On January 13, 1942 a very special person was born. Wendy Diane was born to Henry and Fan Berzine. She grew up to be a tall, slender, beautiful woman. She married my father in 1966. I was adopted in 1970 at four days old and my brother in 1980 at 2 days. For 62 years, she was a beacon of light in a sometimes dark world. She not only supplied the glue that bonded out immediate family, but that of every aunt, uncle and cousins family. Upon her death, the bonds between families was split. She was that important to everyone. Most importantly, she was everything in the world, to my father, my brother and myself.
Her final years was one filled with pain and suffering. She worked almost up until the end. Health care was a necessity as cancer riddled her body. She fought hard and on many occasions won the battles, but inevitably, as like so many others, she lost the war. A woman who always handled herself with a certain elegance, it was hard to see her body fall apart right before us. In her final days, she maintained her sense of humor, her compassion and most of all, she held us together, when we easily could have lost it. That was who she was.
I remember birthdays in our house. A monumental affair. My mother would usually cook our favorite meal and always made us feel like we were kings for the day. Gifts were always thoughtful in our house. I remember one birthday, she had mentioned wanting a certain perfume to a friend. I went out and looked for it. I found it and was shocked when I saw the price. An ounce cost $110. I bought it without hesitation and couldn't wait to give it to her. We had our meal and I handed her the gift. She opened it up and was astonished. She thanked me and kissed me on the forehead (something she did every day). I noticed this look of concern on her face and was a little upset. We had cake and she blew out the candles, explaining, as she did nearly every year, that her wish had already come true, because we were there. My father and I cleaned the table and did the dishes. They were going to watch a movie and I retired to my bedroom. As I settled in, there was a knock on the door. My mother came in. Sat down next to me and said "why are you upset." I explained that I saw her reaction and felt I had got the wrong thing. She laughed and said, "This is why we women, don't let you men buy us stuff. When I say perfume, I wanted the eau de toilette, which just to let you know, costs about $45 and comes in about a 4oz bottle. You got me the actual perfume, which is more concentrated and being I work in retail I know how much you spent. You're crazy." I asked her if she liked it and she said she loved it. The thing is, if I had known this, I still would have bought her the perfume. The money wasn't the issue. It never was, even when none of us had any.
Today, she would have been 70 years old. I can't even imagine what I would have got her for this. There would definitely have been a card reminding her about her advanced years. I probably would have attempted to cook or with the help of my father treated her to whatever meal she wanted. I would have done anything to make her happy. Over the years, I've met lots of people, fallen in love with some and bonded with others. I have always been someone who is open, but it's my mother's death that has made me the way I am. An open book. I used to be a very private person, seldom sharing my thoughts or emotions with anyone. My mother was the only one who knew the true me. She loved me and guided me. Knowing my stubbornness, she allowed me to fall, but was always there to pick me up and never said "I told you so." She allowed me to grow on my own, but made sure I had proper guidance. Don't mistake being there for someone with guidance. My mother showed me a path, one that I seldom took in my teen and early twenties, but was quick to show me other paths when I lost my way. The day she died, I lost my guiding light. I'm still searching, for even a glimmer.
Happy Birthday Mom!
Her final years was one filled with pain and suffering. She worked almost up until the end. Health care was a necessity as cancer riddled her body. She fought hard and on many occasions won the battles, but inevitably, as like so many others, she lost the war. A woman who always handled herself with a certain elegance, it was hard to see her body fall apart right before us. In her final days, she maintained her sense of humor, her compassion and most of all, she held us together, when we easily could have lost it. That was who she was.
I remember birthdays in our house. A monumental affair. My mother would usually cook our favorite meal and always made us feel like we were kings for the day. Gifts were always thoughtful in our house. I remember one birthday, she had mentioned wanting a certain perfume to a friend. I went out and looked for it. I found it and was shocked when I saw the price. An ounce cost $110. I bought it without hesitation and couldn't wait to give it to her. We had our meal and I handed her the gift. She opened it up and was astonished. She thanked me and kissed me on the forehead (something she did every day). I noticed this look of concern on her face and was a little upset. We had cake and she blew out the candles, explaining, as she did nearly every year, that her wish had already come true, because we were there. My father and I cleaned the table and did the dishes. They were going to watch a movie and I retired to my bedroom. As I settled in, there was a knock on the door. My mother came in. Sat down next to me and said "why are you upset." I explained that I saw her reaction and felt I had got the wrong thing. She laughed and said, "This is why we women, don't let you men buy us stuff. When I say perfume, I wanted the eau de toilette, which just to let you know, costs about $45 and comes in about a 4oz bottle. You got me the actual perfume, which is more concentrated and being I work in retail I know how much you spent. You're crazy." I asked her if she liked it and she said she loved it. The thing is, if I had known this, I still would have bought her the perfume. The money wasn't the issue. It never was, even when none of us had any.
Today, she would have been 70 years old. I can't even imagine what I would have got her for this. There would definitely have been a card reminding her about her advanced years. I probably would have attempted to cook or with the help of my father treated her to whatever meal she wanted. I would have done anything to make her happy. Over the years, I've met lots of people, fallen in love with some and bonded with others. I have always been someone who is open, but it's my mother's death that has made me the way I am. An open book. I used to be a very private person, seldom sharing my thoughts or emotions with anyone. My mother was the only one who knew the true me. She loved me and guided me. Knowing my stubbornness, she allowed me to fall, but was always there to pick me up and never said "I told you so." She allowed me to grow on my own, but made sure I had proper guidance. Don't mistake being there for someone with guidance. My mother showed me a path, one that I seldom took in my teen and early twenties, but was quick to show me other paths when I lost my way. The day she died, I lost my guiding light. I'm still searching, for even a glimmer.
Happy Birthday Mom!
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