How true, Mr. Lennon, how true. As I write Rachel is in Seattle helping out friends in the midst of a medical emergency and I'm holding down the fort in Alessandria wondering if I should have gone too and cursing the 9 hour time difference.
I'm not sleeping well, punching pillows and sobbing with all kinds of irrational but what feels very rational in that middle-of-the-night kind of way. Selfishly saying why is yet another friend having to go through this? It's not fair! I've even gone as far to accuse my already dead friends of some kind of grand plan to recreate our Seattle life in the next world. And I don't even believe in the next world! Really, really crazy shit. Or is it? I don't know anymore.
So I walk around my new city trying to find solace through the permanence of its age- the centuries old buildings, synagogue, churches, palaces, piazze, cemetery and the very old Italian men and women still riding on their bicycles- all somehow grounding me, allowing me to breathe, almost daring me to continue putting one foot in front of the other
A minute ago as I was typing this, my doorbell rang and fortunately I had just gotten dressed (after all it is 11:30am on Sunday!) It was my neighbor Stefania and her husband saying they heard I am now alone and asked if I would join them, their daughter and Stefania's mother at their Sunday dinner (prepared by Stefania's mother Rita who also lives in our little building). I was so touched and of course readily accepted.
I was reminded of coming home from my walk this past Friday and seeing a few neighbors sitting on the wall in front of our apartment watching the kids playing in our courtyard. Often at this time in the early evening I'm playing soccer with the 3 year old Eduardo or attempting to speak Italian with La Signora or chatting away in English with Barbara (Eduardo's mom). But it was the evening of the day Rachel left and I really just wanted to be invisible, go into our apartment and cry. However as I greet them, intending to basically say hi and goodbye, poor Barbara innocently asks what's up and I immediately burst into tears. She and I talk and hug for several minutes while the others pretend to look away. Later she asks my permission to tell them saying they are concerned, adding "We are just one big family here. My husband is the doctor for everyone who needs one here and everyone here has or has had some tragedy or great sadness so please, no need to worry about your tears. We all understand." My tears of grief so quickly turned into tears of gratitude at such kindness. I suddenly didn't want to be alone anymore. For the next 2 hours I sat with these wonderful women, played with the kids, and remembered life indeed goes on.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Hi Kim,
I know what you are going through being so far away when family and friends are having difficulties. It is REALLY hard and the nine hour time difference only compounds things. It is a conscious choice we make to live too far to make an immediate response when our loved ones are in need. Two years ago while we were there my grandfather fell ill and I felt so helpless. Within six days he died and all we could do was fly home for the funeral. The night before we left we were out having pizza and ran into friends. I too burst into tears and had to explain the circumstances. Their sympathy really made me feel better so perhaps we need that cathartic outlet. It sounds like you have made some good friends in Alessandria so you really are not totally alone. Please write about dinner with your friends. It is such an experience to be included in Italian family life.
Hang in there.
Louise
Post a Comment