On a More Serious Subject

Last Wednesday was February 29, 2012.  Leap Day.  It would have been my Grandma Gilda's 100th birthday.  Although she passed away a little more than three years ago, my family marked the occasion as most Italian families would - with wine and pasta.  It was a great night.  I wish she could have been there to celebrate.

I miss Grandma.  It bothers me the girls only know her by way of a few pictures around the house.  I hate that they don't know the sound of her voice, the touch of her rough hands or the taste of her potato minestra. 

As I was telling Stella about Grandma the other night, I started thinking about the eulogy I gave at her funeral.  I called my Mom and she sent me a copy.  I read it.  I cried.  Ultimately decided to paste it here.  Perhaps it's odd to include it in a blogpost about her birthday.  But, for some reason, it seems right.

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I learned of my Grandma's passing on Friday morning.  At the time, I was driving from my office in Seattle to a meeting about forty minutes away.  As my Mom spoke the words I had, for several weeks, feared to hear, my eyes filled with tears.  I began to sob, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of my loss.

Cars tore past me.  People gave me dirty looks.  Everyone was going about their business - oblivious to the fact that my life had just changed in such a profound way.

As my sadness deepened, I heard my grandma's voice ringing in my ears.  "Celesta Maria, you a betta be careful.  I no wanna you to cry.  You tak'a care of my baby."

Immediately, I realized how careless I was being - driving down the freeway, nine months pregnant, eyes blurred with tears.  With strength I didn't know I could muster, I pulled myself together and made it to my destination. As I sat in the parking lot, a sense of calm came over me.  I smiled, comforted by the knowledge that her voice had survived her death and that it would forever rant at me in broken English.    

As I prepare to become a mother, I have spent many hours thinking about the women in my family who have cared for, encouraged and educated me.  There is no question my Grandma Gilda was one of the most important role models in my life.  I say that knowing she would not give herself the credit she deserved for serving in that capacity, in part because she could not have imagined for herself, as a young woman born in Italy in 1912, the opportunities I have enjoyed as a young woman born in the United States in 1976.  But, what my grandma did not realize  - and what I want her to know today - is that she was a model of strength, courage, confidence and selflessness.  It is my responsibility not only to try and emulate my grandmother in my life and in my interactions with others, but to instill those same qualities in my daughter who sadly, will never know the woman we all loved so very deeply.

When I reflect on my grandmother's accomplishments, I am humbled.  Called on to raise her six siblings after her father death - she sacrificed everything to provide her brothers and sisters with education and opportunity.  She traveled halfway across the world to a country where she did not speak the language and knew virtually no one, to create a completely new life for herself.  She arrived in Portland not only to become a new bride, but a mother to my Uncle Phil.  Ultimately, she had three children of her own, and later many grandchildren and great grandchildren, all of whom benefitted from her consumate commitment to tending the family. From the beautiful baby blankets she knit for each new arrival, to the delicious meals she prepared for every visitor.  From the many quiet prayers she said for us each and every day  - to the candles she lit before our surgeries, exams or race days.

I could go on, but I know just looking around this beautiful church that everyone is well aware of what an amazing woman my grandmother was.  Everyone here was touched, in some way, by her love, concern and generosity.  From her arrival in Portland sixty-eight years ago, my grandmother served the Italian community of Lower Southwest Portland in countless unselfish ways - as a parent active in the former St. Lawrence School; as a sought after translator for Italian immigrants; as a most valuable member of the altar society of this church for over 60 years; and as the keeper of a house continuously open to people and children of the neighborhood.

We were my grandmother's joy and she was our rock.  It is not surprising many of us are now wondering what our lives will be like without her.

There is an Italian proverb that, when translated, reads, "Gratitude is the memory of the heart."  As we think about what my grandma did for us, we have so much to be grateful for.  This is why our hearts ache today.  But, we can honor my grandma's memory by simply following her example.  Say a prayer for a loved one who is battling an illness. Light a candle for a friend who is struggling to cope with a personal challenge. Volunteer your time.  Plant a garden.  Make a big meal and call your family around the table.

There is no question that grandma's spirit is looking down on us right now - smiling - because so many of the people she cared so deeply about are gathered in a place that for nearly seventy years was her home away from home.  But, I also know that she doesn't want us to cry.  She doesn't want us to feel sorry for ourselves.  She wants us to know she is in a place she never doubted existed - with other family and friends who passed before her.  (As a side note, I am confident she is also incredibly concerned with my decision to wear these high heels at this point in my pregnancy...but that is between the two of us.)

Friends and family, thank you for being here today.  Please join me in celebrating Gilda Roberti's life and the legacy of love that she leaves behind.