Right now, they’re holding your funeral in Padova. I’m holding your hand. Mi manchi.
Grazie, Andreina.
When I write your name, I’m immediately grounded. My sit bones deepen. My shoulders go back and my chin goes up. My lip trembles. My eyes well with tears and I’m held in them. I smile. I place my hand on my heart.
When I spoke to you on your last birthday, you were in a lot of pain. Yet you still greeted me with your characteristic effervescence.
You lived over 94 years. You hid under a bridge in Vicenza from American bombers in World War II. You practiced fascist calisthenics as a girl in the piazza.
You were a very independent young woman and insisted that you would never get married. Instead, you were the first of your girlfriends to marry when you met your man from Abruzzo. He died young. I wish that I got to meet him. I met him through your daughters and granddaughters. La nonna.
Thank you for taking me to your cherished Dolomiti with you on Sundays. When your daughter wrote to me, she said:
Ed è andata nelle sue montagne in serenità.
The first thing you asked me is why I described my ideal host as a single older Italian woman. No other ragazza americana had asked for that before. I said that my grandmothers both died before I was born and…you interrupted me with an abbraccio forte.
Then we went for a passeggiata to the supermercato. You taught me how to take the bus. You taught me how to make risotto. You said, “Brava, Mattie!” after I outlined the history of Venice at the dining room table.
We made fresh tagliatelle con pomodoro e piselli. We went to the prosciutto and Prosecco festivals. When we visited the rose garden, I was so proud to help you hold steady on my arm.
You and your family welcomed my aunt, my ragazzo sorrentino and many friends for meals over the years. When my mom came to visit, you two went to the De Chirico exhibit together. You didn’t have a language in common but came back delighted to share that you kept pointing with preference to the same paintings!
You and your family came to the agriturismo that I was working on outside of Bologna to celebrate your 80th birthday. We chuckled about the curmudgeonly owner.
Thank you for always asking about my brother.
I thought I would spend a semester abroad and that would be it. Instead, you ushered in my love affair with Italia and ultimately, a decade-long global lifestyle. You knew where the marvelous and mundane met. You knew how to stay down to earth and rise up all at once.
You used to say, “let’s have a goccio of vino so we sleep well tonight.” Dormi in pace, Andreina.
Con tanto affetto,
Mattie
Che forza. Che tenerezza.