My beautiful momma — such quiet presence in life. With her loss comes a deafening silence.

She lived with me. I took her with me everyplace. My person. My best friend. My constant. She brought color to my world. Our crazy casino trips, meals out, shopping, hair salon visits and our drives on a beautiful evening, just because. Sunday fun day. Cooking good food and screaming at the TV at our Philadelphia Eagles. Oh the joy with that Super Bowl win at last! She kept telling me to calm down. She was afraid I was going to have a heart attack! Lol

Some of these things and some of these places are now so hard to face. Some unbearable. Places I have not been back to but will eventually. I’m determined to watch football again this year and enjoy it! It’s just hard to confront. I hear her in my head. When I’m walking in from work, “Hey Barb! I’m so excited your home.” Or the call at work “Can’t wait for this weekend! I missed you this week.” I’d say that I’d be home by 5 and she’d always say “I like it when you’re home. You’re my girl and don’t you forget it.” She always said that.

All our crazy laughter at whatever may have been going on in the world. Just getting from point A to point B in the car was enough to send us into hysterics. “Mom which way? Left? Right?” Whatever she said, I always took the opposite. We ALWAYS got there! My mom was 92. She was beautiful. Looked not a day over 70. I was so proud to show her off. I took pride in taking care of her. It never was a burden. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It wasn’t easy, she had a lot of health issues.

No matter where we were people would comment on our relationship. We were extraordinarily close. It showed. I wanted to make her happy. She hadn’t had an easy life. She had a hard childhood. Buried a husband and two sons. Not one bitter or hard-edged bone in her. When we would be saying goodbye to each other, I would always lean down to kiss her and say “give me your face!” It was our “thing,” she’d say.

Now good days are hard but bad days are harder. Nobody ever loves you like your mom. I walk in from work, silence. Look at my phone during the day while at work, silent. Driving in the car, oh the quiet … doesn’t matter what I make for dinner now or what I buy at the market. No one to care for and worry about. Seems weird to miss worry but I do. It all seems so black and white, no more color. Oh the silence? It is deafening.

40 years ago, on September 12th 1982, I walked down the aisle and married my husband, Mike.

We met at Pace University in NYC. He’d noticed me in class, though I never even knew he was in the room. We went out on our first date and when we leaving for the night I turned to him and said — we are going to get married. You are the one. Of course he looked at me like I was crazy. One date with this man and I knew he was the one.

This would have been our milestone: 5 kids, a bunch of grandchildren, tuition loans finally paid off, and almost done with our mortgage. And you are not here to celebrate but in my Heart.

We always enjoyed going to Las Vegas, but one trip was extra special. On this trip our daughter brought my mom out as a surprise. She had never flown on an airplane before and had just turned 80 years old. She experienced a lot of firsts that trip and Al made sure she enjoyed them all. Just being in Vegas, the lights, the food and Al knew all the best places to eat. He taught her how to play video poker, even being her eyes when she couldn’t see very well. For a week he made sure she saw all the sights. Oh, and all of this was while Mom was in a wheelchair. Al pushed her everywhere, helped her in and out of the van and never hesitated.

Mom’s favorite part of the trip? When he took her into Build a Bear! If you don’t know what that is, you go in pick out your bear, stuff it and get an outfit for it. It even comes with a birth certificate and the name you pick out. Mom had the best time there and asked Al if we could go again. Mom came home with three bears, from three different visits. Each visit with Al pushing her in that wheelchair, simply because she asked him to, and he loved her. Her favorite was a brown teddy bear she named Alan and dressed in a white sailor’s suit.

Alberto was born September 28, 1981. I met him when he was about five years old. Years later I would marry his dad. I inherited two stepsons. Little Al, as he was affectionately known, was the oldest.

He loved sports, working out and watching movies. But his greatest love was his son, Nicholas. Nicholas was his life. Al was a kind and gentle soul. He was the protector of the family. You needed something, you called Al. He drove us crazy, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. People gravitated to him because he really did have a way with words. He made friends very easily and had a beautiful smile.

Alberto began feeling sick around the end of August, beginning of September of 2021. He was hospitalized, intubated and passed two weeks later on September 20, 2021. His lungs and kidneys were severely damaged, and his beautiful heart couldn’t take it anymore and he passed. We never got to say goodbye. I was able to see him the day before he passed, but he was in a coma. I hope he heard me tell him to fight and how much I loved him. I will never know.

Almost three and a half years before, Al had been in a similar situation. He became very sick, and his oxygen levels dropped; he was intubated and in a coma for 11 days. He fought and survived. I thought he could do it again. I prayed that he could do it again, but he couldn’t.

I wanted to relive a memory we all shared with his youngest brother, my biological son, Michael. Al had been moved to a rehab center in Staten Island where we lived. He fought hard to regain his strength and all he wanted to do was surprise his little brother. I had arrived first with one of Al’s friends, and my son arrived later. When Michael went to hug him, Al stood up and gave him the biggest most loving hug. Michael didn’t know that his brother could get up, so it was really emotional. I really prayed for that same outcome in 2021. But God had other plans.

Al was tall, tough and strong. But really, he was a big teddy bear. I would get on his case all the time and he would just look at me with those beautiful eyes and give me that smile that would sometimes melt my heart. I really miss his smile. I miss his hugs and it makes me sad that his brothers and his son and friends no longer have him in their lives. Al loved his family and his friends.

His presence is missed every single day. We know he is with his dad now and is watching over us. He sends us signs. When he first passed away, the lights in my bedroom would turn off randomly. This happened for about two weeks. I know it was him. That butterfly that flew by me just a few minutes after learning of his passing was him. The cologne his girlfriend smelled was him. And those random songs that play while my son is driving is him.

We love and miss you very much Al. Rest in peace and keep sending those signs.

We grew up three miles from Shea Stadium (now Citifield). Our Dad was a huge Mets fan, and we spent many summer days and nights with him at the games. We were a Mets family, as two of my siblings were vendors who roamed the stadium selling popcorn or hot dogs.

One of Dad’s favorite moments was from the 1969 World Series. He attended the final game and when the Mets emerged victorious, he along with hundreds of others ran onto the field. He was able to grab a piece of the infield grass which he took home and promptly planted in our front yard. The neighborhood kids loved it –- rubbing their baseball gloves on it for good luck. The story even made its way into “Put it in the Book” –- NY Mets broadcaster Howie Rose’s publication which gives a “behind the scenes” look at the team from Flushing, NY.

Dad was a very early victim of Covid-19. He died on March 25, 2020 –- before we appreciated the importance of masks, before vaccines were available. We all miss him terribly, especially when watching his team –- the Amazins. During the 2020 baseball season, we were able to use a picture of Dad (in his Mets cap and jersey) to create a cardboard cutout which was placed in a seat in the stadium. The cutout is now back in my house for safekeeping, and it is a wonderful reminder of a loving father we lost too soon.