Today I was feeling a tad melancholy and my thoughts were filled with memories of two people that passed away in 2007. My grandfather who left us last January and my uncle who went last April.
My grandfather was 103 and had lived a full and rewarding life. He had lived through some extraordinary times. He would talk about growing up in a small town in the Italian Alps, going to school in Venice, living in Paris in the 20s, sailing to Montreal, then jumping the border at Windsor into Detroit and then making his way to New York, where he learned English, worked, met my Grandma (who had been born in a town in Italy 9 miles from his), got married, had two girls, started his own business, traveled back to Italy many times after retirement, had 4 grandchildren, stayed in his own home after Grandma died and, indeed, was sharp enough to live independently til he was 100. He was especially fond of my sister and me and spent the last 4 years of his life doting on my nephew. For a while my sister and her family and my grandfather all lived with my mom. 99 years between the oldest and the youngest and they got along the best. My nephew claims my grandfather paints nice sunsets especially for him. And I guess he does. My grandfather was a steady compass yet he was never stuck in the past. He urged us girls to keep our maiden names when we married. He blamed the English for this stupid custom. In Italy, you keep the name you are born with from birth til death. “You are not anyone’s property and you all have good last names. Why do you have to change your name? You have something to be ashamed of?” He did not really like the fact that my lone male cousin went ahead and had 2 kids out of wedlock but he accepted it. He was never one to carry on about what could not be changed. But then, he did worry about me because I was not married all the while telling me not to get married that I was better off taking care of myself and not relying on anyone else. (He himself had a happy marriage for 63 years but claimed that if Mama had come to the US with him, he never would have gotten married). He told terrific stories and remembered extraordinary details. Of course, he would say, there was no one around to contradict him. He loved me a lot and I miss him a lot. Although he had lived a long time and was in reasonably good shape til the final month or so, I was not ready to lose him.
My uncle was my father’s younger brother. He was an artist and lived in Europe. He had lost an arm during WWII as a teen and carried on as if nothing had happened. He did come to the US for a couple of years and lived with us when I was a baby. He taught me how to count in Italian, French and Russian and was the king of making funny faces. He decided to go home and lived a long and happy bachelorhood which ended abruptly when he met a girl 20 years younger than him and entered the married with child state at the age of 44. Until he died, he carried a picture of himself in a swimsuit, standing next to a very voluptuous girl. I once said “Uncle, now that you are married, don’t you think you should stop carrying that picture?” “But why? It is the very best picture ever taken of me!” He was funny, generous, a great raconteur, knew thousands of people (many of whom traipsed through his summer studio) and did not let the sadness of a miserable, war torn childhood turn him into a bitter man. When I was older, and after my father had died, and Q was more reflective, he told stories that my father did not tell. Stories that were heartbreaking and explained a lot. My father carried his sorrows forever and while he had a wonderful sense of humor and was a fine man, there were shadows. Q was more of a blithe spirit. Shortly after a hospital stint, he and my aunt went to an exhibition of a friend’s works. Where he proceeded to drink quite a bit. He was taken to task by his wife. “For God’s sake, why are you drinking! You know you have a liver problem!” His response “I? I have a liver problem?” “Certainly! Didn’t you read the papers the doctor gave you?” “No. I knew you would read them and if there was anything to worry about you would worry about it.” That is how he was. There was never really anything to worry about. He did carry on a ridiculous feud with his remaining sister which I tried to fix on my last trip over in 2005. But, in addition to being a jolly soul he was also stubborn and he died with hard feelings between them. He also was not talking to another brother — but that was not his fault. My Uncle F was a legendary womanizer, up to his 70s. At some point he had given his best pair of shoes to his then-mistress’ son and when his wife asked about it he claimed to have given them to Q. Q, when questioned, siad he knew nothing about it, which was the truth. This lead to an edict by F’s wife that he was not to speak to Q again. Most everyone thought it would pass but it never did. When they did come across each other, they spoke like near strangers. Relations on my dad’s side are complicated. The only reason I am popular with all over there is because I live here and cannot get in to much trouble. I miss him. He was always a summer breeze, even in the middle of winter. Personalities like his are big and room-filling and when they are gone they leave a tremendous void — even across an ocean. His wife is still grieving as if it just happened. And I stare at one of his paintings on my wall and wish that he was still here telling his stories of his bachelor days (which were greatly enhanced over the years) and squeezing amusement out of life like one squeezes a lemon. His health was not good even when I last saw him but with such an indomitable spirit, surely he would go on for quite some time. But he didn’t. And he is missed.
Neither one would want me to feel this deep sadness on their behalf and most days I go through life in a reasonably happy manner. And when I think of them it is the happy times I recall. But sometimes sadness just sweeps in, stops and visits and then is gone. Hopefully as quickly as it came.
I feel better now.
