Lydia Chiappetti Archives - Mothering in the Middle

Life in Reverse – Entering the Work Force at 60

by Lydia Chiappetti

Next year’s birthday will be the Big One – 60! While everyone at this age is winding down, I’m revving up. I’m planning on going back to work after being unemployed for…forever. Let’s just say that big hair and suits with shoulder pads were in fashion the last time I was steadily employed.

There have been numerous paying jobs and volunteer activities over the last twenty-five years, but nothing that would indicate a career path. My resume looks like a schizophrenic on steroids: Parent Association President, Campaign Assistant for Gubernatorial Election, Associate Editor for Poetry Press, ESL Teacher. Is there a pattern there? No, just jack of all trades, master of none.

Why didn’t I work steadily all those years? I had my excuses: Monday through Friday, I had the sole responsibility of caring for the children. In addition to long distance trips, my husband worked in the World Trade Center – two hours round trip from home. After 9/11, he commuted weekly to another state for almost a decade.

My plan to find a full or part-time job was thwarted by the twenty-mile round trip drive to a school in another town. Instead of seeking out a paying job, I filled any free hours with volunteer activities, all very fulfilling at the time. […]

Feeling Very Mortal – The Tale Of a Weekend Warrior

by Lydia Chiappetti

Sprawled in the middle of the road, my son kneeling beside me, I asked, “Why are you home from college?” Not sure if I had said this out loud or merely thought it, I watched his face for signs of understanding. It hurt to keep my eyes open. But in those short seconds I saw the fright in his eyes.

“Mom, I graduated two years ago. I’m home for the 4^th of July. Remember?”

Fuzzy- headed and aching in every joint, I replayed what might have happened. How strange not to be in charge. It was a reversal to be on the receiving end of my son’s concern. He had never seen me in such a weakened state. I prided myself on being invincible, at least in his eyes. […]

The Last Conversation with Dad

by Lydia Chiappetti

When my dad died last year, the head of his senior living facility asked, “What was it like to grow up with your father?” She had experienced firsthand his take-no- prisoner’s style. Dad was a tough man, endearing only to his children and grandchildren. My mother, who had waited on him hand and foot for 60 years, would never have called him endearing.

With my mother’s passing, I became his gal Friday: cook, cleaner, driver, financial planner and gardener. Oh yes, almost forgot, companion as well. The only problem was that I lived ninety minutes away. I still jump when the phone rings, wondering if it’s Dad with his usual inquiry. “Where are you?” A gravelly voice on the other end demands, “I need you now!”

After hanging up, I would rush down the interstate to clean up the flooded basement or to fill out financial forms. When my duties were fulfilled, his voice would soften and say, “Thank you, Sweetheart.” I don’t seem to recall him ever thanking my mother for all she had done. Somehow, he had found a bit of tenderness in his late eighties. […]

Spreading Mom’s Ashes

by Lydia Chiappetti

Part I

“Go eat dinner while it’s hot.” These were Mom’s last words thirty minutes before she died. Ever a mother until the end, she never wanted or intended to be a burden. Nor did Mom want us missing a meal, even if I was the one now preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My father, sister and I ate at the dining room table, not far from their first floor bedroom. I had set the table with the silver and china, just the way she had done for the past 60 years of their marriage. Gracious dining was the highest art form for my mother. There was no take-out in her world.

She must have known that death was imminent, but she kept it at a safe distance by refusing to go to the hospital and maintaining normalcy. Ironically, this took more effort for us, her two daughters. […]

What, Me Worry? (A Commentary on the Recent East Side/NYC Apartment Building Explosion)

by Lydia Chiappetti

My son lives one avenue over from the East Village burned-out building, destroyed by a major gas leak explosion a few weeks ago.

He had been worried that it was a matter of time before areas of the city, particularly the Village, imploded. The infrastructure is just too old and jerry-rigged, he complained, as we munched on delicious Korean dumplings, hand rolled by Korean ladies standing behind the counter in front of us.

I have always worried about someone pushing him onto the subway tracks or his being mugged on a dark street at two a.m.-never imaging a gas explosion around the corner from his apartment, destroying an entire building and quarantining several neighboring ones. […]