories. He left us with quite a few of him also!

Dominic was forewarned about a little boy with autism who would not be able to interact with him at all. And yet, on Sunday before Dominic left, he marched upstairs to the playroom/family room to say good bye to his cousins. The last person he reached was Ty. Being only 2, and small for his age, Dominic had to bend over at the waist to get closer to Ty's level. It is hard also to get Ty's attention as he is known for being unfocused and not having good eye contact. This day, I saw something amazing between these two boys.

Watching, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dominic lean down and address Ty saying "Hi little buddy, hey there. I am going now and going to miss you Ty. " Ty immediately responded to him by listening. Dominic went on to say,"You are a special little guy and I really like you. I really want to hug you so bad. Can I hug you?” Dominic knew better than to try and risk Ty having a fit so he just stood there staring at Ty expecting nothing. What happened next was simply inspiring. My little grandson threw his arms around Dominic's legs to hug him. And then, as Dominic thanked him, Ty looked up at his face and smiled. It was a special moment representing a special unspoken bond, I could see it clearly. I looked over at Dominic and said “I can’t believe what I just saw.” He played it down and just said that it was nothing. "Me and the little guy just hit it off."


A short time later, I watched my sister’s car pull away with my nephew and his son Dominic in the car heading home to another state. I hoped and prayed they would be back sooner rather than later. I felt that these two boys, perhaps, needed each other. There was something divine I had witnessed. It is in the small moments of life that God reveals Himself and His ability to draw folks towards each other. He put these two together at that precise moment in time. How he would use a little boy like Dominic to touch a little boy like Ty is something even I can’t even begin to understand. But I do know that Dominic will never ever forget Ty. My grandson has touched him, I could see it in his eyes.

As I walked back upstairs to Ava, I was met with another chorus of “Here comes the sun, here comes the sun…” and I could not help but wonder if these two boys were possibly the sun for each other. I know for me, I saw something far greater than the sun come out that day.