Nonna

I am sitting on the plane making a mercy dash home to say goodbye to my beloved Nonna. All I can think about is what if I don’t make it home in time to see her. Like Nonna, i've taken to God - begging him to let me get home in time to say goodbye and be at peace, just as he granted me the wish with Pa. Although like the mercy dash home to see Pa- this journey has been long and complex. Minus a bushfire, plus a long haul fight.

Half of me is disappointed I forgot my netbook so I can’t finish my graphic porn novel, anything to take my mind off the now would be desired. Every time I think, I cry, so since I’ve popped my sleeping pill, and its past midnight London time and i'm still wide awake and tear tired, I’ve decided to write.

My Nonna is the closest person to Mother Teresa you could find. I don’t think there are many people that go through life without anyone cursing them or talking behind their back, but Nonna has- apart from forgetting to say Thank-you to the deli ladies when demanding her meat be cut very thin, Nonna has been the kindest, closest person to a disciple to God I can think of. She treats everyone like equals and nurtures and nourishes her family, just as much as her vegie patch. When I was little she called me her little piccinina. And adopted a phrase from me- I would say to her when I was little- ‘Nonna, don’t worry, be happy.’  Now she says it often.  Her most famous phrase is ‘Pick a pung, or pung’ which translates to ‘Beg your pardon’ no one has ever had the heart to correct her as other than that her English is pretty accomplished.

My favourite story about Nonna is when I went to buy my car. I was looking at a Volkswagen Polo GTI; sexy, fast and two doors. I was on the phone to Nonna saying I had found a car as she was giving me money to put towards it. She was so pleased, but suggested I pay more for four doors. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that four doors were cheaper and just agreed. She is never wrong- did I mention that?

Her cooking was better than any Michelin restaurant. In fact, I still believe her stove was magic. It didn’t matter whether we had the recipe, it was never as good as Nonna’s and she could sew anything. Just recently I took my clothes to the poor people bin because they had holes and I couldn’t be bothered sewing them up. Nonna could sew and she could even make things back in the day, although it became more difficult as her eyesight got worse. She is very talented my Nonna.

Once I picked her up from the nursing home and took her out for lunch and I was wearing a dress which had a fine chicken print. Nonna pointed and mumbled something in Italian. I said Nonna they are chickens, thinking she couldn’t see what the print was of as she has one eye that points in the wrong direction since her stroke, and she goes, yeah I know, I was just saying, lots of chickens, lots of shit. It was a great joke, and honestly a rarity, one because Nonna never swore, and two because she told a joke and that hardly ever happened. She tried to swig the remaining wine from our day out and take it back to the nursing home; in fact I think I let her because I was like, what are they going to do to a 93 year old?

Sometimes when I’m down or questioning myself, I look around and see how many friends I have, how many truly close and wonderful friends I have and it makes me realise I’m a good person. Nonna has heaps of friends and people that call her Nonna. She always has visitors and stashes of chocolate to load off to me. One of her greatest traits is to roll up a couple of hundreds and hand it to me secretly, like she is going to get in trouble. Nonna you are 93 and survived a war- I’m sure it’s allowed.

At her 90^th birthday there was a large table of her closest friends and they were all having a ball. At one stage I asked them if they wanted anything. Beer they said. So I asked for two jugs of beer and the man at the bar said ‘heavy or light’ and I pondered the thought. Then I said ‘don’t think they have to drive anywhere, heavy is fine. ‘They polished them off too! I worry about her closest friends when she does pass. Alba is her best friend. They have both lost husbands many years ago and love each other like sisters do. Once when Nonna was ill, Alba even bathed Nonna, it didn’t worry her, that’s what sisters do, Alba said.     

I managed to steal 5 hours sleep and i’ve since woken, somewhat calm. I’m conscious to write everything in present tense. Every time I go to past, I wonder if she has passed as i’ve slept, I don’t think she will. Maybe its arrogance, but I almost think that as long as I get home to see Nonna, she will be at peace to let go. You see, her family is her all, Bianca and I are everything. Her every breath is for us, her every thought. She is like that with mum and dad too. The last two times i’ve spoken to Nonna she has said ‘you are too far away’, and it was like she was saying the end is nearing. I ended up in tears because I could tell something was wrong. I was upset last week, I worried Mum and dad were trying not to tell me everything so I rang Bianca in South America and ordered her to go back to Traralgon and report back. Bianca said ‘if you are coming to say goodbye, come now, as originally I thought – “I’m off with the girls this weekend, I’ll come home next weekend” Then I thought- I don’t really want to pay £800 for a funeral. I’d much rather pay and experience something priceless- the chance to say goodbye and be at peace. My colleague leant me his credit card this morning to pay for the ticket as I don’t get paid until Thursday. I booked a ticket at 1:30pm; my flight was at 10pm. I told him that he is like Jesus to me. And that I could never have imagined such generosity. I think I am lucky not only does he have a big heart; I think he thought if his children were in the same situation, he wanted the good karma in return. As soon as I told the girls, whom both have Nonna’s; that I wasn’t going away, they were both considerate and understood. Clearly, I’d much rather be at wineries with them than doing a mercy dash home. Then my friend Catarina dropped me at Heathrow and her daughter Amelie told me she was really going to miss me. It made something of my day that was so far disaster. Then my final goodwill gesture was at the airport. The French restaurant didn’t do affogatos. Then the lady serving me goes, hang on, I’ll get you an espresso and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, then I yelled out to her trail saying ‘oh and a shot of amaretto please’. I mixed it all together and had the most fabulous dessert. She also didn’t charge me for the ice-cream, but I think she got hers, with a nice gratuity.  

Nonna has remained fit throughout and has only in the last few weeks gone significantly downhill. I think she is frustrated her body fails her. Her mind is so stable. She enjoys long walks, which of late have ceased, and prior to leaving her beloved home, she often walked from her Home in Fairview Street to the nursing home to see my great Aunt Bett, even though Bett was one of the only people I ever heard Nonna say anything negative about, she still visited her. I think Bett once joked about Nonna being old before she married and it really offended her. Nonna was 28 when Nonno married her. She was older for those days because of the war. They were married the third time he laid eyes on her. Nonno's friend spoke of this beautiful lady that attended mass every Sunday. So Nonno, being wise himself, saw the opportunity, he hid in the bushes outside mass, peering through them to see Nonna. Yep, he liked what he saw, and because of the substantial geographic distance, on their third meeting they married.

Nonna had her first born Ugo, when Nonno was in Australia building a life for his new family. Nonno himself had been a prisoner of war, because of the Italian involvement in war, swapping sides presumably, his war camp was one of the last to be liberated. Once he was free it took him four years to walk home from Germany, his mate Bruno Pilot did the same walk. He was a prisoner under the Germans and the Russians, in total he lost nine years his life in prison at war. He spoke of walking through snow waist deep with only a blanket and spoon. He carved a violin in prison, and his proudest moment, was watching me play the violin. He sold the Violin for three bracelets of white gold. My mum wears them still. He loved my mum too. My Nonno was a good man; he once spoke of risking everything by cyphering the petrol for his motorbike so an opposition soldier could take his sick wife to hospital. Nonno was sponsored in 1950 to travel to Australia to start a new life from obliterated post war Italy. He boarded a ship, converted from cargo/ cattle, for passengers, he had a hard life.

Epping, Australia was called home, and once Nonno had enough money, he paid for Nonna and Ugo to travel to Australia to be with him. Nonna had a luxury ship, the Australia. Nonno would have nothing less.

Lino was born in 1953 and shortly the family moved to Traralgon. Here Nonna tended a home for grown men, for some reason 7 remains embedded in my mind. I think it was Nonno, Ugo, Dad, Attilio (her brother in law) and a couple of other Italian immigrant men. She fed them, clothed them, and looked after them. Uncle Attilio did Nonna's lawns up until recently, despite his own old age; he said nothing could ever repay Nonna for what she did for him. Nonna learnt English speaking to her neighbour. Her English is great, only slipping in to Italian when she is tired or sick. Its fine, I understand her.

My Nonno and Nonna lost Ugo when he was young. Dad was only 8 when Ugo died at 14. Nonno had yelled at Ugo in the morning and enroute to his workshop to see Nonno, he was hit off his bicycle and killed. The man who did it did not serve any time. Nonno regretted yelling at him until the end of his days. We lost Nonno at 72. I remember being told at primary school. I still remember him in his beloved vegie patch, the smell of his aftershave and a coffee being brewed for him, he used to yell at Nonna sometimes, which I never understood. Who could yell at someone like Nonna? She really is non- yell- at- able. But Nonna said that upon their meeting, Nonno informed her that since the war he had moments. And he said to leave him be if such a moment occurs. I couldn’t imagine.

It was when Nonno died that Nonna started wearing the most glorious aquamarine ring. I loved it, and she gave it to me. She said it was given to her by her first fiancé. I was quite intrigued and probed harder. She said, he went off to the war, and was sent home to Italy as all his brothers had died. Then one night he was in the garden at home in Italy with a cousin and a plane flew over and dropped bombs, he was hit by shrapnel and died.    

Yesterday marked 35 years of my parents being married. Some of my fav times have been spent with my grandparents. When I lost a tooth I would leave it out for the tooth fairy at home, get my $2 and take it round to Nonna’s to get $2 more. When I was sick I would ring Nonna ‘Nonna can I have some minestrone please?’ ‘Yes, Stella’. ‘Nonna I feel like gnocchi, I start work at 1, I’ll be there at 12,’ ‘no worries gioia’. And every Sunday we would have lunch at Nonna’s and she would ring in the morning to ask what shape pasta we wanted. Not to mention Nonna's take-away sugo service.  

My cousin had the unfortunate circumstance of burying his Nonno in close proximity to when we lost Pa, I told him I could never imagine and had no words to say. I suppose this is how it feels. I spent so long thinking how I would ever cope if anything happens to Nonna. Refusing to think that anything will. I know I will cope. Because she is at peace. All I want is to be granted that fairytale, the moment to say goodbye and tell her it’s ok to go, but don’t go far.

Every phone call Nonna goes to me ‘I think of you all the time.’ And then I go 'I know you do Nonna; I hope you are praying hard.' ’Nonna prays for you, Goia.’ And she sometimes says ‘I just wish you find a nice boy’ and I say ‘maybe pray harder.’ ‘Nonna, I love you’. And she replies with grit in her response as though she is saying it with all her heart- ‘I love you too Amore.’

 

Post script> I made it.