Okay, here we go.  It’s February.  One twelfth of 2010 has gone by.  There is no avoiding the tick tock of that big old clock.  So here is the next installment of the story of my pilgrimage.  And how I left my comfort zone and ended up in Italy………….

As I said in my previous post, that’s when my memories of my Grandpa began.  He was quiet and gentle and had a great lap.  Mom was one of four girls, and Nan (my Grandmother) had nine siblings.  There were Great Aunts and Uncles all over the place, along with their assorted children.  But Grandpa Nick stood out.  For one thing, he was soft spoken and patient.  Trust me, that was unusual in our family.  No one else was that way.  When I sought him out, he’d sing to me and speak quietly into my ear, amidst the hustle and bustle of day to day life.  It was years later that I realized that it wasn’t in English.  But I suppose my heart recognized the love, and that was what mattered.  Even at three and four, I understood the emotion behind the words.  

When  I was five and a half, I suffered my first experience with losing a loved one.  Suddenly, he was gone.  Of course at that age, one doesn’t really understand death.  All I knew was that I missed him, and my Mom cried a lot.  As children do, I sensed I shouldn’t ask about him.  But I spent a whole lot of time wondering when he was coming back.  That was when I decided one way or another, I was going to reconnect with him..  Not quite sure how I would manage it, I was certain that I’d manage somehow. I just had to grow up a bit first………….

More next time.

Seen on a T Shirt:  “You Can’t Scare Me, I Have Children”