The Joan Chronicles: Pearls of Wisdom on the Journey to Heaven

By Sara Pizano MA DVM

Joan Rita Hahn Pizano was an eternal optimist and deeply spiritual. Her capacity to receive and give love was astounding, and she was a beloved mother, wife, sister, aunt, and friend. When her oncologist told her there were no more treatment options for her cancer, she faced the news with resolve and looked forward to the miracle of heaven. Her lack of fear and depth of peace greatly helped her family and friends deal with the inevitable. But it was her sense of humor that impacted so many, and as her daughter chronicled her last six months on earth, the stories evoked tears and laughter simultaneously. This is a story of a woman who was totally unafraid to die, who in fact embraced the process of the passing and who truly lived until she breathed her last breath.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496950406

Book preview

THE JOAN CHRONICLES

Pearls of Wisdom on the Journey to Heaven

By Sara Pizano, MA, DVM

AuthorHouse™

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© 2014 Sara Pizano, MA, DVM. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/25/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5040-6 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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This book is dedicated to my mom

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

The Recipes

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks go out to all the people who loved my mom and whom she loved back. I call them The Collection. They are family and friends with little distinction between the two categories. They are a collection of people through the years that stayed connected through time and across many miles. To all of you, I give my heartfelt and grateful appreciation. Your love lifted my mom to unimaginable heights and your encouragement during this journey and through the publishing of this story has meant the world to me.

Thank you to my awesome editor, Judith Faerron and to my friends who took the time to thoughtfully review the manuscript, Andrea AJ Catalano, Yvonne Grassie, Barbara Pinto, Ilidia Alvarez-Landestoy and Ericka Cohen.

Thank you to Lexi Levere, Coley Levere and Isabelle Pluchino for being the perfect fill-in grandchildren and far wiser than their few years.

May we all live and finish as well as my mom.

PREFACE

Joan Rita Hahn was born on November 24, 1936, in the small town of Minersville, Pennsylvania. The main industry in Minersville was—you guessed it—coal mining, but our main family business was funerals.

My mom grew up with her extended family in a large funeral home, and she kept amazing memories of that innocent time. Like most girls, she had two life goals: to have a family and a home of her own.

After high school she received a degree from the Reading School of Nursing, because she believed it would enable her to be a better mom to her future children.

And an amazing mom she was. With my dad’s encouragement, she chose to stay home and make sure my brother, Rafael, and I had a hot breakfast and a healthy dinner. In 1971, our family purchased a home with seven bedrooms overlooking endless acres. We never did without, and it was many decades before I understood and truly appreciated that this was solely because of mom’s incredible money managing skills and, as one friend put it, her ability to stretch a dollar like nobody’s business.

And so it was, in February 2012, when her oncology team said they had no further treatment options following her two-year battle with ovarian cancer, that I left my home in Florida and moved back to the house where I grew up in order to care for my mom. Thanks to my medical training as a veterinarian, I was able to manage her hospice care and doctors’ orders at home—with IV fluids, medications and an intravenous morphine pump—so she would not have to be hospitalized. Friends called it amazing and difficult, but I saw it as one of God’s greatest blessings in my life, and a true honor. An opportunity to help her finish well.

During one of her last hospital stays it became too emotionally difficult to call the many friends and family who cared so much about her, so I started sending out daily group email updates. Years before, her friend Kevin had nicknamed her The Joan, because her personality was just too big to have a single first name—like Donald Trump being called The Donald.

So my updates came to be known as The Joan Chronicles, or TJC, and they helped our loved ones deal with the inevitable. Those loved ones forwarded them on to friends going through similar trials, and there was a great ripple effect. To this day I don’t know exactly how many people followed our journey during that time, but even those who never met my mom fell in love with her through TJC, and shared in our triumphs and trials.

In the depths of great and ongoing physical pain, my mom never complained, she was never angry and I don’t believe she ever cried about her illness. She likened the suffering to childbirth. You experience unbearable pain giving birth but you know that on the other side of it is the indescribable miracle of a baby. My mom felt that the pain she suffered with during her illness would only lead her to the indescribable miracle of Heaven. It was very simple.

Friends and family sent endless cards, emails and well wishes, really too many to count and most so touching that it was hard to believe that one person could absorb so much love. My mom seemed to have an endless capacity to give and receive, and I realized that through TJC our loved ones comforted me as much as I comforted them.

Dear Sara,

Thank you so very, very much for writing such witty, informative, make-the-best-of-things updates about your precious, wonderful, loving, lovable mother—updates that carry the essence of the adorable, delightful, magical, fabulous The Joan we all fell madly in love with the minute we met her, and who we came to love even more dearly and deeply as we got to know her. My memories of our days together in Japan are some of the most treasured ones I have….

* * *

Dear Joanie,

Thank you for all the good times and memories you gave me growing up and for all the times you cured me for my mother. I know she would not have been able to survive us kids without you. From broken legs to poison ivy, you were our savior! Your pearls will/do ring in our heads forever. Every time the weather changes, hot, cold, or rainy, I hear, You really should keep your head covered. You have given my girls so many joyous times, good advice, taught them many things and have given them so many wonderful memories. Our lives were blessed to have you in our family.

* * *

Dear Sara,

Joanie has such amazing courage and faith, as well as strength to go through everything….I am in awe of her grace. I am filling up with tears as I write these words to you, I have come to know and be so fond of all of you. I am having overwhelming feelings of happiness and sadness all at the same time. Sending you all my heartfelt love and prayers for ease and peace in these coming days….

* * *

Dear Joan,

Even though we didn’t get to see each other much over the years, I hope you know how special you have always been to me. You were such a blessing to me as a young mother when I lived in NY, and so clueless about so many things. Such a great person to know and friend to treasure. Please know I’m praying for you and your family for God’s healing touch and peace and comfort.

* * *

Dear Sara,

No one was a stranger to your mom, just a friend she hadn’t met yet. I knew it from all the stories my mom shared with me and I felt grateful to have experienced it for a few years in person. Please give her a kiss from me. She is an amazing woman. Both of your parents are people who embed themselves deep in the hearts of those who get to know them. Share with her that I send my love and prayers. If she’s up for a hug, give her one of those too and let her know I love when she chooses the light green, she looks great in that shade….

* * *

Evenin’ Little Joanie,

Our stay at 107 Columbia Hill yesterday was a charming visit, one we will treasure for a lifetime. While departing 107 Main, we commented on the charm and warmth that radiated from that little cottage, obviously the warmth we felt came from the loving people living down in that third house on the left. We enjoyed the view and delightful meal but really need to know how you arranged for us to eat along with the deer! …

* * *

Dear Sara,

Monica and I would like to thank you for keeping us in the loop on The Joan’s condition. As we read your communiqués, we realize that you are drawing prose pictures of The Joan’s character, personality and indomitable spirit. In short, you are telling us what a wonderful, courageous person your mother is. Joanie is soldiering on despite severe pain and nausea. Even with the ravages of her illness, she is trying to maintain the cheerful outlook for which she is famous.

It is a privilege to know her and her wonderful family who have rallied around her during these trying times. May we all meet in the future under happier circumstances. We send good thoughts and best wishes to The Joan and all of you….

* * *

Dear Joan,

No matter how things have gone, I want to let you know how truly blessed I have felt to have you in my life. You and Serge have been a part of it before I was born and no matter what, in my heart of hearts, you both will be a part of it, continuing the positive influences long after we’ve all passed on to the other side. I was honored to share life with you as part of your family for some years, and I’ll be forever grateful. You introduced me to the ashram, mocha ice cream, Breugel and how to grow successful peonies (away from the house because of the ants). You are an impeccable example of how to live, be kind, and seek balance. Because of you, I believe in winter and that balance can be found at the bottom of a bowl of borscht with sour cream and good company!

Anyway, there’s too much to put in here and I promised brevity. So I’ll sum it up by reminding you that though our paths diverged, my love and gratitude for you in the world and in my life has never, not once, wavered or frayed. You are an incredible woman, mother, friend. I love you Joan and I don’t intend to stop….

* * *

Dear Sara,

I am grateful for all the times Joanie visited Minersville when I was there. It was always something to look forward to and always an experience when Joanie came home. I always had to behave myself! …

* * *

Dear Sara,

I’m sure you know how precious your mom is and how I feel so lucky to have her as my aunt. She was my lifeline when I was at first dealing with my mom’s condition and Nana. Do you know she actually told me she was sorry when she told me she had cancer? I’ve always looked up to her and I wish I was more like her. Please, please tell me if there’s anything at all I can do. I can be there in 3 hours….

* * *

Dear Sara,

I am so privileged to have met your Nana, Joanie and now you, Sara. Three generations of amazing women, very much alike in so many ways and yet so different. But at the core one common thing in all three of you is your LOVE and your incredible generous and giving nature. You are a gift to the world and all you touch. Yes, my sense is that your Nana is watching and guiding you all the different ways. What an incredible year this has been with so much pain and frustration yet so much joy and so much Grace!...

* * *

There are many words to describe my mom, but those spoken at the Celebration of her Life on August 2, 2012 capture the essence of Joan Rita Hahn Pizano like few others. As her godson, Thierry, put it:

"It didn’t matter how old or young we were—for all my life, there was a constant about Aunt Joanie—you knew there was a solution if you wanted it, a suggestion shared, some hint for good health.... These are just words, but...the effect of Aunt Joan...on our lives has been more impactful than any other of our actual blood relatives. How did this happen? I don’t know...but something about [her] would make you want to share every dream, every success, every heartbreak, every story….

I don’t recall Aunt Joan ever asking for anything; but she was always giving.... Perhaps that’s why she had so many friends—in the States and abroad. She had this rare gift in which you just wanted to be around her....

How very lucky we are that she was a part of our lives; how very special we were to have been blessed by her impact; how fortunate we were that she touched us in so many ways."

Those may be just words, but truer words were never spoken. Joanie’s lifelong friends near and far would undoubtedly agree with Susan Kantor, who said:

Joan was a friend like no one else...the most compassionate, honest, sympathetic and nonjudgmental person there could be. Joan was always there for whoever needed her....

This is my mom’s story; a story about someone completely unafraid to die, and who knew for sure she was going to Heaven. My mom was never dying of cancer—she lived until her last breath.

Her life and passing offer a lesson—a Pearl if you will—that every one of us needs to learn.

CHAPTER 1

There is a saying that goes like this: It’s amazing how wise our parents become as we get older. We all go through stages in life when our perceptions of our parents evolve from heroes to annoyances and back to heroes. I guess it’s God’s way of maturing us. We need to be separated in our teens and grow on our own for a while before returning to the nest by choice. I can see that progression in my own life, but it wasn’t until the year my mom passed to Heaven that her truly awesome spirit—and how deeply she was connected to so many—became evident to me.

If you are inclined to debate nature versus nurture, Joan Rita and her older sister, Mary Jane, would be an excellent case study. Joan remembers a happy childhood filled with the fellowship of her extended family, fond memories of her grandmother’s favorite recipes, the family farm, and nothing but happy times.

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From left to right: Sister Jane, Brother George and Joan, late 1930s

If Mary Jane remembered anything (she constantly swore my mom was making stuff up about their childhood) it was usually negative. Joan put on her rose-colored glasses at an early age and chose to live the life of an eternal optimist.

Still, she was close to Jane—the ravishing beauty/Natalie Wood lookalike who said whatever was on her mind, politically correct or not.

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Sisters Jane and Joan, 1950

Joan was the petite, prim and proper girl who wore gloves and hats to church without fail. Even into her seventies, repeating The First Bra Story made Joan cringe:

Jane was assigned to accompany Joan to the department store to purchase her first brassiere. There she announced to the saleslady that she thought there was no need for a bra—a couple of Band-Aids over Joan’s nipples would suffice. My mom remained mortified and emotionally scarred for life because of that comment!

My Aunt Jane settled in Minersville after she married a mortician—go figure. It’s in the family blood, so to speak, which I acknowledge is a creepy thought. My great-grandfather, grandfather, great-uncle and uncle were all Minersville morticians. Jane’s son, Mark, also became a mortician (take note, this is a foretoken). I guess someone has to do it.

My Nana once commented to me that nobody had died recently in Minersville. That’s good, I said, and she responded: Yes, but funeral directors need to live! It’s all about perspective, I guess.

In retrospect, I can see how Adams Family-esque this may sound, but growing up around dead people was totally normal for us. My Aunt Jane and Uncle Joe lived in their own funeral home as well.

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The family funeral home

My aunt’s job was applying make-up and doing the hair of the dearly departed. During my school vacations in Minersville, I would often play on the floor of the viewing room or keep my aunt company during these makeovers. That viewing room, by the way, was the same room set up for family celebrations at Thanksgiving and Christmas (don’t worry, any and all bodies were wheeled back into the morgue for safekeeping and sanitary eating).

So, being around dead bodies didn’t faze us at all—but I can tell you now, it’s a different story when it’s someone you love. A certain level of ease around dead people does not prepare you emotionally for losing a loved one or seeing their physical shell. And, with no disrespect to my ancestors and heritage, I still can’t get over the fact that we pump our loved ones’ bodies with formaldehyde, dress them up, and bury them in very pricey non-biodegradable boxes. I personally want to be cremated and fertilize something, for God’s sake! But I digress—this is about Joanie, not my end-of-life wishes.

Joan was the family renegade and the only one to leave Minersville for good. She felt called to attend nursing school and moved to the big city—Reading, Pennsylvania.

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Joan’s Nursing School Graduation picture, 1957

While her motivation was to be a better mother to her future children, her education led to an opportunity to work in a New York City public health center and then Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.

That’s when she accidentally went on a date with my future father.

Sergio Rafael Pizano was born in Manhattan to a Columbian father and Costa Rican mother.

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Serge with his parents, Clementina and Felix, mid 1930s

He didn’t speak English until he was five, and—interestingly enough—later taught English and Spanish as a college professor. Serge was a City Boy, and in 1959 worked as a night admissions clerk at Columbia Presbyterian, where my mom was a nurse.

One night my Mom was preparing to go to Minersville for the Christmas holidays and—being a true organizer and anti-procrastinator—had laid out her clothes, including little nighties, on her bed. Unbeknownst to my mom, her roommate and fellow nurse Alice, and her boyfriend,