My Mama went through her mastectomy and then later in life was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, her mind slowly returned to her childhood, the happiest time of her life.
She was raised in Sicily during World War II, and only made it through the second grade. Life was hard, but when she spoke about those years, her face lit up. She’d talk about her parents, siblings, cousins, everyone,because they were good to her, and those memories stayed tucked safely in her heart.
In 2013, we had the privilege of visiting Sicily with her. We stayed in Balestrate, the small fishing village where she grew up. What a wonderful town. The people were warm, kind, and still held deep love for her. It was like stepping into one of her memories.
Mornings were spent sipping espresso and eating pastries in the piazza. Evenings were filled with music and laughter. Bands, singers, dancers, even a dog show, all in front of the town’s only Catholic church. The same church where she was married. Everyone seemed to know her. And love her.
One morning, Mama woke up brimming with excitement, like a child on Christmas morning. I asked her, “Mama, what’s going on?” She beamed and said, “Get ready! We’re going to my uncle’s house. He’s making us my favorite breakfast. You’re gonna love this!”
We were excited. I imagined fresh eggs, bacon, maybe some bread still warm from the oven. My mama had excellent taste in food; what could possibly go wrong?
We got to her uncle’s house and sat at the kitchen table. He placed a bowl in front of each of us. Inside? Warm plain ricotta cheese.
No sugar. No salt. Just warm plain ricotta cheese.
My mama devoured it like it was the most delicious meal she’d ever had. And to her, it truly was. It brought her back to childhood breakfasts during the war, when they couldn’t afford spices or extras. Just just warm plain ricotta cheese. And the love of family.
Out of respect, we ate what we could. My husband managed to finish his. Our son and I barely got down a spoonful. But Mama? She was in heaven. Her favorite meal, her favorite memories, surrounded by people who loved her.
During one of her last years, she wanted to live with her sister in California. Once again, she was like a child at Christmas. She was back with her family, back where her heart belonged. For her, the best days were always those simple moments as a little girl in war-torn Sicily, surrounded by her parents and siblings.
So Mama, as Saint Peter greets you at the gates of heaven, I hope you run, like that joyful little girl, across the garden and into the arms of your parents. Be at peace.
You left the world with something beautiful: 5 children, 12 grandchildren, and 8 great-grandchildren.
Rest in peace, Mama. We love you.
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