Saturday, January 28, 2023
//s3.amazonaws.com/skins.funeraltechweb.com/tribute-gestures/v2/candles/material_candle_blue.jpg
My dearest Frank-Dad-Nonno,
I met you 33 years ago—over half of my lifetime ago—on the eve of Mike’s 19th birthday. We talked and talked and laughed on the porch until the wee hours of the night. I have a picture in my head of you, over the years, relaxing comfortably with enjoyment on the porch, being friendly with passersby, and watching the goings on of the street for the day. That was the beginning of my shared life with the Calia family, which led to the honour of sharing the family name and my life with you.
I loved your accent, and I thought it was so beautiful listening to you speak Italian, and it was funny sometimes trying to figure out on the spot what you were saying or asking me, which I got better at over time. I became embraced in Italian culture through you, learning so much about the people, the customs, the food, the places, the history, where you came from—your favourites—anything with lemon, hazelnut gelato, calamari, figs, calabrese bread, olives, mussels, foccacia...Having once been to Italy at the age of 17, on a bicycle trip through Europe, I had a bit of an idea of “back home”, but you painted so much more depth and detail of the picture in my head.
You spoke with such zest and enthusiasm when talking about your childhood—soccer, your favourite breakfast of dipping calabrese bread in milk, the vivid colour of the sea, going to collect and eat fresh shellfish, picking the most delicious and juicy fruit right off the tree--certainly no comparison to here, taking apart and fixing things and being a little mischievous. I was always so interested, and asking questions, and you told me so many stories—some repeated to your grandson Zachary. I got a vision of your childhood that felt so clear and close to me.
Then there was the part where you decided to venture to a far way place, across the ocean called Canada—as a teenager, alone, not speaking English, no idea of where you would land or live—but as your life went on, no matter what the circumstance, you made your way with your outgoing and friendly manner, your versatile talents, your resourcefulness and your resilience. No matter how I tried, I could never get over how you did this and that you did this, and the deep courage and bravery it must have taken. I commented on this so many times to you, and bragged to others about the amazing feat you had undertaken, under those circumstances.
You were a jack of all trades, and knew how to fix anything, how to take it apart and put it back together, what was inside and how it worked no matter the specialty or trade involved, but especially with electricity, as you had worked as an electrician in Italy--if you couldn’t find a way, you problem solved creatively until the job was done and the problem fixed—all your own doing. This work ethic, and these skills were passed down to your son Mike, who watched you with a keen eye, and worked alongside you from the time he was a young man throughout his adulthood.
You were passionate about your love and your companionship and your life of 53 years of marriage with your endeared wife Rita--Ri” fondly, and she knew and loved you so, with all of her being; you were passionate and so proud of your wonderful sons Mike and Frank, of whom you made into the stand-up men they are, here and now and still in spirit, who loved and respected you with all their hearts, and were so proud of their Italian heritage; there is not a word, only an outward exuding display of absolute love to explain your passion for your cherished grandson Zachary, of whom you lived every moment of utmost pride, as he was born, and grew as your heart living outside off your body—when I think of the love you and Zachary shared, I find my eyes wet—but Zachary’s life without his Nonno makes me weep; you were passionate and loved all of your dear family in Italy, and sharing the milestones of their lives; you were passionate of all of your many friends, with whom you shared such wild and crazy and fun and close times; I even felt you were a little passionate about me—you welcomed me into your family, and shared your name, you called me “Rosalind”, I kissed you on one cheek, and then the other every single time we greeted each other, with me always saying-”Italian style”, you always had a real interest in all aspects of my life, and for whatever problem I faced, I hear your voice saying truthfully and expressively, “Roz, fu-ge-tta-bout it”, always giving me peace.
Now it’s time for me to channel my peace to you. Deep peace.
Grazie for your unconditional love for me.
Rest easy.
Ciao Nonno,
I love you, always and forever,
Your daughter-in-law,
Rosalind Paterson-Calia
Owned and operated by St. Paul's Cathedral, London, On