Words Seem So Small, When My Heart Feels So Big

  Sitting here, the morning after a benefit concert held for my husband and myself at Kings Park High School I am still overwhelmed. I have the stationary to start writing out my ‘Thank You Notes’ (I was raised right) and I know that I cannot possibly send one out to everyone in attendance because unfortunately I do not know every person who was there. Never, in my wildest dreams did I think that eight years after my graduation I would be back in the auditorium experiencing what will most likely be one of the most heartfelt, touching nights of my life. At nine months pregnant I look back on what my husband and I are going through and almost can’t see the damage anymore. The cracks have been filled, twice over, by the amazing people in our lives and we could not be more thankful. I am compelled to write this, and please bare with me as I am emotional, and so very grateful. 

On January 6th 2015 I arrived home from running a quick errand to see a police car, my Father-In-Law and neighbor standing on the lawn in front of my apartment. Fearing somebody’s injury I paused in my car, while my Father-In-Law walked up to me and slowly said, “The apartment is on fire, where is Annie?”. Annie, our Dog was not in her crate as usual. I left her out since my Brother-In-Law was coming over to start work on the nursery. Seb, (the Brother-In-Law) was first on the scene and ran into the burning apartment to try to find our dog several times. I ran up to my door screaming her name while the Police Officer held me back since in my condition, it was important to stay as calm as possible. I was driven away by my Mother-In-Law while I shakily made the necessary phone calls to my husband at work, and my parents. The smoke was thick, and abundant. Every minute that passed was painful as we waited to see the fate of our pet. About ten minuets after the fire department arrived, Annie was rescued. Blackened, sick, but alive she licked my face and in those moments that is all that mattered. It took Steev two hours to get home, and when he did everything became too real, too quickly. The fire department cleared the apartment and soon family members were running into the place trying to salvage whatever they could. Luckily, we did get to save many sentimental objects - but our home - was gone. 

Truthfully, it was difficult not to take this personally. Who are you fire? Who are you to come in, tear my life apart and just leave? It was violating, and mean, and we really did not appreciate it very much. See, things were going in a really cool direction for us. Finally, we were starting a family - Steev was moving up in his job and things looked really bright. After the fire, things were a little dimmer for a while. Time moved extremely fast yet everyone was moving in slow motion. When my Mother took me shopping for clothes, I broke down in the shoe aisle realizing just how much I lost. When I finally brought myself to see what was left of the apartment, I saw the photos of my family and friends burned, my favorite mug shattered, and every ounce of love and effort we put into building our lives together scorched right in front of me. This brought the anger, this revealed the true pain, this is also what sealed the closure. It was time to move forward. The idea of perseverance was scary since we felt naked. It is sort of like being twelve again and deciding that you want to sit with a new group at lunch. Will it work out? Will they like me? Will we ever feel normal again? Is it worth it? We had no choice but to find out. 

While all of this was going on in our minds, we were taken care of. Our families, who are incredible, pretty much grounded us immediately. They came up with a plan and without hesitation we had shelter and security as my pregnancy rolled on and preparation had to keep going. The process of our recovery was launched by my cousin - who not only dug in my ransacked bedroom for my jewelry - but started an on-line fundraiser for us. As people donated I was reduced to tears on many occasions. Names of old friends, family members and strangers flooded in. Why us? My husband and I were floored, humbled, and truly shocked by the outpouring from our extended community. We are not people who ask for help. No. We are people who help, and accepting all of this was something I needed to be reassured of. It was too much, yet it was everything we needed. This support, this kindness gave us footing again. We could actually own a place of our own this year, we could actually move on in a big way. Our Son’s future was not lost in that fire - it was almost as if it was being born from it. As time pressed on, the check-ins slowed. The donations seemed to reach their top, and we were grateful. 

Painfully the trauma of all of this has been a slow and steady build that hides behind unexpected corners. So, when nearing the two month mark my stomach started to turn and the vulnerability was rattled by a few events that have followed in the wake of our loss. When an old friend reached out to me to check in, it made me smile. Jonathan Wibben and I were fast friends in first grade, and throughout school kept hanging out in the same circles. While adult life put distance between me and my theater friends of Kings Park High School, I’ve always held these people in high regard. They were kind of magical in a way, ridiculously talented with big smiles and warm hearts. We sang show tunes together at my Sweet Sixteen and still can laugh at jokes from our musical days. When Jon called me with Emily Truisi and informed me of ‘Welcome Home’ as a project I stopped dead in my tracks. The tears started and all I could utter was ‘wow’. I think as mortals we all fear oblivion. Being forgotten is heartbreaking and scary yet inevitable in a lot of ways. Yet, there I stood, thinking I was a distant memory to this wonderful group of people and never in my life have I been proven so, so wrong. I really cannot type how this felt. I could barely say the words to my husband. After stammering out what I could to him he quietly responded the same as I did ‘wow’. We took a deep breath while I cried with gratitude. 

Expectedly the anxiety of seeing the community and old friends crept up as we walked (I waddled) through the doors of Kings Park High School on February 28th 2015. The feelings of ‘who are we?’ and ‘we don’t deserve this’ crept up as I saw a ton of high school kids and volunteers who didn’t even know us running the lobby. Walking down the familiar hallway to the band room brought back plenty of emotion and memory, then entering the band room to see all of my peers just like we all were years ago right before a show was priceless. It was hard to address them, feeling as if no time has passed yet it had been a century all at once was difficult to grasp. These beautiful, wonderful people were all there to hug me and laugh while I tearfully said whatever I could to express my excitement and joy over this event. They were all prepared, and dressed and gorgeous and as I took it all in all I could do was smile. People show you who they truly are when you’re in need - and I saw them. I really saw them for what felt like the first time. 

I would not be Stephanie if I did not take a quick sidebar to say something that I thought was really important. While my old friends put their time and talent into this, my teachers helped secure the venue and get current students involved. Current students who have no idea who I am, who my husband is and whether or not we really did deserve this participated because of their teachers. A scantron and a number two pencil didn’t play guitar during one of the performances. A little blue book didn’t help run the lighting and sound. There were no multiple choice questions that led my former educators to donate their unneeded baby clothes or take time out of their retired life to attend. No, my teachers showed up because that is who teachers are. They are not just knowledge robots. They are shapers of dreams, securers of passions, and protectors of youth. They are guiders and doers and they face opposition as legislation gets passed that makes their required curriculum impossible and parents angry at them for no reason. The war on teachers needs to stop, because a test score did not come to my aid. My GPA did not facilitate this concert. My teachers did, and I will forever advocate for them, and for the arts because they not only got me through high school, but they didn’t forget about me either. 

To wrap it up, the benefit was wonderful. If you were taking bets on what act would make me cry, Shaye Miller’s rendition of ‘How to Return Home’ got me pretty good when it came to the tears. Then when the alumni came out to sing ‘In My Life’ I lost it. I told you, these individuals are magic, and I love them more than they’ll ever really know. When it came time for me to address the crowd, I had a ton of things prepared to say and yet I do not even remember saying anything. Returning to a stage that gave me a ‘home’ in high school brought up a ton of emotion and then seeing the outline of a crowd filled me with warmth. Thank you just does not seem like enough. What I wanted to express was much greater than a simple ‘Thank You’ yet that is what the English language has allotted for such an occasion. I stood up there, awestruck, with my son gently rolling to the side as I got emotional with my heart open and flooding the stage. The strangers, and old familiar faces that filled the room were spotlight enough. I was so proud to be someone who grew up in this beautiful town. I was so happy that my jaded disposition of expecting the best out of people was proven to not be so jaded. My outlook of going above and beyond for the little things in life or for the people in need came back and looked me in the face. To the community of Kings Park: We fully and completely intend on using all of your kindness and generosity to build a better, beautiful life for our son in our own home some day. Your thoughtfulness in attending, advertising and participating in this event for us is something I will carry with me forever - we will never forget this. Thank you, so, so much.  

With all of our love,

The Coiro Family 

Stephanie, Steev, Annie & (soon to be) Baby Holden 

Matters of Life & Death

When you are a part of a large family it is rare if you are not introduced to death early on in life. You realize that life is on a cycle, and will end one day, and normally this realization is held on the tails of losing someone you love. It is not fair or explained, but it happens and you just learn how to deal with it. As a child, dealing with it came to me in forms of anger, mistrust, communication and confusion. After gaining more experience this settled into the normal dose of sadness but also a lot of gratitude. You see, I found that when faced with the devastation of losing a loved one there is no right or wrong way to go about your feelings. For the most part you will put walls up, swallow a lot of sorrow out of pride but you are still faced with the harsh reality that the person you have lost is not going to physically be a part of your life any longer. When you add a healthy dose of gratitude to these motions, for one reason or another, the rest of the emotions you will experience are warmer than they would be without them. Through the initial tears of loss, I say to myself ‘I am so lucky to have had this person in my life, not everybody got to have them in their lives, and I will celebrate them though I will miss them’. This when coupled with cherished memories and jokes dulls the hot sting of the vicious and relentless cycle.  

These thoughts were inspired today by my Great Aunt Mary who we lost on September 30th of this year. Aunt Mary was everybody’s Aunt, and she was 90 years young when she was taken from us. The long bountiful life she lead was an example that I have reflected a lot upon through the hours since her service. Aunt Mary made us all family, and this is true. My Elementary School Principal (her nephew) delivered the Eulogy. Through Aunt Mary, we were all family, and this was important. When you treat everyone in your life like a family member you will gain so much more in your lifetime than you lose. There were a lot of wonderful things said about her today, which made the hollowness of her loss a little fuller. 

Sitting in the pew behind my parents with my cousins I listened as Father Sean delivered the most beautiful Homily that was inspired by Aunt Mary. Most of it reflected upon Kings Park, my home town, the tiny dot on Long Island and how Aunt Mary was Kings Park, she was what it is all about. Now many of you reading this may not understand how Kings Park is different than most towns out there. Kings Park is a true community, it is one of the only places left that operates as a true community within a town. When push comes to shove, differences are put aside and we take care of our own. Aunt Mary was a pioneer of Kings Park. She was a town staple. Everyone knew who she was - and she knew who you were too. You also knew never to refuse the spot next to her in Church, because during ‘Peace’ she would slip you a 5 dollar bill while she kissed you on the cheek. Aunt Mary was everything good in this world, and we should all learn a few things from her that I will share on here today. 

1. Age is only a number: People who get caught up in age, get old. Aunt Mary was a young 90 years and she refused any help in her final years. She wanted to live on her own, take care of herself, and she was going to have it that way. You never once heard her utter how hold she was, that she was tired, that she was aging or ‘too old for that’. She marched in town parades, relished in positive attention and made jokes that sometimes could make you blush. She never once let the years slow her down. Because of this, her 90 years were lived exactly how she wanted them to be lived. When you start focusing on the time that has passed instead of the time ahead, you age yourself and limit yourself. Limitations based on age are meaningless. 
   
   
   2. Remember the good things. Aunt Mary had a memory like mine, where she knows you and what happened to you 10 years ago up to today. Any story you shared she knew, and could one up you with another. Something that Aunt Mary didn’t do was pass along bad stories. Maybe the stories would be silly and funny but never cruel or hurtful. If she knew an unflattering thing about you, she took it to her grave with her. She may have been a stubborn woman, but she was never a spiteful one. 
   
   
   3. Traditions matter. You go through life learning little things from those who came before you, and while you will pave your own way, their example matters. Holding onto traditions like having a pot of soup on the stove at all times may seem silly to an outsider, but all that matters is that your Grandchildren know and understand where you are coming from. When you lose sight of such things you lose sight of who you are. 
   
   
   4. It does not matter what your reward is, always do the right thing. Aunt Mary was a staple in Kings Park History. She was there as the town was made. She went to daily mass, she was good to everyone and never expected anything in return. She went to the wakes of the people who would pass, she made sure Saint Joseph’s Church offered mass for every one of her fallen friends. She never let a day go by that she was not looking out for other people, even in small ways. The words said about her today proved to me that living your life this way is the only way to go. 

It is discouraging sometimes, growing up in this selfish generation that has really lost the meaning of community. But, listening to the words said about Aunt Mary today while the sun shone through the stained glass windows of St. Joseph’s Church in Kings Park made it all make sense. We should all strive to have those things said about us. She had the ability to walk into a room and catapult your mood from bad to good with her just being in your field of vision. Not many people have that quality, and she was one of the greats. 

It hit me that Aunt Mary was gone when I walked into Clayton’s Funeral Home and did not see her. Like I said, Aunt Mary always paid her respects, and always went to make you feel better. At my Uncle Tom’s wake back in 2002, she walked in and saw me sitting alone by the door. She immediately exclaimed ‘Stephanie! You beautiful little thing you, let me introduce you to my seniors.’ Her Seniors were in fact her friends who were all 5-10 years younger than her that she drove to Clayton’s that evening. She held my hand. She knew I was sad, and sitting alone and she held my hand and comforted me without calling attention to the pain I was in. She was magic. At her wake, she was not there to hold any hands, we had to old each others the way she taught so gracefully, and I would say we did her proud. 

It may sound strange, but Aunt Mary was an icon. Professors and Key Food knew who she was based on her daily visits. She was a part of a growing town and survived her whole high school graduating class. It is the end of an era for a community and for a family for sure. Death is just a matter of life, and I am so thankful to have had Aunt Mary - but it does not mean I will miss her any less. 

The words that were spoken in her honor were incredible - we all should strive to have those things said about us when we pass. If I know her, she is in a new shiny red car with Uncle Andy watching over Kings Park as I type. God Bless You Aunt Mary, you were a shining example for us all.