Today marks a year since my mother passed. I still long to call her with life updates and for advice, but know she has guided me to become the person I am today, and that she is watching in the afterlife while caring for Maggie.
Here is the obituary I posted a year ago on Legacy. I wasn't in a place to be able to post it a year ago, but her legacy is worth memorializing on IG as well:
Barbara Imbriglio entered into peace on Palm Sunday, April 13, 2025 at the age of 72. Although in life she didn't venture far from her childhood home of North Branford, as George R. R. Martin said, she has "lived a thousand lives and [she has] loved a thousand loves. [She] walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because [she] read."
Barbara's life was filled with fantasy and flowers thanks to her green thumb and her love of gardening and reading. Books and blooms fill every nook and cranny of her home in Killingworth. In addition to reading, she fostered a deep love of nature in her family, encouraging everyone to explore the outdoors and to lend a hand to animals and the less fortunate. This purpose extended into her job (as an administrative assistant at Essex Elementary School for nearly 20 years) and her faith (as a youth group volunteer and a Precept Bible Study teacher).
Ron, her husband of 51 years, her children Rachel & Mark, her rescue dog Charlie, and her siblings Tom, Marybeth & Mick, Laurie & Dan, Stephen, and Chris, along with extended family, friends, and many she has touched throughout her life, will carry on Barbara's legacy. She joins her parents, George and Evelyn (Cusano) Mordecai, her brother George, and her sisters Ellen & Cathy, as well as her beloved pets, in the afterlife.
She saw San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, Idyllwild, Big Bear, Joshua Tree, Palm Springs, San Diego & North County, Albuquerque, STL, the Chicago Bean, Boston Commons, the Charles River, NYC, the Hollywood sign and Walk of Fame, tangled her leash in chairs at most of LA's coffee shops, and put her paws in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.
But most importantly, she was my partner in life. Maggie May was my constant through the beginnings and endings of jobs, apartments, and relationships. She was by my side through divorce, deaths, my mother’s strokes and decline, a Pandemic, health issues, political upheaval, and most recently, my mother’s death.
When Maggie was first diagnosed with cancer in September 2024, I was at a low point in my life and could not fathom a world where I could survive without her. She weathered the chemo like a trooper, but a year ago it put her into kidney failure. She was given 3-6 weeks to live. I could not lose my mother and my dog at the same time. And even then, Maggie listened and came through for me. She defied all odds and lived another year with kidney disease, seeing me through the death of my mother all the way through the holidays. Even as she got sicker again this December, she held on until she knew I was ready to let her go. She watched me tearfully schedule an appointment for her final goodbye, and, understanding I had finally accepted that she needed to leave, in true Maggie form, told me she wanted to go right away.
Maggie May taught me to fiercely embrace the world, to expect more, and demand care for myself. In this last season of her sickness, she helped me slow down and prioritize quiet (for myself and her) just as I needed to process the death of my mother. And now, without her here, I truly feel untethered. I still hear her collar jiggling every day. It’s so painfully quiet in my place without her. I miss opening my front door to her giant smile and tail wag; not being able to do yoga without having her snuggle up with me; being accosted by her tongue the second I step out of the shower; and the giant passive aggressive sigh when her whims are not immediately met.
(2 of 2. Final paragraph below)
A month ago, I lost my soulmate. That may seem silly to say about a dog, but Maggie May was not a dog – she was a force of nature. Fierce and filled with personality, Maggie strutted through the streets, and my entire life, with the confidence and gusto I can only hope to one day achieve.
She was my first “temporary foster” from Dogs Without Borders (oops), but I knew from the moment she sat in my lap and chastised the other dogs who dared to walk by that this was my soul dog. And she delivered on that bond more than I could ever imagine.
As Maggie recovered from being a backyard breeder mama who had never seen outside of a linoleum room, I was struggling through the end of a very toxic marriage. And this feisty furball had my back through all of that pain – from comforting me while giving him judgmental side eye, to vomiting a worm on his pillow, and even pooping in his Converse when he was using her walks as an excuse to go cheat with a neighbor. Maggie was having none of it, and when he was finally gone we switched places: the now transformed into a ferocious dog dragged me out of my hellhole and helped me embrace the fullest life possible.
Maggie (along with my father and all my worldly possessions) left LA for a bit, driving cross country along old Route 66. She saw the Grand Canyon, peed on the petrified forest, climbed volcanic mountains, walked through the belly of a (wooden) whale, sat on mini Stonehenge, chased balls through corn mazes, and tried Chicago deep dish, before settling in Connecticut for a very cold winter. This LA desert dog experienced all four seasons – crunching the autumn leaves and even the sloshing in the frozen snow, before returning to sunny Los Angeles.
There, Maggie embraced her life as a defacto celebrity – having her own trailer at the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, being called “a star” by Cesar Millan, greeting hundreds of actors at Envision Studios casting sessions every week, and then settling into her rightful throne as the Mayor of Melrose Ave during a global pandemic, begging for treats from all the fancy shops on the block – from high end perfumeries and luggage stores to dispensaries and sandwich shops.
(1 of 2)
2025 has been a year but miraculously Maggie May and I are still here. Merry Christmas and may the next year look better for you than this dumpster fire.
After a successful festival run, (Nothing) Left Unsaid will premiere in Los Angeles as part of the Los Angeles International Film Festival this Sunday, November 16 at 5:30pm at the Million Dollar Theater in DTLA.
Screening internationally has been a dream and the cherry on top will be screening locally in this beautiful theater. Hope to see you there!
A year ago, Maggie and I arrived back from a rough trip to Connecticut, where she was diagnosed with small cell lymphomia. I was exhausted, broke, and uncertain about her chances, but I also knew that this was my soul dog and I would do EVERYTHING I could for her.
In January, her cancer went into remission, but the chemo put her into kidney failure. She was given weeks to live. Someone recommended a vet in Encinitas good with GI care, and I took a gamble...and I have been superstitious to say this, but....
It has worked! Maggie is one year out from her cancer diagnosis, and stable as we manage chronic kidney disease. In late March, we threw a party for our 12-year anniversary together, and she has slowly and steadily been getting better since. I'm taking a senior dog class to help make sure I am doing everything I can to make this 15-year-young dog comfortable, and we are hoping for much more time together.
Thank you so much to everyone who has helped with rides, walks, watching, or financial support. It really does take a village. AND special thanks to @paolainla for administering subQ fluids for me so my dog doesn't hate me. I am sure some part of her knows you are helping.
![Today marks a year since my mother passed. I still long to call her with life updates and for advice, but know she has guided me to become the person I am today, and that she is watching in the afterlife while caring for Maggie.Here is the obituary I posted a year ago on Legacy. I wasn't in a place to be able to post it a year ago, but her legacy is worth memorializing on IG as well:Barbara Imbriglio entered into peace on Palm Sunday, April 13, 2025 at the age of 72. Although in life she didn't venture far from her childhood home of North Branford, as George R. R. Martin said, she has "lived a thousand lives and [she has] loved a thousand loves. [She] walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because [she] read."Barbara's life was filled with fantasy and flowers thanks to her green thumb and her love of gardening and reading. Books and blooms fill every nook and cranny of her home in Killingworth. In addition to reading, she fostered a deep love of nature in her family, encouraging everyone to explore the outdoors and to lend a hand to animals and the less fortunate. This purpose extended into her job (as an administrative assistant at Essex Elementary School for nearly 20 years) and her faith (as a youth group volunteer and a Precept Bible Study teacher).Ron, her husband of 51 years, her children Rachel & Mark, her rescue dog Charlie, and her siblings Tom, Marybeth & Mick, Laurie & Dan, Stephen, and Chris, along with extended family, friends, and many she has touched throughout her life, will carry on Barbara's legacy. She joins her parents, George and Evelyn (Cusano) Mordecai, her brother George, and her sisters Ellen & Cathy, as well as her beloved pets, in the afterlife.](https://sp1.picnob.com/p/pt_6739416430125349556037_0_fb3518b0a1aaa4e65f5fbdee3415f1c3.jpg?o=aHR0cHM6Ly9zY29udGVudC1pYWQ2LTEuY2RuaW5zdGFncmFtLmNvbS92L3Q1MS44Mjc4Ny0xNS82Njk4NjE2MzhfMTg1NzUyNzY1MTUwMjcyMDlfNTkxMTc0MTA4MzE1MTM3MDkwOV9uLmpwZz9zdHA9ZHN0LWpwZ19lMTVfdHQ2Jl9uY19odD1zY29udGVudC1pYWQ2LTEuY2RuaW5zdGFncmFtLmNvbSZfbmNfY2F0PTEwOSZfbmNfb2M9UTZjWjJnSGlvRDhYUUtWc1F4ck5sMm93b09zOTZLdXBDSnVLQXVzenRZV0NiRERTTXlrd3lEcGJvYW9KUHBrWW43bEJSR016Y0d0cjVlWVRpSm9XWnZrZUxNeVomX25jX29oYz1GYm8wQ29McGZXNFE3a052d0dTTmVPTyZfbmNfZ2lkPTlacGRPT19Md0ZrSzNFNnN2Z01ndmcmZWRtPUFQVTg5RkFCQUFBQSZjY2I9Ny01Jm9oPTAwX0FmNUFFM21YcFdtZmhucnlyM1ZyODdFcGwyTXdHX2lMd09abW9Hd0d1Y3p4Wncmb2U9NkEwRTkwMDkmX25jX3NpZD1iYzBjMmM=&h=4e05f722e951a09a56e9753697939364)
