Memories for Mondays
“My Mother was a woman who never complained.
My two younger brothers both Died in their early forties. My father, the gentlest man you could ever hope to meet, died ten years later. But my mother never cried. She just got on with the business of living.
Our house was always full of people. Our door always open. My mother marching around, ensuring that everyone was fed, watered and happy.
She was a carabiniere. A force of nature. A real tough cookie.
When she was in her eighties she developed Alzheimer’s. She would go to the shop and repeatedly stockpile all the items necessary to run a household containing a husband, two strapping sons and a daughter. Me.
But she still had moments of lucidity.
One day she told me that she was leaving me. I looked at her blankly. But mamma, where are you going? I asked.
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Tagged: Family, Italy, Love, motherhood, Village Life