farewell, my dear mom

This house of ours is in mourning. The vacuum cleaner, which for years quietly played along with my mom, cleaning what was already clean, is in mourning. The furniture, paintings, plants and carpets are in mourning. Her toothbrush, which is still there where she left it, is in mourning, along with the sweater on the armchair in her room. The dust, on the other hand, seems less perturbed, able now to at least enjoy a few days on the surfaces of our home, while - I might be mistaken - but I thought I heard a bit of sobbing from the well-ironed and neatly arranged dust rags. They know their destiny; tragically for them, there will be no one to iron them anymore. The elevator and the washing machine are in mourning; the purple scarf she wore when she sat on the couch, full of holes from her cigarettes, is also desperate.    

The four of us, her daughters, are in mourning. We lost much more than our mother. We lost the rock on which our family was built. We lost her comforting words, her advice, her smile, her summaries of A Place in the Sun episodes, her warm hugs, moist from tears. Fortunately, there are many things that will always stay with us. Her example of Herculean strength, for example. Her placing upon her shoulders all the weight of the loss of our father to prevent it from falling on us. She taught us the importance of having a strong sense of justice, of honesty, of the meaning of work and the weight of those responsibilities, some difficult, that sooner or later come into all of our lives. I never saw my mother lose faith. You do what you have to do, and that’s it, without giving it another thought. My mother taught us the importance of altruism; she always lent a hand to her sister, her sister-in-law, her colleagues and her friends, of which she had many. As we all know, when my mother had something in mind she would always see it through to the very end. She might take a while, but she got there. She worked to provide for us, and she managed to have a beautiful career; she put aside a bit of money here and there and she took care of her house, having work done to make it more and more beautiful. And she kept herself beautiful, inside and out, reading avidly, going out to the theater, playing Machiavelli with Aunt Milena and doing her crossword puzzles.      

All of us that knew her and spent time with her truly know the weight of the loss of my mother, who always thought first about the needs of others and only then about her own. Her volunteer work at the Opera San Francesco was only one part of her altruism. Everything else she set aside for all of us, anytime we were in need. 

But not everyone is in mourning, today.

My father isn’t in mourning, after 40 years up there betting on the wrong horses, and playing cards with the angels who always cheat, because they can see the cards. He’s been waiting for her for a long time, and now he too can finally enjoy her a bit. My mother and father together; what a nice thought, what a pleasure for both of them. She couldn’t wait. 

My grandparents, his in-laws, all the people who loved her, are not in mourning. 

My son Luca is not in mourning; like the good autistic guy he is, he has an impenetrable wall around him, which is why it’s so difficult to conquer his heart. My mother, like a sculptor, slowly carved into that wall and entered into his heart, forever. The first thing Luca says in the morning is “Nonna Franca! Sweetie!”. And since he fortunately doesn’t understand death, she will always be alive for him, as beautiful as the sun. 

And above all my mother is not in mourning, My mother is finally at peace and happy. She finally has time to think about herself, and what she wants. She can finally hug her Peppi once again, sit in his lap and be pampered by him. Finally, she is reunited with the true love of her life. And that’s why, also why, today is a day to celebrate true love. 

Ciao, mamma.