Giuseppa Parisi

Giuseppa, Josie, Parisi, age 87, of Chapel Hill, North Carolina passed away on Saturday, September 16, 2023. Josie was born June 9, 1936, in Castellamare, Del’Golfo, Italy. After marrying Vincenzo Parisi, they emigrated to Brooklyn, New York. Josie and Vinnie were married for 65 years when Vinnie died in 2022. Josie is survived by her son Alberto and daughter Nina and five grandchildren: Christina, Michael, Peter, Victor and Brenda. Josie is also survived by her sister Maria and a brother, Gaetano, who still lives in Italy.

A Funeral Mass will be held 11:00 AM, Thursday, September 28, 2023, at St. Mary Magdalene Church (625 Magdala Place, Apex, NC 27502). A reception will follow from 12:00 PM to 3:00 PM at Apex Funeral Home, 550 W Williams St, Apex, NC 27502. All are welcome. In lieu of flowers, Mass cards are most welcome. Fond memories and expressions of sympathy may be shared at www.apexfuneral.net for the Parisi and Rizzo families.

My Mother’s Life and Legacy – A Daughter’s Perspective

My mom grew up in a very small town in Sicily. She was the 5th child of six children. Her dad, who was a tenant farmer, died when my mom was ten years old. She left school after the third grade and helped the family earning money as an apprentice sewing women and men’s clothing. During harvest season, my mom spent time at “la compagna” the countryside helping the family work the tenant farm. This is where my dad, Vincenzo, first caught a glimpse of my mom. He was farming the adjacent land. My dad says he instantly knew that one day he would marry her. She was only a teenager then and too young to be “engaged.” In Italy, there is no such thing as “dating” to find out if you liked a person well enough to go steady. LOL! A person dated with the intention of marriage.

My dad planned to emigrate to America and wanted to share this new life with my mom as his wife. So… he forced the conversation between the two mothers to “approve” the engagement. Rings were exchanged and my dad sailed to America to establish a future home for them. After two years of letter writing, he returned to Italy, and they wed. I marvel at the depth of my mom’s courage in saying “I do.” Her yes was not only to marriage but also to moving an ocean away to a foreign country where she knew no one and could not speak the language. It was quite likely that she would never see her family again. Therefore, I also believe my mom had a colossal spirit of adventure. New opportunities were waiting for her in the land of milk and honey.

Three months after the wedding, my dad returned to America alone needing to earn more money, since he spent most of it paying for the wedding! My mom joined my dad in America 16 months later introducing him to their son, Alberto. Air travel was then cost prohibitive, so she and my 6-month-old brother boarded a ship making a week-long transatlantic voyage finally docking at New York Harbor. My poor mom was seasick the entire voyage. Imagine being dizzy and nauseous and needing to care for baby Alberto.

My parents lived in a three-room apartment in Brooklyn until I was 5 years old. My dad worked six days a week, 10-hour days in construction. They scrimped and saved until they were able to fulfill the America dream of owning their own home. My parents lived in that same home for 55 years when the man-made Covid pandemic wreak havoc in their lives as it did for millions of others worldwide. They relocated to North Carolina and lived near me.

My mom was a proud and driven woman, but remember, she lived in an era and culture when women were expected to be subservient not just to their husbands but to their mothers-in-law!! Though my mom wanted to go to night school to learn English, only the men could do so. My mom pushed through barriers as best she could. She studied hard and passed the test becoming a U.S. citizen. When I started school, my mom got herself a job as a seamstress in a sweat shop. Her mother in Italy came to live with us for a few years until we were old enough to be alone in the house. My mom hadn’t seen her mom since her wedding day, eight years ago.

My mom always figured out a “workaround” when obstacles were placed in her path. My dad insisted on paying for everything in cash. For years and years, my mother walked to the local bank to purchase money orders to pay the household bills. After she had enough of that, she told my dad, she was opening a checking account. Oh, the volume of that argument! How was she going to write the checks when she didn’t know English? First, she copied the name of the payee from the return envelope. Next, she created a “key” to spell out the dollar amount. My mom wrote down the spelling for numbers 1 to 10, then twenty, thirty to ninety, and finally hundred and a thousand. If the bill was $345.00, she would copy the word three, then hundred, then forty, and then five. Brilliant! My mom also wanted to learn how to drive. In secret, she took driving lessons. When she passed the road test, she presented the driver’s license to my dad who swallowed very hard.

What is my mom’s legacy? Certainty she is the perfect example of authentic femininity whereby power and strength come from selflessness and nurturing love. Mom taught me resourcefulness and self-reliance while keeping attuned when someone needs love or support.

I believe my mom’s eternal legacy is that she passed on the Catholic faith to my brother and I…. and now, we as parents, pass the faith to our own children. My mom grew up with the Church being at the center of community life. She learned about the Catholic faith not from theology textbooks but by the oral tradition of storytelling, especially about the lives of the saints. My mom created a home for us filled with Catholic traditions. Above every entry door hung a crucifix and images of The Blessed Mother on the walls. Our bedrooms had little holy water fonts placed by the light switch; she would sprinkle holy water on our beds at nighttime. Candles were lit next to the photos of a family members who died. On Good Friday, from noon to 3 PM, my mom would close all the window shades and turn off the lights. Horror of horrors, she would turn off the TV set too! We were told that Jesus spent three hours hanging on the cross and we were to spend those hours in quiet.

Birthdays were not as important as your “onimastico” -- the feast day of the saint for which you were named. On the feast day of St. Anthony for whom I am named, tradition calls for baking bread, bringing it to morning Mass, and having it blessed. All day long, the kitchen door would swing open with relatives bringing the blessed bread insisting, “Mangia! Mangia!” So much for a low carb diet.

When I was about 10 years old, there was a total eclipse of the sun at noon. For weeks the news instructed people NOT to look up at the sky during the eclipse because the light would be so bright that it was possible to become blind. Though I didn’t look up at noon, I did peer through the window blinds around midnight looking up at the sky. I saw the biggest and brightest full moon I had ever seen. Terror struck my heart. I looked at the sky and now I would go blind. My mom rushed to my room when she heard me crying. I explained what I did and my fear. Without skipping a beat, my mom took the 2-inch glow-in-the dark plastic statue of the Blessed Mother off the windowsill and placed it in the palm of my hand saying, “The Blessed Mother will protect you. You will not go blind.” She closed my hand over the statue placing her hand on top of mine. She prayed a Hail Mary and I fell soundly asleep. The next morning when I awoke, I was NOT blind! From that day forward, I hold a special devotion to Our Lady.

These are but a few of the traditions I experienced as a child that cemented faith in my soul. Faith gives life meaning and purpose; it offers hope and salvation. For this reason, I believe my mom’s enduring legacy from generation to generation will be passing on of the Catholic faith.

Three years ago, because of the pandemic, I relocated my parents to North Carolina. My dad caught Covid during the first 15 days of flattening the curve. After staying with my mom while dad spent 3 weeks in the hospital, I learned how profound was my mom’s dementia. My dad had been managing the household on his own. Now, weaken by Covid, it was time to start a new adventure in N.C. I had the privilege of caring for them until God called them home. My dad died 17 months ago at the age of 91. Without him, my mom was lost, and her dementia progressed profoundly. Today, I trust that they are once again together. I bet if I listen closely, I can hear them arguing about nothing. LOL!