Socrates said that “death may be the greatest of all human blessings.” And while I’m not so sure I agree, it was the one quote I found--after hours of searching the internet--that I could see Nonnie shaking her little hands in agreement to. She was not afraid to die, if anything she had a kind of on-going, one-sided, correspondence with death, as if it were a long lost relative who refused to visit for reasons unknown. The great beyond is never very far away in an Italian household. Jesus, Mary, the Saint’s, and our ancestors are located in various picture frames around the house so they can be accessed directly. And while Nonnie believed in heaven, she had a pretty good feeling it was located on her back porch, on warm summer afternoons, when the setting sun hit the wisteria vines just so and turned everything purple, green, and gold.
One of the most uniquely special things about my grandmother was her poet’s appreciation for the beauty of the world. I can recall so many times driving her to the Big Banana for example, she would point out the green of the trees along Long Beach Road, a street not known primarily for its flora. “Aren’t they beautiful?” She would say. They were, when you took a second to really see them. And of course, more obviously, her garden in all its incarnations, with string beans, tomatoes, zucchini, mint in the summer to go in the Orzata, and the African Violets on the windowsill, the Camellias, the Dahlias, all flourishing to an almost supernatural extreme.
Her beautiful garden was physical example of her capacity to nurture. Her amazing cooking, to nourish. The countless dresses she would sew for me until she was physically unable and even beyond--I would thread her needle the way she did for her grandmother. The home she kept, and the feeling it instilled in all who entered it, a feeling of security, safety, and love. A warm place with good smells. She was mother. She was nature.
The other day at the wake I was sitting alone thinking about how in the world I was going to write a eulogy for Nonnie, a task I have been dreading since she and my mother nominated me for the job a while back. I borrowed a pad and pen and tried in vain to scribble something coherent through my tears. I failed. The only thing that surfaced was the following sentence that I must have written at least ten times.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
Because how do you thank a person who has loved you unconditionally, beyond all measurable bounds of reason since before you can remember? A person who no matter what state of mind they’re in, (half asleep, headaches, dementia,) greets you with the most radiant of smiles the second they see your face. A person who from practically their deathbed wants to fix the drooping hem of your sweater so you look as nice and neat as possible? All we had to do was admire something of hers and she would offer it. Not to spoil or bribe, but for the sheer pleasure of making us smile. I don’t know if I have ever loved that purely, but I feel I am a better, kinder, and stronger person for having received hers.
Nonnie was at her core, a generous woman. She instilled that quality in her children and grandchildren. Brian the teacher, Kevin the protector, Darren and I, the writers and Christopher the healer. Her son who ushers life into the world, her youngest daughter who cares for creatures great and small, and especially in my mother, the caretaker, who gave more of herself then she had to give and was there for the long haul and till the very end. On that night Socrates was right, and death came in the form of a blessing. Under the full February moon, in the arms of her female descendents she stepped from a bodily vessel that had ceased to serve her, and pushed open the screen door onto her back porch, eternal summer, the magic of nature, and the loving embrace of the infinite.
I am grateful to have had her as such a huge part of my life for as long as I did and I will miss her with all my heart. We can honor her memory by passing on the family traditions, the stories, and the recipes, the generosity, and most of all by taking her most poignant piece of advice to heart. “Love yourself,” she would simply say. The longer version, as interpreted by yours truly, “love yourself the way I love you and you won’t be able to settle for anything less then the best.” Thank you, Nonnie. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you forever, and may you rest in peace. Xoxoxo.
