Marie Aurora Scotto: Beloved Mother

Marie Aurora Scotto

Beloved Mother

July 21, 1930 - February 21, 2019

Marie Aurora Scotto, 88, passed peacefully into the arms of Jesus on February 21, 2019, at her home at Pennybryn at Maryfield in High Point, NC, surrounded by her family. Born in the family home (in the same bed as her mother Isabella had been), in the village of Sammichele di Bari, Italy, during a rare sighting of the Aurora Borealis, she was named Aurora Maria. The village priest reversed her name at her baptism, saying that Aurora was not a Christian name. 

Maria Aurora, at the age of 4 months, returned by ship with her mother and siblings, Ann, called Nina (2) and Peter (1) to her father, Nicholas in New York. During the journey, the ship nearly sank. Isabella got down on her knees with her children in her arms and prayed to St. Anthony. The ship and family were saved.

Growing up in the Bronx and Astoria, Queens, Marie (whose name had been Americanized by her teachers), was an outstanding student, skipping a grade in elementary school. Marie later attended Berkshire Hills School for Young Women, located in the former home of poet William Cullen Bryant, a “finishing school” in Great Barrington, MA, where she studied German and Music. Marie was a standout as a singer at many school performances. Marie then attended Hunter College for Woman in Manhattan near St. Patrick’s Cathedral, studying Art, Education, and Natural History. Marie also worked in her family’s restaurant, “Moonlight,” to pay for her schooling along with Nina and Peter, and her cousin Mary Torelli. 

On St. Patrick’s Day in 1951, she met a shy young man with a winning smile at a dance at the Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute. Initially reluctant to encourage Michael Joseph Scotto, Marie gave him a false name: Marie O’Dooley. The intrepid young man got her phone number and pursued the woman he knew would be the love of his life. Marie soon returned his affections and they became engaged in his ’51 Chevy Deluxe three months later in Patchogue, Long Island. That fall, while walking home, Marie and Mike were struck by a car driven by a drunk driver. Mike was knocked over and Marie was dragged for three blocks. Severely injured, Marie received last rites, and Mike, who hated hospitals, bravely visited her during her recovery.

Mike and Marie married on June 19, 1954, at St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church in Astoria, with large Italian reception at Hotel One-Fifth Ave. After an eventful wedding night at the Savoy-Plaza and a honeymoon in Maine (detailed in the book Don’t Call Me Mister by Michael J. Scotto), the newlyweds settled into their first home on Clinton St. and Third Place in Brooklyn, close to the Scotto family. Marie worked for Bell Telephone while Mike pursued his career as an electrical engineer. 

Their first child, Lisa Marie, was born in Brooklyn, NY, in April 1955, followed closely by Joseph Nicholas in 1956. After the family moved to Garden City, Long Island, Paul Michael was born in 1958. Mike’s career took him to Kittery, Maine, in 1960 and on to Mystic, Connecticut, in 1961, where Maria Louise was born. After an eventful sojourn to Biloxi, Mississippi, in 1962, the family returned to CT and then moved to Seattle, Washington, where Carla Beth was born in 1963. Mike was diagnosed with cancer while working there so he and Marie, sending the three oldest ahead for schooling, drove across country with the two youngest to seek treatment in New York. The family settled in Pennsylvania where Mike recovered. Michael Francis was born there in 1966. During these many moves and births, Marie devoted herself to the loving care of her children and her husband with grace and joy. 

While raising her large family, Marie volunteered at Epiphany of Our Lord Church and School where she sang in the choir. Marie also worked in administrative positions to help support her family including her six children, her mother Isabella, her father-in-law, Joseph, the family dog, Fuma, and the family cat, Kit-ten. Known for her hospitality, open heart, and welcoming arms, Marie made many friends and was beloved by the community.

In 1980, Mike accepted a new position in Greensboro, NC, and Marie moved with her mother, Carla, and Michael, to establish a new home once again. Marie took classes at UNCG for quilting, tap-dancing, Italian, and guitar and became a vital member of St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church, again singing in the choir, often soloing at weddings and funerals. A member of the Newcomer’s Club, singing with the New Hummers, she reached out to new residents, welcoming them with open arms and a sympathetic ear. Marie ministered to the aging at Evergreens Nursing Center and Pennybryn at Maryfield bringing music, love, and joy into the lives of everyone she met. 

Marie loved being a grandmother to her 17 grandchildren, Robert Andrew, Jeffrey David, and Thera Marie (Lisa and Bob); Travis Joseph and Curtis David (Joseph and Donna); Nicholas Anthony and Angeline Nicole (Paul and Judy); Jeana Marie and Harry Valentine (Maria and Harry), Maria Isabella, Nina Francis, Michael Elijah, Joseph David (Carla and Michael); Brooklyn Hope, Moriah Joy, London Darby, and Boston Clay (Michael and April); and her six great-grandchildren.

Devoted to one another. Mike’s and Marie’s was a true love story, filled with music, which lasted almost 60 years. When Mike died in 2014, Marie remained in the family home until a fall and a broken hip led her back to Pennybryn at Maryfield as a resident. Her joyful spirit embraced everyone there and she was loved by staff and residents alike. She attended every activity and daily Mass, wearing one of her signature hats. While valiantly enduring the debilitations of Huntington’s Disease, Marie’s smile never wavered, her embracing arms never closed, and her love for her family, her friends, and her God shone about her. 

Marie’s grand-daughter Thera related one story that illustrates Marie’s great love for her Savior and for everyone she met. In a diary “Grammy” shared, Thera read prayers that Grammy had written. Grammy prayed that she could love and be kind to people who weren’t very nice, or people whom she didn’t naturally like very much. What surprised Thera was that, while Grammy’s love seemed as natural as breathing, she had to work at loving as much as everyone else. It was a humbling experience to find that Grammy worked at loving, prayed for love, and was given the grace to live love out.

Marie’s love for everyone who knew her was real! Even at the end of her life, when her health problems were slowly taking her away, her love for her Lord Jesus and for her “neighbors” shone through. Her love and joy were a blessing to her family who surrounded her, in person or by Skype, on the day she went to heaven.

Marie is survived by her six children, her 17 grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren, also by her sisters, Ann, in Grass Valley, CA, and Angela, in Middletown, NJ, and many cousins, nieces, and nephews. She was predeceased by her husband Michael Joseph and her brother Peter. 

A requiem Mass for Marie Aurora Scotto will be celebrated on Friday, March 15, 2019, at St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church at 11:00 am in Greensboro, NC. A luncheon will follow. Donations in her memory can be made to Huntington’s Disease Society of America (www.hdsa.org) or Pennybryn at Maryfield (www.pennybrynliving.org). The family thanks all of you who extend support, love, and prayers at this difficult time. 

A Mother's Hands

A Mother’s Hands

Lately, I have noticed a change in my hands. More and more when I look at them, I see my mother’s hands. I wonder if I will be worthy of such hands.

I remember my mother’s hands. I see them changing my baby brother’s diapers as he wiggled. I see them tickling his elbows and knees. I see them washing a mountain of dishes after feeding six hungry children. I see those hands washing faces, scrubbing knees, and brushing hair. I see them folded in prayer.  

I feel my mother’s hands too. I feel them patting my back when I choked on the penny I had so foolishly swallowed. I feel them soothing my arms and legs with cool water as I burned with fever. I remember the pull as she smoothed my unmanageable hair into the ponytails I’d begged for.  

Those hands held me close. They soothed my feelings and healed my hurts. They lovingly corrected my errors, taught me life lessons, and washed my socks. A mother’s hands teach her children about the world and love is their primary lesson. I hope that my hands continue this legacy.

As I age, I wonder if I will see my Nonna’s hands. Her hands packed up meager belongings and immigrated to a new world. Her fingers embroidered beautiful tablecloths and handkerchiefs as she struggled to learn English and keep house for her brothers. Her hands made a home for her children in America. They worked long hours cooking in her husband’s restaurant and, when he became ill, those same hands worked in a chocolate factory, hour after hour, banging the frames to knock out the molded candy.  

I remember Nonna’s hands cutting up zucchini and garlic, chopping carrots and celery, kneading the pizza dough and throwing it joyfully into the air, then expertly catching it. I watched them rolling the pasta-stick shaping each delicate piece. Her hands folded mountains of clothes, crocheted mittens and slippers, massaged aching muscles, and pulled dandelions to cook for a special treat.  Once, when I lay very sick, those hands spent hours chopping ice with a hammer to cool my throbbing throat.  

Of course, I had two grandmothers. I see Nana's hands brushing the crumbs from the table, washing the greens in the sink, passing the pasta, weeding the garden, illustrating a story and lowering the hems of my dresses as I grew. My father’s mother sewed beautiful clothes with her hands. Nana dreamed of sewing my wedding dress but her hands fell still too soon.

When I think of these things, aging hands seem a blessing. I wonder if other parts of me will come to resemble my mother. Will I develop eyes that see only good in others? Will my ears strain to hear the joy in the hearts of my children? Will my feet hurry to help and my arms yearn to carry the hurts away and surround those hurting with love?  Will my heart grow more tender and full?

My mother’s hands held my children and my children’s children too. The memory of my mother’s hands still comforts and caresses. She holds us still.