poetry and prose

This morning, I learned that my cousin’s mother died recently. My cousin and her family live in Parma, Italy.

We met for the first time in 2017. I was on the brink of a divorce, a bit lost within myself. I took a trip to Italy solo to reconnect with myself and my roots.

In the 1920s, my great grandmother took a brave journey across the Atlantic Sea to Massachusetts, and lived in a three generational home in Springfield.

To my knowledge, she was 18-20 years old, fleeing fascism in Italy.

My grandmother was born in ‘37, speaking only Italian when she entered kindergarten, and enjoying breakfasts of toast and black coffee at the age of 5.

I’ve heard so many stories growing up, about the Italian Club that her father would drag the family to after dinner, staying up late playing bocce, surely a whole lot of gabbing, smoking, and drinking.

She’d tell me about how much she bickered with her cousin who always wanted to play, but my grandmother only wanted to read.

And she loved to share about her father killing pheasants for dinner and how much she despised the taste of meat, but had to eat it anyway.

The stories I heard were all about their Italian American lives and what it was like to grow up first generation Italian—their migration to Madera, California when my grandmother was 13, and how grateful she was to get married and move out of her parents home.

My grandparents married fairly young. They bought land in Fresno and built a house for $10,000.

My grandfather had a good job with PG&E, and my grandmother stayed home with their three daughters. They never moved from their home and have lived there for over 60 years now.

My great grandmother who immigrated to the States, died when I was 14. We did not visit her as much as I would have liked. There are so many questions I wish I could have asked, but I could not comprehend the depth of her life experiences at my young age.

In the 2010s, nearly 90 years after our family split apart, one of our cousins found my grandmother on Facebook.

I thought she was crazy at first! Who is this lady friend requesting my family and talking to my grandmother every single day?

I was too busy with my own life. I had moved to Santa Cruz, fresh out of grad school, married with kids, and in a failing marriage. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, but mostly worst.