End of an Era
My mother’s sister, my Aunt Roseann, passed away on Monday. She was 84. On my mother’s Italian side of the family, there are four sisters and one brother. As expected of women of that day, my mother and her sisters took care of their homes, husbands and children, but these matriarchs were far from domesticated wallflowers. They were always fiercely opinionated, and along with my 87-year-old mother, Aunt Roseann spoke her mind. When I was little my aunt often called me ‘foonge face.’ Apparently, she called my older sister the same thing. I guess we weren’t the happiest kids in those formative years, but despite a nickname we never warmed to, we have many great memories that include my aunt. Compared to now, the mid-to-late 70s were lean times. Families were larger, and lower, middle-class ones like mine did with less. As kids, we never felt the pinch. Spending time together made up what we lacked in money. My greatest memories were of family gatherings: noisy holidays, Friday night dinners, sleepovers, backyard barbeques, and trips to the beach—all with an abundance of food. Through most of my childhood, my mother and aunts were together. My aunts were second mothers, and my cousins, my best friends.
With one of the matriarch gone, it truly is an end of an era. Aunt Roseann died from other causes, not COVID-19. But while a death in one’s family is usually a time of sorrow, here, while we’re locked down in our homes, it’s especially challenging. We cannot gather to grieve with family members. I cannot hug my cousins, hold their hands, cry and reminisce with them.
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