The Cardinal’s Promise

I was born Claudio Balderas in Mexico City.

I left Mexico with my mother in 1982. Four years later, a man named Lou Brizzi adopted me and raised me in Ramsey, New Jersey. He gave me his name. He gave me a family. He gave me an example of what it looks like to stay.

People ask what it’s like to be adopted. The honest answer is I didn’t think about it much when I was young. Lou was my dad. That was it. He showed up for my wrestling matches. He drove me to school. He sat across from me at dinner. He was there.

It wasn’t until later — until addiction took me apart and recovery put me back together — that I understood what he actually did. He chose me. Not once. Every day. Even the days I made it impossible.

A name is a strange thing. It’s the first thing someone gives you and the last thing people say when you’re gone. Claudio Balderas is who I was born. Rob Brizzi is who I was chosen to become.

I think about that now in the work I do. When I sit with families at the end of someone’s life, I see the same thing Lou gave me: people choosing each other. Choosing to stay. Choosing to be in the room even when it hurts.

That’s what family is. Not the name on the birth certificate. The person who pulls the chair close and doesn’t leave.

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