There are so many ways to say goodbye in the Italian language. First, there's the ubiquitous "ciao", that has become a universal way of greeting and leaving friends and strangers alike. Then there are the "a" words. Arrivederci (until we see each other again), a venerdi (see you Friday), a presto (see you soon), a la prossima (until next time). They go on and on.
And then there's "addio". This is a hard one, because the essence of the word is one that indicates finality....we will see each other when we are with God. It's what lovers say when they break up, it's what emigrants must say when they are leaving their home country, and it's what we say to our loved ones who have gone on to their reward.This year, as in years past, we have had to say addio to loved ones. Our little corner of Cervinara has been hit by the loss of some of our most beloved members.
Three weeks ago, as we were leaving for a quick trip to the grocery store, we heard ambulance sirens coming up our hill. We didn't know its destination but we were worried. Half an hour later we returned to find a crowd gathered around our neighbor's house and we learned the sad news that Pasqualina had passed away. Pasqualina, a gem of a woman, tiny in stature but big in heart, who sat at her kitchen window and greeted everyone who came by, who rarely left her home because of her failing vision and her frail health, but a woman who opened her heart and her home to all, left a giant hole in our hearts with her passing.
Only a few days later we heard the news that our Don Giorgio, the priest who led the Church of San Nicola for over 50 years had died in a hospital in Avellino. We had noticed that the house where he lived across the street from us was closed up and that there was no sign of him or Teresa, his sister. Don Giorgio had taken ill while visiting his family and had been hospitalized for several weeks and eventually succumbed to his illness. The mass celebrating his life was packed, including the Bishop from Benevento who talked about this humble man who led a quiet life and set a good example for all in the parish. There were at least five priests in presence who had been introduced to the canonical life by Don Giorgio. And there were so many young people, including young men whom I remember being chastised for chatting during mass, crying at the loss of this good man.
Losing Don Giorgio has also meant losing his sister Teresa. She was as devoted to him as any sister could be and spent her entire adult life looking after his needs and attending to the needs of the church as well. It was she who showed me the trick of using a 10 lira coin instead of a euro to get access to the shopping carts at the Lidl supermarket. It was she who helped me get access to a great physical therapist when I was recovering from my fractured knee. It was she who could be counted on to squeeze four adult women in to her tiny Fiat 500 for a jaunt to the mall. She was a friend to all. She has gone to live with the rest of her family now, rather than stay in the empty house she shared with her brother. The loss of both of these anchors of our neighborhood is sorely felt.
As I write these words, I am on a train heading north to Milano. This is not a pleasure trip, and not one that we have looked forward to with anticipation. We are going to say "addio" to our cousin Rita, who lost her battle to leukemia on Friday. Rita was a tough woman, tiny in size but feisty and strong. She loved to travel and we spent some great times together visiting the great sites of the Northeast and Canada, and then the wonderful parklands out west in California, Nevada and Utah. We spent many weeks at her home in Puglia, reveling in the warmth of the sun and the warmth of her hospitality. Our times in Puglia were marked by great food, lots of exploring the natural beauty of the area, and late night marathon card games. How we will miss all of these!
Yes, "addio" is not a word we like to say, and yet it is an inevitable part of our lives. We have said "addio" too often this year, but we are strengthened by the memories of the loved ones who have moved on. You will all be missed. You are all still loved.
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