Published in Reflections on the third anniversary of her death
The beauty all can see
Today we mourn a great loss. Yet we nonetheless give thanks for the enormous gift we have been given: to have known a remarkable and loving woman, a great Christian lady.
For much of her life, my mother deliberately walked a step behind. She was modest and often shy. She could easily be overlooked or forgotten in a crowd. But on this day, her spirit and example shines for us all, as she soars to the gates of heaven.
My mom, as many of you have told me, was exceptional: she was truly good. My family and I have heard this over and over again—not just from the streams of people who have come to share our grief, but all our lives as friends have spontaneously sung her praises. Even strangers whom we met in her presence told us the same. And during her illness, when her face and throat were ravaged by oral cancer, when she believed she did not look attractive, nonetheless nurses and doctors, shopkeepers and neighbors alike, said: “Your mother is so beautiful.”
The family is forged
Our lovely family story began due to the superb judgment of another exceptional individual, my father, the irrepressible Luigi Vuoto. He came to Canada in the late 1950s from a small southern Italian village, full of pluck and ambition, determined to pull his family out of the poverty he had known since a young boy. He worked with iron will and determination in the cold, in the morning, in the night, on pitiless construction sites in a foreign land, to ensure that his mother and three sisters, who had remained in Italy, were well provided for. At last, at the age of 40, within a decade having gone from a worker to a developer and business owner, he decided it was time to start his own family. He returned to Italy in 1966 with one goal: he would find a woman who would be the mother of his children.
I always thought his way of recounting this story was very amusing and insightful. He was not looking simply for a wife, a trophy, a companion. He was not looking for himself. He was looking for the ideal woman who would be good to us—his children—before we were even born.
And what a woman he found. There in a small village in Calabria was Filomena. She had been a dutiful daughter and sister, in a bourgeois family of six. She had labored selflessly as a seamstress for her family, very much as he had done for his. She also had a reputation as a devout, wholesome woman. And, at age 32, she was still known to be chaste, pure.
This was a traditional encounter. He was brought to her home to meet her. She pretended not to notice him. She was ironing when he chatted with her family. As they exchanged glances, he was undoubtedly smitten by her beauty, grace and simplicity. He would later tell us that at last he had found, “The mother of his children.”
My father told me once that the most important component of the family is the mother. He cited an old Italian proverb: “A mother is three legs of one chair. A father is only one leg.” He would often tell me that a family without a good woman at its center cannot possibly remain united, nor rise very far: the mother is all. And indeed, my mom was the fulcrum, the guiding light, the wellspring of the home.
Between freedom and duty
Despite the fact that she held firmly to many traditional values, she was nonetheless a feminist of sorts. That is, she was an advocate for our rights. In key battles with my father over the direction of our lives and education, she stood her ground. On numerous occasions she declared loudly: “My daughters will do all that I did not do!” She fought for our rights against my father’s more patriarchal and restrictive vision of the future of his three daughters. Yet, she also helped us break free from the tyrannies of our degraded modern culture, teaching that a woman must be wife and mother first while still fulfilling her potential in the wider world.
The girls did indeed have lives filled with breathtaking opportunities. In fact, sometimes when we were despondent or would complain, she would gently say, “I did not have one-tenth of all you have. I did not do one-tenth of all that you are able to do.”
Her three daughters have already done so much living, and yet, as the years go by, we realize that despite all our adventures and accomplishments, we have yet to do the things she did so elegantly. She still remains the gold standard for us. We measure our achievements to hers, and ours still pale in comparison to her example of constant and selfless love.
This was never more apparent than when she nursed my father throughout his seven-year battle with the illness which eventually claimed his life in 1991—all the while dealing with teenage daughters who were in all-out rebellion as they discovered boys and freedom. Somehow, he held fast to her—and remarkably, so did we.
The twin virtues
Many of you, especially young mothers in the room, have come to tell me that my mom is your model. When these women think about what it means to excel at motherhood, they turn to my mom for inspiration. What is it about Filomena that rendered her such an example?
Essentially, it was two-fold: The first is that she was a devoted mother. She was utterly and completely committed to us; she attended to every detail of our care. We were never a burden, never in the way. She never needed a “break” or “me time.” We were her vocation, her calling, her mission, her joy; we were her work and her rest. We were her hobby. We were the center of her life.
She surrounded us with beauty in the home, sparing little expense to ensure we were raised in elegance and refinement. This was not a matter of wealth or status for her: it was simply a symbol of her love. She also labored incessantly and selflessly for us, including displaying heroic feats of strength and endurance when we were ill. How many nights she would peer into my bedroom, in a white robe, smelling of luscious cream and fresh nightclothes, just to see if I was okay.
Every day, she provided fine meals, excelling at cooking and the details of presentation. Every day, she ensured the home was clean to teach us we were worthy of all that is best. Every day she told us we were privileged in the home and must give thanks to God. She loved us unconditionally and in abundance.
My mom looked with satisfaction on our achievements and encouraged us in our dreams. Her greatest pride was kindled by acts of kindness and generosity which we demonstrated either to her, to our family members or to those whom we encountered.
Her other most remarkable characteristic was that she had deep Christian faith. And from this all of her virtues flowed. My mom spent hours and hours in prayer. If she was not working for us, she was deep in prayer. She carried her little yellow book of prayers everywhere she went. It was essentially my mom’s unbending Christianity which lifted the entire family to a higher ground.
Throughout her life, her faith was indeed tested many times. And each time, there was no contest. She never wavered. In moments of greatest difficulty, she turned ever more fervently to her faith, not away from it. In fact, I never once heard her express any doubt about her trust in God, Jesus, the Bible and the Catholic Church.
The final battle
The greatest test and her greatest triumph occurred during the last two years of her life. Throughout her physical trial in the grips of a heinous disease, she said many times, “I accept God’s will. Let God’s will be done.” And though she fought hard and with every ounce of her being, she nonetheless demonstrated that she was willing to submit to God’s plan without self-pity, anger or doubt. She bore her enormous suffering with dignity. She did not complain. She did not become bitter or curse at the heavens. Occasionally when she could not eat, she allowed a few tears to flow from her eyes and down her sullen cheeks as she stared hopelessly at a bowl of pureed vegetables, a little like a despondent child. And still, she continued to love us fervently, trying to spare us, mitigating the anguish of her impending departure.
When my mom was in the hospital, in the last week of her life, I stared over and over at her hands. They seemed to express her entire personality. They were cracked and brittle— the long, white fingers that had sewed and cooked and caressed; they were the vehicle by which she gave and gave and gave.
During her illness, I told her so many times, “Mom, I really admire you—not just now, but for your life’s work.” I especially admired her ability to constantly improve herself. My mom’s life can best be described as a gradual ascent to heaven.
The greatest impetus to this ascent was the purification of her character in her suffering. The last two years of her life were her most difficult—yet they made her even more gentle, kind, soft—so much so that she was simply adorable to us. We placed a large, white panda teddy bear next to her bed in those final hospital days, as it seemed the two belonged together.
Her face glowed ever more brightly in that hospital bed, to the marvel and astonishment of all those who came to visit. Although the cancer claimed her body, it could not tarnish, but only brightened, her soul. She triumphed.
The legacy
Many of you have said to us, knowing how devoted we were to our mom, that we are nonetheless handling her departure well—that we appear to be strong. Our serenity has surprised even us. But it is simply because we cannot feel sorry for ourselves for too long. We know that we have been blessed with truly remarkable parents.
My father provided for us, not just while he was alive, but for years to come. His labor on our behalf bears fruit by the day, the week, the month. My mom has also filled our lives with such bountiful love. In fact, my arms are full.
We want to share the love they gave us to those in our orbit. We want this love to radiate in larger and larger circles, to engulf the people we know.
And so, to my mom, on this day, I say once again, “Thank you. You are with us and always will be. A mother is a giver of life. I see no death here; I see only more life to come.”
-Dr. Grace Vuoto is the Executive Director of the Edmund Burke Institute for American Renewal.
