The greatest catalyst for my suddenly putting thought to pixel (fifteen years ago that’d have been “pen to paper”) has been that D and I are in Italy to attend to my [insert sinister musical score here] Mother-In-Law. Mothers-In-Law (or is that Mother-In-Laws?)
G, as I refer to her here, really is my mother in Law. Not only did I marry her daughter legally on two continents, but we were hitched in an 11th century church by a genuine Italian Catholic, Father Don Roberto (a Priest who drives an Alfa and owns a couple original Warhols, but is still totally serious about the Catholic thing). The whole ceremony (even my part with the vows) was in Italian, so I really don’t know all of what I promised. But my Mom-In-Law G does, and I’ll forever do my level best to be the [insert fairy tale musical score here] super excellent Son-In-Law she deserves.
Much of this is because I also want to be an excellent husband, which isn’t always easy even if I did score a most excellent Missus. Over the last several days I’ve been keenly aware that the fabulousness that Mrs D has brought to my life, my family members’ lives, my friends’ lives [and the lives of many other people I’ve only met briefly or heard about third-hand] is largely the result of the upbringing she received from G.
Ask D the question “who is your hero?” and before you can think about on which side of the quotation marks belongs the punctuation she responds “My Mom.” And now that I sort of know the woman, that’s the answer I’d give too.
When D was just six years old, her father died. She remembers him and remembers how very unhappy she was to be without him while he was ill and after he passed. She remembers being sent away to stay with family in Sardinia and wanting so badly to stay with her immediate family and she remembers not understanding why this couldn’t be.
He was hospitalized for a while before he passed, and G went to visit him every day. She always took the taxi to the hospital, visited, then returned home. Until one day, she decided to take the tram instead [trams are more affordable than taxis, I suppose, though I don’t know why she did things differently this one time]. By taking the tram instead of a taxi, she arrived at the hospital later than usual and found that during those very precious few minutes – those ‘between the taxi’s typical arrival time’ and the ‘time it takes to ride the tram instead,’ Mr Loi passed away.
G was now a 36 year old single mother of 2 daughters who hadn’t any job training nor preparation for making a living. She’d never driven a car. At a time when many of us might allow ourselves some level of self-pity, doubt or lack of motivation, G instead moved directly into the role with purpose. She took her daughters to ballet classes - one daughter on the handlebars and the other on the rear rack – by bicycle. She cheered them up when they came home in tears because it was “make art for your Dad” day at school and they’d been sent out of the room because they didn’t have a Dad.
She gave everything of herself to ensure that her two girls were not without opportunity. And she did it well, with dignity, and without hesitation. To this day, she calls no attention to herself, nor does she complain about the hand she was dealt some decades ago. And to this day, she wears her wedding band.
This day – today, I mean – the surgeon called. G is now an “emergency case” and instead of ‘sometime in the next few weeks,' we’re off to the hospital tomorrow. We’re all relieved by this, as we’ve tired of the holding pattern. So today we’re packing some things and getting ready to head out in the morning [the hospital is in another town, and we’ll be staying in an apartment that rents by the week there].
G has her hair in curlers this afternoon because tomorrow, she has An Appointment With a Gentleman. Even in this serious time, dignity calls for a respectable presentation.
Our niece (she’s 9) and nephew (turned 5 last week) will be staying with their other Grandma. About an hour before they left, things here went a little bit south. The older one knows that her Nonna isn’t well and wants to be close to her immediate family. The young one is less aware, and less bothered. There were some tears and some pleading, which helped in a way but did little to change the reality of their departure other than to delay it for a few – a very precious few – minutes.
As the kids were leaving and I watched them give and receive hugs that lasted longer and went deeper than any I’d seen them share before, I knew that they and their Nonna were making sure that they know how very much they care about one another. This was a long goodbye.
And we stood there waving as they left, calling out “Ciao Bambini!” and smiling at these perfect innocents. We stood there on the balcony, with me quietly thinking of another two perfect innocents whose Mom never backed down and stood strong in the face of genuine adversity.
We just need one more rally from you, Signora Persico. Just one more.
Baci,
Cameron
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