Just a few days more then 10 years ago, my Papa lost his brave battle with a very aggressive cancer. So aggressive in fact that he didn’t discover it until around Halloween of October, 2000 and he passed away on December 19th, 2000. He was a special man. My mother still feels extreme guilt over my Papa’s death. He went through some very aggressive surgery when we learned of his cancer (working at Johns Hopkins, allows for you to call in a favor every now and then) and he were hopeful that it would not take his life. He was hopeful too. So very hopeful. Sadly, the treatment did not work although he fought the good fight. The man wanted to live to be 100. He wanted to make it to his 60th wedding anniversary. He made it to 88 and was married for 59 years. My son is named after him. He was the last of a generation of truly good, honest men. The son of Italian immigrants, a World War II vet, who had a work ethic like no other, who had a sense a family and duty and responsibility that those of this generation simply do not understand. I was with him, in his room, the night he took his last breath. I knew the moment his spirit was no longer in his physical form.
A few years later, his wife, my Nonna, lost her battle with alzheimers, around 8am on Christmas morning. She was a tough old bird. A feisty, resilient Italian matriarch, with a beautiful sense of style She was hard to understand at times, but she grew softer and warmer as the alzheimers took over. A daughter of Italian immigrants, a sister of 6 other siblings, and a saying of “you can’t fight city hall” used often. She believed in the beauty of the holidays, the importance of family, the joy of a good game of cards and she could cook the heck out of some homemade pasta. She grew up with a wall around her heart, from the challenges of life, but the moments where that wall was removed, when she let you into her heart, are moments that I treasure. When she passed I was driving to Pennsylvania for my cousin, her great-neices, wedding. I was coming over a hill, and the sun was rising behind it, casting a warm red and orange glow over the valley. At that very moment I had a sense of peace and calm that can not fully be described, and I knew she was finally at peace. Moments later my mother called me to let me know that what I had believed was true, my Nonna joined my Papa. It was the kind of moment that even the non-believers couldn’t deny was very spiritual.
And my Grami. Simply writing about her makes me cry. My relationship with her was unique and deeply special. She was simple, in a beautiful apple pie and meatloaf kind of way. I credit her with my love of cooking. She prided herself on her marriage of utopic happiness. She was a homemaker, a Sunday School Teacher, and a grandmother. She was my biggest cheerleader, my support system, providing me with an unconditional love that few ever get to experience. I have a china cabinet full of the music boxes she carefully picked out for me every year for my birthday, along with binders of the “Grami Love Books” she created for me as a child. I have boxes of the letters she sent me in college, and my blankie still rests under my head every night. I wasn’t able to say goodbye to her when she passed away, I was past my due date and my husband was horribly sick with pancreatitis, and hospitalized. She too had suffered from the horrible affects of alzheimers for years. It wasn’t until the very end that she did not know who I was and it was very painful to see the woman who had been my comfort, my security blanket for so long, slowly become someone that I no longer knew. I still feel guilty that I wasn’t there for her when her spirit left her body. I hope she knows that my spirit was with her and it always was.
I love the holidays. But they are also hard. The reminder of those who are no longer her lingers in my psyche, creating a little pang of sadness in my heart. This year, amidst all of the happiness and the joy, I remember them.
