| 1> | | | | I was shocked, hurt and angry all at the same |
| Pieces of Time and Pivotal Moments | | | | time. I turned to my mother and said, "I hate |
| Patricia Gatto ©2004 All Rights Reserved. | | | | him." She looked at me with her beautiful blue |
| Joyful Productions | | | | eyes and said, "That's not nice. He was just doing |
| Life is comprised of pieces of time sprinkled with | | | | his job. Can you imagine how hard it must be for |
| pivotal moments. Sometimes these moments | | | | him to have to tell his patients bad news like |
| have immediate impact. Other times, they are | | | | that?" |
| slow to manifest and reveal their importance. But | | | | Oh, Mom, you certainly were something. |
| if you listen closely to the soft whispers of life, | | | | In the years since I lost my mom, things have |
| they will guide you on an unexpected journey filled | | | | changed in many ways. There are sorrows and |
| with beauty, understanding and fulfillment. One | | | | bittersweet longings, but her gentle lessons |
| such moment occurred for me about eight years | | | | continue to touch my life and guide me. |
| ago. | | | | Mom would be proud to know that my husband |
| On this particular day, I was helping my mom | | | | John and I recently published our first children's |
| redo her bedroom. We rearranged the furniture, | | | | book. Although we originally set out to write an |
| cleaned, polished and changed the curtains and | | | | entertaining story about a boy with school |
| bedding. Then out came the new floral | | | | troubles, I soon discovered that John was the |
| arrangements, potpourri and matching candles. | | | | victim of a school bully. He had buried the hurt |
| Proudly, we stepped back to admire our work. | | | | and humiliation deep inside, but as we stepped |
| That's when Mom decided we needed a little | | | | further into the writing process, the impact of his |
| atmosphere and she lit the candles. | | | | experience was evident. |
| Evidently, there was a residue of cleaning solution | | | | My mother's lessons taught me to listen closely to |
| on her hands, because the moment she flicked | | | | the soft whispers of life. This perspective helped |
| the lighter, flames burst in the air. Large blisters | | | | me to realize that a message emerged from our |
| instantly formed on her hands and she began to | | | | collaboration, beyond the pages of our book. This |
| shake. As the tears rolled down her face, she | | | | knowledge changed the direction of our lives. |
| looked up at me and whispered, "The children." | | | | Our children's book became the basis for an |
| Those were her first words, not a cry, not a | | | | anti-bullying program. The program, filled with |
| scream, not a curse — "the children". I | | | | stories, songs and practical advice, teaches |
| panicked. I though she was in shock. I hurried her | | | | children about the consequences of bullying and |
| into the bathroom to tend to her wounds but the | | | | helps to provide a safe and healthy learning |
| blisters were so large she couldn't move her | | | | environment. |
| fingers. I realized I would have to take her to the | | | | Today, as John and I speak at schools and |
| doctor; I was also concerned about her state of | | | | community events, I pray that our pieces of time |
| mind. Her response seemed so strange. "Mom, | | | | sprinkled with pivotal moments serve to help the |
| what do you mean, the children?" I asked. | | | | children. Because now, I understand. |
| She looked up at me with the sweetest, most | | | | AWARENESS |
| sympathetic tear-filled eyes I had ever seen. "The | | | | Necks crane as innocent eyes follow my every |
| poor children who get burnt." Then she continued | | | | move |
| to explain, "I saw it on Oprah. If this is painful for | | | | Silent, enthralled children, |
| me, how much pain would a child be in? I feel so | | | | A captive audience |
| sorry for them
what they must go through." | | | | In the wake of their hushed response, |
| That was her answer. My mom had second and | | | | I hear the echo of my own words. |
| third degree burns, her hands were swollen, | | | | Anticipation looms |
| blistered and shaking, but her tears were for the | | | | Awaiting an answer |
| children. Children she saw on Oprah. My thoughts | | | | A solution, an explanation, |
| were less pure. At that moment, I didn't care | | | | I cannot provide. |
| about anyone but her. | | | | I have let them down |
| Four years ago this October, I lost my mom to | | | | For I can only share my story, |
| cancer. True to her nature, she never complained | | | | Not repair the social injustice that has befallen |
| during her illness. Not once. Even in her suffering, | | | | them. |
| she taught me valuable lessons. One of these | | | | They are victims, |
| lessons came when we were in her hospital room | | | | As once was I |
| waiting for test results. The doctor finally arrived, | | | | With only my experience to offer, |
| flew into the room, delivered his devastating news | | | | I silently pray to ease their anguish, |
| and then abruptly left. | | | | Whilst knowing I cannot. |