by Dennis Augustine
“To the world you are a mother, but to your family you are the world.”
Today I celebrate you, Mamma — not with sorrow, but with gratitude for all you gave and all you were. I was your firstborn in 1950, three years after you arrived in the United States from Roccalumera, Messina, Sicily — and you were my first best friend. Your love shaped the man I became: disciplined, grateful, and rooted in family.
Thank you for the quiet moments that spoke volumes — the way you’d straighten a crooked collar, the gentle touch on my shoulder, the big hugs when you knew I was struggling, and the care packages from Fiore’s Italian Deli in Hoboken that carried the taste of home to my college days.
Thank you for the stories you told over simmering pasta sauce, weaving memories of your Sicilian childhood into lessons of resilience and grace. You taught me that even in humble beginnings, there is magic and history. That wisdom guided me when you referred me to your childhood friend, Carmine Sippo, who became my first mentor and helped set me on the path to a meaningful career in Podiatric Medicine and Foot Surgery.
On my bike ride the other afternoon — thinking about this twelfth anniversary of your passing — I looked up and saw skywriting planes forming a cross in the sky. It felt like your gentle reminder that faith still anchors me, just as you always did in my youth.
Buon Compleanno in Paradiso, Mama. Ti amo per sempre. (Happy Birthday in Heaven, Mamma. I love you always)
