The story of my mother-in-law entering my life begins with Saturday morning phone calls at 7am, well, 10am New York Time. The thick NY accent was very annoying to this valley girl of Southern California and this momma’s boy wouldn’t adjust his standing weekly phone call from his mother since the day he stepped onto California soil.
This woman was born in New York and raised by Al Capone’s bookie, Sal the Beak. She told me stories of her mother fighting about his mistress and how she’d see from her door handle keyhole all the hats, coats, and guns. She’d tell me the low voices and agenda’s planned in her mother’s kitchen. She said her sister and her used to hide to hear what they would say but their mother would always catch them. What seemed like folklore to me, her stories of her mob family astounded me, and she would tell me secrets as if she was still being watched.
She was very traditional, I was expected to serve her like royalty as her son’s bride, she expected me to bow down to him and obey as every mob woman was. She didn’t respect me because I rebelled against her standards of a traditional Italian mob wife. She hated me and I hated her. The feud lasted about 10 years.
She would take her sandals off and put her bare foot on the coffee table and rub her pinky toe on the rim of my glass just to annoy me. She knew I was grossed out with feet and this just pushed me over the edge. But what could I say, Vinny, your mom touched my glass with her foot? I’d be called the crazy one because she’d deny it and say I was lying.
A decade of mistrust, anger, and downright dirty manipulative actions, this woman eventually became the mother-in-law of my dreams when I became pregnant with her first grandchild. She was sweet to her grandbabies, generous with her time, loved celebrating every holiday with us and continued to show love for me as their mom, even when I divorced her son.
She finally accepted me, just a few years short of my marriage falling apart after the birth of my second child.
Adorned every American Holiday with flowers, hats, buttons, sequin sweatshirts, and shoes to match the event and ready to celebrate. She always had somewhere to be and people to see.
Today, Saturday, February 17, 2024, my daughter reluctantly called her father per his request, assuming she was in trouble for visiting her best friend, she was abruptly notified of a different matter, her grandmother was on life support in the hospital, and they are pulling the plug today as soon as her uncle arrives from New York. I knew her for 30 years and she was very unique and I was blessed to know the mob bookie’s daughter.