It's been nearly a month without Nonna. It seems unreal.Here's a poem for my Nonna:
For my Nonna (written march 4-5 2011)
Time has stopped
You’re now gone
I try, desperately, to hold on to all my memories of you
I’m scared I won’t remember things
Like the way you smelled of your flannel nightgown in the mornings with your slippered feet always too warm
The sun, that came streaming into the kitchen and your voice sounding crinkly with the sounds of sleep still in it
The pancakes you lovingly made for us so often in the sun drenched kitchen, Saturday mornings. And even as you became ill you insisted on making me pancakes, one last time
Your beautiful face; soft with wrinkles
Your memories ,which were so vivid, how an orange you ate while on vacation, tasted as sweet as honey, or how you first learned to make pasta for your family at age 5
I first learned to bake with you, I was also 5
Your forever earringed-ears
The way you made it all look so damn easy; cooking your incredible feats, which took you hours, and serving up dish after dish, everything so perfectly timed. We took it for granted
Having left your country and your mother
Christmas Eve, baccalá, you, Nonno and I enjoying that ancient dish
Your strong hands that refused to accept the painful reality of your arthritis
Easter and your delicious paloma
Your make-up free face
Your orderly, and meticulous routines
Your giant heart
Your numerous phonebooks
The olive oil and vinegar, the salt, the wine, the bread baskets with their napkins always folded inside in waiting anticipation-everything in the kitchen all having their own exact spots; everything had a home, and was loved
Your absolute reverence for the dead
Stories of your childhood -you at 6 hitting the local 16 year old Goliath right between the eyes with the steady aim of a practiced slingshot user
Making wine with you
The last time, 2 years ago now, that you and I decided to make pizzelle, we laughed a lot. We spent over 3 hours baking , and kept laughing at how much batter we made and how long it was taking. They came out well
Your favourite nook in the kitchen, where you liked to read
Lunchtime, mid-week you, Nonno and I, and both of you would vie for my attention to tell me stories. It was my favourite thing in the world sitting with you both, eating and listening to your long ago rememberings
Your hugs, and as you got ill I could feel your hugs became tighter. I felt helpless
Your incredible bargaining skills -which I have proudly inherited
Your deep sensitivity
Your insomnia, and the way you were more concerned about me getting more sleep when I stayed over, then you. You knew I inherited your insomnia too
The way, even though it’s been many years since Pucci’s death, you still hurt
Always knowing, somehow, when I was sad. You could always see my pain.
You never missed one birthday of mine, not even this last birthday, even while you were in the hospital for over 2 months. You were upset because you had no card or cake to give me that day. A week or so later, I got your card, which I treasure
Your beautiful garden sustained you. Even with your aneurysm, painful back and hands, and a walker, you found ways to slip outside and touch the earth!
Your will, determination, sharp tongue and your spirit
Your poetry,
Your volunteerism. You did so much for so many people
You were my protector. I felt so safe with you, so loved
There are so many memories I want to remember out loud, forever, so that I don’t forget
Now you’re gone, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
This poem doesn’t feel finished, but, maybe it never will
Easter’s coming and I don’t want to celebrate, you’re not here, and Nonno cries for you every night
