My Mom, and a Life She Touched

 "Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones.
A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you."
~ Shannon L. Alder

A few years ago, I received the following e-mail via my website:

Dear Ms. Schiano:
I am writing you with the hopes that you are Rita Schiano, the daughter of my beloved piano teacher, mentor, and second mother Jane Marie Notarthomas Schiano of Syracuse, NY. I was on Route 20, heading to the Brimfield Fair when I saw your name on a sign. If it is indeed you, I would love to say hello. I moved to Boston 27 years ago and am a church organist, thanks to the inspiration and teaching of Jane.
                                        Sincerely, Bobby DeRegis

It took a few months to coordinate our schedules (and I must be honest and admit I let this fall through the cracks of time at one point). However, we found a few dates and decided that Westborough would be the logical, halfway meeting point.

Bobby suggested Friday, January 18, as he had an appointment in Westborough that day. Unfortunately, I had another commitment that afternoon.

I responded, "Perhaps the following Friday, 1/25 or 2/1? Actually, February 1 is the anniversary of my mom’s passing," I wrote. "Perhaps that might be a nice remembrance.”

Bobby responded, "I think February 1st might be a sign from above. Let's do it."

The last time I saw Bobby was in 1986, at my mom's funeral. He was seventeen years old. Now a man of fifty, I was so heartened by the extraordinary detail with which he remembered her.

"She saved me in so many ways. Helped me through difficult times and losses," he told me. "She gave me a love for music. And she had such deep faith."

Over the next few hours as we talked of her passionate, loving and giving soul, Bobby would pause often to wipe a few tears from his cheek.

In my office at home I have a framed newspaper article written about her many years ago. The columnist described Mom as a ". . . big, warm-hearted woman whose delicious sense of humor dances in her dark eyes. She is also a woman of deep religious faith revealed through her music."

In addition to teaching private piano and voice lessons, Mom was the organist and choir director at St. John the Baptist Church in Syracuse, NY. Although a Catholic, mom shared her rich, dramatic contralto voice in the quartet at the Temple Society of Concord worship services every Friday night.
And she was extremely proud of her special choral group, the Out of Sight Singers. "They may lack eyesight, but not voices, and I love every minute I work with them," she said.

Bobby is not the only person to reach out to me about my mom over the years. Numerous people have contacted me via Facebook and shared their memories of her. And like Bobby, many have gone on to study music in college and work as professional musicians and music teachers. And each and every one makes it a point to say, "I loved her."

I loved her, too. I was blessed to have her as my mom and mentor in life. The greatest lesson I learned from my mom is to be mindful of how my words and deeds affect the people I interact with each day. Be it a friend, colleague, cashier, attendant, someone I pass by in a store or on the street.

"See them," she’d say. "Look beyond appearances. Be grateful for the smallest act. And always show the world your true self."

Words to live by, indeed.

An Unexpected Visit

"Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones.

A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you."

~ Shannon L. Alder

A few months ago, I received the following e-mail via my website:

Dear Ms. Schiano:

I am writing you with the hopes that you are Rita Schiano, the daughter of my beloved piano teacher, mentor, and second mother Jane Marie Notarthomas Schiano of Syracuse, NY. I was on Route 20, heading to the Brimfield Fair when I saw your name on a sign. If it is indeed you, I would love to say hello. I moved to Boston 27 years ago and am a church organist, thanks to the inspiration and teaching of Jane.

Sincerely, Bobby DeRegis

It took a few months to coordinate our schedules (and I must be honest and admit I let this fall through the cracks of time at one point). However, we found a few dates and decided that Westborough would be the logical, halfway meeting point.

Bobby suggested Friday, January 18, as he had an appointment in Westborough that day. Unfortunately, I had another commitment that afternoon.

I responded, "Perhaps the following Friday, 1/25 or 2/1? Actually, February 1 is the is the 33rd anniversary of my mom’s passing," I wrote. "Perhaps that might be a nice remembrance.”

Bobby responded, "I think February 1st might be a sign from above. Let's do it."

The last time I saw Bobby was in 1986, at my mom's funeral. He was seventeen years old. Now a man of fifty, I was so heartened by the extraordinary detail with which he remembered her.

"She saved me in so many ways. Helped me through difficult times and losses," he told me. "She gave me a love for music. And she had such deep faith."

Over the next few hours as we talked of her passionate, loving and giving soul, Bobby would pause often to wipe a few tears from his cheek.

In my office at home I have a framed newspaper article written about her many years ago. The columnist described Mom as a ". . . big, warm-hearted woman whose delicious sense of humor dances in her dark eyes. She is also a woman of deep religious faith revealed through her music."

In addition to teaching private piano and voice lessons, Mom was the organist and choir director at St. John the Baptist Church in Syracuse, NY. Although a Catholic, mom shared her rich, dramatic contralto voice in the quartet at the Temple Society of Concord worship services every Friday night.
And she was extremely proud of her special choral group, the Out of Sight Singers. "They may lack eyesight, but not voices, and I love every minute I work with them," she said.

Bobby is not the only person to reach out to me about my mom over the years. Numerous people have contacted me via Facebook and shared their memories of her. And like Bobby, many have gone on to study music in college and work as professional musicians and music teachers. And each and every one makes it a point to say, "I loved her."

I loved her, too. I was blessed to have her as my mom and mentor in life. The greatest lesson I learned from my mom is to be mindful of how my words and deeds affect the people I interact with each day. Be it a friend, colleague, cashier, attendant, someone I pass by in a store or on the street.

"See them," she’d say. "Look beyond appearances. Be grateful for the smallest act. And always show the world your true self."

Words to live by, indeed.

What Will You Leave?

I love my birthday. I love celebrating my birthday. Sometimes I do so with friends; sometimes I prefer it be a simple and quiet affair. (There must, however, always be cake!) The joke in my household is that once the December holiday season ends, I begin the countdown to my birthday which, by the way, falls on the 110th day of the calendar year. (111 day if it is a leap year.)

Let me state clearly, I do not mind getting older. I embrace it, truly. And truth be told, there was only one birthday that caused me pause . . . the year I turned 48. And I know why, too. Up until that age, I always felt I could double my age and see myself as still living. 40 = 80; 42 = 84; 45 = 90; 47 = 94. But when I doubled 48 . . .96 years old . . . suddenly that seemed to me to be much less probable. For reasons unbeknownst to me, 95 years old was my cut-off point.

In 2017, I will be 62 years old. In thinking about this age, I am once again feeling unsettled. Certainly, 62 is way past my doubling formula, so that doesn't come into play. Something else, something larger seems to be nagging me. At first I thought it was because my mom was 62 when she passed on. But that wasn't it. Then I thought about the friends who have passed this year. Young, vibrant, with so many years ahead of them. I zeroed in on my friend Dorsie Kovacs who died in October. She was 64. Yes. This had something to do with Dorsie. But it wasn't about her young age, 64 years; it was what she had done with those years, with her life.

Dorsie was a veterinarian and owned the Monson Small Animal Clinic. There is so much I could tell you about her, but I'll let these words from her obituary suffice. "She was a special soul whose spirit inspired everyone she met. Possibly the most positive person ever, she always saw the silver lining in every storm cloud that passed her way. Her employees often referred to her as 'Pollyanna,' to me she was 'Perpetually, Pathologically (in a good way), Perky.' Passionate about her life's work as the local veterinarian, she provided care and comfort to pets and their people alike."

My nagging thoughts were not specifically about Dorsie; it was about what Dorie left behind, her legacy.

Legacy is what you create during your life, what you leave behind when you are gone. "The legacy we leave is part of the ongoing foundations of life," wrote Jim Rohn. "Those who came before leave us the world we live in. Those who will come after will have only what we leave them. We are stewards of this world, and we have a calling in our lives to leave it better than how we found it, even if it seems like such a small part."

Looking back on my own life, I could clearly recognize the legacy-leavers who guided me my way. Most notably were my mom and maternal grandmother who instilled in me a passion for learning, for language, for living a compassionate life. I thought, too, of a few former teachers who challenged me to question, to not simply be satisfied with seemingly easy answers to life's perplexities.

I will be 62 in 129 days from my writing of this article. And so I must ask myself: what kind of legacy will I leave? What will be my contribution, my imprint on the future? In my work I touch a lot of lives -- from students to business people. What message am I leaving? What am I demonstrating by my actions? These are the questions I intend to keep in the forefront of my mind for all the remaining days (of which I hope are many) of my life.

"Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you," wrote Shannon Alder. What will be your legacy?