You were missed this past Easter. More specifically, I missed your tough baker’s hands and my ultimate favourite indulgence, Calzone di cipolla heavenly onion pie. I never appreciated enough when you were alive how important upholding these traditions were. I wish I would have taken the time to learn more about some of these recipes.
Magic ingredients you used to craft taste sensations year after year with your skilled hands. Into your eighties upper body rounded over a countertop, you kept up with the back breaking work, making batch after batch of enough food to feed a small army.
I’m not sure now, how much we really knew about you. Obviously quite strong, you moved oceans away from home, to a country where everyone spoke a different language. Leaving one place, following the hope of a better life somewhere in the unknown.
Your smile always seemed at it’s brightest, in pictures when you went back to visit. Did you ever really want to move?
Like a fragile leaf, torn and broken on your knees, you screamed the name of your beloved dead son…
Only as we were loosing you in the hospital, did this intense vulnerability appear again.
With heavy breath, time and the world stopped because nothing else mattered.
Cold room warmed by loving hands. Trembling hands held still, questioning hands reassured by prayer. Dying hands waving goodbye to hands holding on tightly, for one last time.
I hope we were able to bring you some comfort and that you knew you were cared for and loved.
Now your spirit lives on in eternal peace, never having to feel loss or be physically slowed down by aches and pains, when it yearns to remain active and free.
You are free now Nonna! Free from anything that ever stopped you from having that big, bright smile on your face all the time.