Caught in the middle

Edgar Melik-Stepanyan

In the midst of Wednesday’s practice, with the thought of his

ailing mother in the back of his mind, Glendale Community College

football player Oscar Giangrasso honed in on his talents in

preparation for a tough contest just three days later.

During a break, Giangrasso checked his cellular phone and heard a

frightening message.

The message was alarming enough for him to drop everything and

terrifying enough to speed on the Ventura (134) Freeway from GCC to

Burbank.

The message had been left by his cousin Laura Rotta -- a

20-year-old who has dedicated her days to taking care of Giangrasso’s

mother, Veronica -- telling Giangrasso to come home because his mom

had suffered another seizure.

As Giangrasso drove home, the thoughts of spending the final

moments with his mother, who has brain cancer and is under hospice

care, was all too common.

“When she has a seizure, it might be her last one, and I want to

be there with her during her last moments,” Giangrasso said.

For the past year, Veronica Giangrasso’s brain cancer has taken a

turn for the worse, causing her to lose her sight several months ago

and limiting her speech, all the while her son has been thriving on

the football field.

“It’s a tremendous burden of not knowing if your mother is going

to be alive when you get back home,” Vaquero Coach John Cicuto said

of his sophomore tight end.

“That’s a very unique situation. But my hat goes off to him,

because he’s a very strong guy.”

*

For being a 6-foot-3, 20-year-old, Giangrasso has never felt so

helpless.

There isn’t much he -- or doctors, for that matter -- can do for

his 56-year-old mother.

Giangrasso is simply grateful that his mother is still alive,

despite being diagnosed with brain cancer more than two years ago and

given a short time to live while she went through chemotherapy for a

year.

“She’s very strong to still be alive,” Giangrasso said.

His precious memories are derived from being by her bedside and

cherishing the few moments they still have remaining together.

“I don’t know if I’m waiting for her to go, but she’s peaceful and

that’s the thing that makes me happy,” said a mellow Giangrasso.

There are times, though, when he would rather escape the confines

of their residence.

There are moments when thinking about his mother and what she used

to be, compared to what she is now -- “Basically morphed from being a

strong person to almost helpless,” according to Giangrasso -- are too

tough to handle.

“It’s the little things [that hurt],” said Giangrasso’s retired

father, Rodolfo, who moved to the U.S. from Argentina along with his

wife in 1969, a year after they got married.

“It’s very hard for everyone. There are times when he doesn’t want

to stay too long in the house [because of the anguish of seeing his

mother].”

Veronica Giangrasso’s cancer has changed her youngest son and his

persona.

“It gears you up in life and gets you ready to take on other

challenges,” Oscar Giangrasso said. “You don’t think about it when

you’re going through it, but it’s [unfortunate] and you hope it gets

over as fast as possible.

“A piece of you is different. I value my life a lot more because

you can die at anytime.

“But this is going to make me stronger.”

*

Giangrasso has no complaints, but his life was a lot easier prior

to two years ago, when he didn’t have a worry except for bulking his

260-pound frame and attempting to become noticed by college scouts.

He graduated from Burroughs High in 2000 and went to GCC, along

with Indian teammates Joe Kroells and Carlos Coronado, and has since

become a strong blocking tight end who has been recruited by the

likes of San Jose State University, Mississippi State University and

the University of Ohio.

A little more than two years removed from his playing days at

Burroughs -- where his mom last saw him compete -- Giangrasso’s life

has been forever altered by not only his mother, but his 27-year-old

brother Carlos as well.

Giangrasso’s older sibling’s demeanor changed drastically after

his mom was placed into hospice care and eventually, because of

unspecified differences, he moved out several months ago to an

undisclosed location.

“I feel sorry for him,” Giangrasso said.

“[I want to say] ‘Come back home Carlos.’

“We miss him.”

As another day approaches, Giangrasso wakes up in the morning,

blessed to be alive and fortunate enough to be able to play football.

He goes through a day that is anything but routine, hoping and

praying that when he gets home, he’ll be able to spend more time with

his loving mother.