Winner: 2007 Caregiver of the Year

Tug McGraw Foundation Honors Recipient Arlene Roselli

Caregivers are often unsung heroes.  From professional caregivers to family and friends, a caregiver helps manage the physical, mental, emotional and social well-being of the patient.  

This year the Tug McGraw Foundation is honoring a “Caregiver of the Year.” Every story is unique, but the Tug McGraw Foundation seeks out those that have embraced the “Ya Gotta Believe” spirit that Tug McGraw exemplified.  The nominations submitted for this award included heartbreaking and inspiring stories of caregivers who demonstrated great courage, faith, strength and a “Ya Gotta Believe” attitude in caring for brain tumor patients.  From these, we had the difficult task of selecting one caregiver to represent these amazing people.

The Tug McGraw Foundation is honored to announce Arlene Roselli as the 2007 Tug McGraw Foundation “Caregiver of the Year.”

“The Bravest Woman I Know”

(By her daughter, Kristine E. Balalaos)

My mother, Arlene Roselli, is the bravest woman I know.  I am in awe of her strength.  I honestly don’t know how she has gone through her life with such grace and beauty and still filled with so much love and faith.  In my 30 years, I’ve never met anyone who’s had so many obstacles and misfortunes to triumph over. 

She met my dad, John – “Pops” as I liked to call him, (and technically my stepfather) – about a year after her first husband (my biological father) died in a boating accident.  John was the produce manager of the local grocery store, and he noticed – even in her frazzled state, shopping with three little girls – that she was not wearing a wedding ring. So he would bribe us kids with fresh fruit, while all the while wooing my mom. She was raising her daughters: Dana (4), Lynn (5), and me, Kristine (8).  John was a divorced father of two little boys, Clinton (3) and Justin (5).  Amidst the chaos of raising five young kids, they became soul mates and best friends.  When they married, they created such an awesome family—it was like we had always been together. 

Our lives came to a halt on October 27, 2005.  My father had undergone brain surgery to remove a walnut-sized tumor a couple days before.  When the doctor entered his hospital room to share the biopsy results, we had every faith that it was benign.  We were so wrong.  Our father, John Robert Roselli, was diagnosed with Stage 4 glioblastoma-multiforme.  He was devastated, to say the least.  When news of this tragedy hit, we turned to my mother, as always, to be our pillar of strength.

While we all fell apart, my mother immediately set forth on a mission to take the very best care of him.  After all, when her first husband died suddenly, there was no time for good-byes, and she wasn’t going to waste one single minute.  My mother did the work of three nurses and constantly researched brain tumors, while keeping her full-time job. 
The next few months proved to be challenging.  My father was having a hard time dealing with not being able to do the things he loved, things we take for granted like driving a car, mowing the lawn and going to work.  We were all facing the knowledge that this tumor could kill him, while trying to stay positive and assure him that it wouldn’t. 

While working around the clock to meet my dad’s progressing needs, my mother took time out to get her yearly mammogram.  As if someone were making this up, she learned that she too had cancer.  She spent the next several months not only getting a double mastectomy and chemotherapy, but also making sure they both took the proper medications and attended every doctor appointment.  She stuck to her mission to believe that he would conquer brain cancer.  She was so determined to be there for my father in his deteriorating state.  My parents never complained, and they never felt sorry for themselves.  My mother scheduled their chemo treatments at the same time, making what could have been awful experiences just more time spent together.  She never said it, but I think it made my mother feel better that my dad didn’t have to go through this alone.

By the time my mom finished her treatments in July 2006, the doctors declared her “cancer-free,” but my father had grown much worse.  He needed 24/7 care and my mother gave it freely, lovingly, and with the most amazing sense of selflessness.  Although we were so relieved she was healed, it was bittersweet and we took no time to celebrate. 
I remember my sister Lynn asking my mother, “What do we do?” My mother responded, “We do what we normally do. We keep things as normal as possible for Dad’s sake, and we do our best to make him happy.” And that’s exactly what we did. We gave him dignity in an undignified disease. We loved him so much and told him so every chance we could, and he never missed a moment to tell us the same. He was so appreciative and eventually happy—happy to be alive, happy to be surrounded by his family as he always was, and happy to have such a wonderful wife.  He often told everyone, “She’s the best, my wife, look at her.  Isn’t she beautiful?” We found strength in each other and truly enjoyed every moment together as a family. We spent so much time laughing, and when we couldn’t laugh, we just sat together, thankful for another day.

After a long and courageous battle, beating some of the doctors’ odds, my beautiful father passed away on January 18, 2007, three months shy of his 50th birthday and a Hawaiian family vacation.  He was at home surrounded by my mother and all six of his children, including his son-in-law, Kris. 

Pictured from left: John, daughter Kristine, and wife/caregiver Arlene.

The past eight months have proven to be the hardest.  Some days we wake up unsure of how to function – and it’s like the world keeps spinning around so quickly and none of us can move. But my mother is still the fixed point in our lives.

She has dealt with so much – and all the while she has maintained a wonderful spirit that is truly contagious. People gravitate toward her, and even in sadness my mother still makes other people feel more secure.  This is what my father loved so much about her – his love made her stronger and she shares that strength with us. 

My mother has lost her husband—we have lost our father and our world—but still, she sustains us.