One more Christmas has come to pass. I find myself reflective at this time of year; I can remember feeling like this for the first time after my grandmother had passed a little more than 20 years ago. My memories are so vivid it leaves me to wonder if anyone else remembers things with the intensity that I seem to. Maybe my uncle, he might be the only one that could come close. I said hello to my new class and goodbye to the best fourth grade ever. So how does this all tie in together? Well, it all came into focus when I got the news that my Uncle L, in his eighties, passed away. He was my grandfather’s uncle by marriage.
We forged our way to the old Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn for the wake. This is where my great-great-grandparents settled shortly after leaving Ellis Island. Our family has been within the same 5 block radius for nearly 100 years – and no I am not exaggerating. I sat there in the all too familiar funeral parlor with my uncle at rest and the newest family addition in my arms. Around me were the remnants of a once large and vibrant family. My great grandmother was the eldest of 8 children, 6 of whom had children of their own and are now grandparents themselves.
One of my first family memories is Uncle Alphonso’s funeral, I couldn’t have been much more than three. I remember spending time in my great-grandmother’s apartment while relatives took turns staying with me, as they all needed to pay their respects. At one point I recall everyone – and it did feel like EVERYONE – was crammed into her dining room. The table was adorned with food, lots and lots of food. Grandma was in and out of the kitchen bringing dish after dish of pasta, extra cheese, bread, and of course wine. The record player resounded with the likes of Jimmy Roselli, Dean Martin, Connie Francis, Mario Lanza, and more. Although the family was in mourning they laughed through their tears as they reminisced about Uncle Al and the “good ol’ days”. As the years moved along there have been unfortunately many more funerals than happy occasions – weddings, christenings – but I can always remember a similar feeling of family unity.
My family had moved over the bridge and away from the neighborhood before I came around, yet it seems that we kept the tradition of Sunday family dinners. So maybe it wasn’t every Sunday, but it was often. Sometimes we would even sleep over! And again the family would come from all over the neighborhood throughout the day, even cousins from Long Island, and sit around the dining room table and laugh and talk and fight (we were not perfect). Sometimes the discussion would be in Italian so I wouldn’t be able to understand – but I never missed those curse words! And the language never confused me as to whether or not someone was angry or telling a dirty joke – after all we are Italian and very passionate and expressive people.
I remember my great-grandmother’s sisters: Aunt H and her sarcasm; Aunt M and the best damn meatballs I have EVER had in my life; Aunt A and her dogs and fried pinwheels. Cousin C and homemade chocolate. Cousin P standing on the corner. Cousin R and the candy store (always a favorite stop). And my grandmother M, always laughing, always smiling, always singing, always hugging, always loving.
Slowly it all began to change, the most drastic change started when my grandmother M passed away. Within four years of her passing it ALL changed. My heart not only broke from the loss of her, but the deterioration of my family. My younger cousins are growing up in family different from the Italian immigrant family I remember, and it breaks my heart.
So as Christmas approached this year and I felt myself falling into my annual reflective mode, I found myself on the streets of Brooklyn looking at all the familiar places filled with love and my cousins wanting to know more, wanting the experience of the family I once knew.
My husband has been telling me for years that the salvation of the family lies within me. For it my grandmother M that is my namesake, and I must have inherited much of her personality and love. I am the one that everyone talks to. I have no gripes with anyone, I love them all. I see now that I also have the memories and the desire for tradition that seems to have faded with our loss of her. I can only pray that I can live up to the memory of her that I hold so dear in my heart. I know that it is not possible to bring the family back to what it once was, my cousins will never know that happiness, but I must try to reestablish a stronger sense of family that held us together so long ago. I must say hello to a new family and goodbye to the family I once knew.
May God grant me strength.
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