The Hopeful Motif

A Farewell to a Medical Maestro

Press play for accompaniment

What is heroism? I see it as the ability and fortitude of a person, called to greatness in chaos, tenacious in their work in spite of odds and defeatist narratives- they are born of selfless passion. Our caped crusaders comes in all shapes and forms, irrespective of notoriety their reward is a reflection of their output- the betterment of a life, society or circumstance.

A medical practitioner can sometimes walk in solitary confinement, weighing their auspicious education against a pro patient outlook, juggling the hard realities with faith- understanding that although they’re intelligent, they are not omnipotent. The delicately orchestrated role demands a great deal of emotional stamina, especially for those that harbour genuine care for their patients, risking self sabotage to their spirits. It is not surprising that these hallowed humans are our diamonds in the ruff, and at times transacting on their own inner spirit recession. Despite popular misconceptions, this does not always leave them in the black. Their sacrifice bestows upon the hopeless, hope, complimented by the mental fortitude to look beyond the affliction- a gift of unquantifiable value.

Our medical system is an ongoing debate of body and soul, flesh and spirit challenging us to underscore the paramount focus while portraying a balanced view. Whether due to constricted resources or stone cold apathy- I maintain that the orientation of our mind must be in alignment to our physical healing and therefore- are two peas in a pod. The conversation is less of a designation of their position in the hierarchy, like strumming a cord to an untuned guitar- the magic is seen in their partnership- a concerto that Dr. Loach conducted principally in his directive to enrich the lives of those around him. A directive that he not only accomplished- he reframed my circumstance, inviting the light to overtake the darkness.

Today I was notified that he would be retiring tomorrow, a memo that selfishly weighed heavy on my heart while having the distinct privilege and honour of being his last discharged patient. As a society, we undervalue the power behind genuine kindness. Totally irrespective of your mental breadth, our value is in our anima, looking within ourselves to leave this world even a little bit better than we found it.

He is characterized as the quintessence of caregiving, a true MMD – Medical Maestro Doctor.

And in my final thought, I relate my above reverence to todays coffee. In knowing that I may go without (a humdrum coffee I might add), he took it upon himself to serve me a superior café on fine china- reminiscent of a family member serving me at home which is a current departure from my reality.

Thank you for your heroism, thank you for listening, thank you for your mind and authentic and thoughtful delivery.

Thank you for being a bona fide medical musical prodigy.

Cheers, my friend.

“Wherever the art of Medicine is loved, there is also a love of Humanity. ”¹
¹Hippocrates

School of Hard Knocks

Press play for accompaniment

“My lungs are black, my heart is pure
My hands are scarred from nights before
And my hair is thin and falling out of all the wrong places
I am a little insecure”¹

Our experiences mould and form the people we become, the way we think and our perception of this world and intern how we portray ourselves in it. Having matriculated through the “School of Hard Knocks²” has in many ways left me jaded, countered by a formidable, incorrigible commitment to remain earnest in my belief that my angels watch over me. A symbiotic push and pull between two opposing forces- driving my innermost thoughts and fears.

In the midst of our grey reality, I consider myself very blessed to be surrounded by expedient hospital staff, whos’ supportive hands have uplifted me, developing a familial bond that stabilizes me in turbulent waters. The admission of your own mortality and sometimes subsequent sickness motivate a person to seek help. Layering current pandemic controls that restrict family and friends in the midst of this horror show can be mentally debilitating, a melancholy that affixes to your brain, lonely and afraid. Having a family support network is a supportive form of therapy that, in conjunction with medical intervention, positively impacts the brain. Irrespective of evidence based studies, I firmly support the psychosomatic phenomena of being able to conceptualize positive thoughts to physical fruition- thanks in large part to our medical guardians, providing the impetus to our metamorphosis.

Our environment deeply and significantly influence our outlook on life thus the people we choose to surround ourselves with are formative in our evolution. Some of us are forced into lonely circumstances, ashamed and destitute. Some will read this and think that I have self proclaimed an army of allies in contrast to their desolation. All I can write, as genuinely and sincerely as possible, is that I am here. I am willing to lend an ear to your struggle, with or without relating it to mine. I am here to acknowledge that the situation is ugly which can be necessary in a world that rams positivity down your throat, undermining a vital component of this journey – grieving.

Maneuvering the denial, anger, bargaining and depression are in my opinion critical to acceptance. I find myself pivoting back and forth between anger and depression, transitioning me to acceptance- opening a door to a life that continues and that I want to make the most of. If you need to scream, I am here to join you because life isn’t fair, but it is fucken beautiful.

In my most recent admission, it was quickly apparent that they would need to investigate the root cause of my bleeding. Beyond the fusillade of bloodwork, I waited in anticipation for the god awful but all too familiar bone marrow biopsy and aspirate. Beginning with local anaesthetic, the stage is falsely set in expectation of low pain. The aspirate needle is contorted and twisted into your puncture site, as the doctor moves with surgical precision and sensory memory to tell them when they’re in place….The aspirate suction begins, a superdocious robbery of fluid that was never intended out of the body and the accompanying feeling of that resistance is felt, unmuted by lidocaine. Then comes the biopsy with similar physical vigor where the intention is to attain a biopsy sample, a tedious and intricate venture. After the marrow is cut, the suction demands delicate hand movements which are critical to securing the fruits of their labor -heaven forbid losing it and having to go again. All in all, not a great experience but dare I say that, to a person similarly afflicted – this becomes our new norm.

Waiting for the rushed results of this marrow have been tormenting to say the least, in my eyes, a binary finding that is either catastrophic or manageable. My anxiety surged throughout the day in suspense of what I would be challenged with next. Am I strong enough? Maybe not as an individual but I knew I would rise to the occasion with every fibre of my being- envisioning walking my daughter down the aisle, a propellant force like no other….

And so-

My good friend and inpatient physician walked though the the doors today declaring that “I had not relapsed” Having been haunted by the anniversary date of last years relapse, my mind has been in a state of discord for months and I finally feel that I can breathe. Unable to craft the words to express my gratitude, I will leave it at, ineffable.

Life can be hard, mine has had no shortage of challenges, yet I channel my strength from those around me, those that I’ve lost and people that inspire me daily. I’m well aware of my privilege, but ultimately you must look outside of yourself to find your pillars of strength- whatever they may be.

Draw a picture, write a song, write a blog if it helps at all. I’m not cured but I cope.

Sometimes we find ourselves in lifes’ haphazard but I believe that overtime we are enlightened to it. I feel this euphoria at the moment that I fully intend to immerse myself in. Though our feelings our fickle, erratic and can change, we need to grab hold of our victories and rejoice in them.

For today, I’ll sleep a little more peaceful, breathe a little deeper and thank my team in the sky for their continued oversight.

Nonna, ti voglio ringrazio per tutto che tua fatto. Tu si mio Angelo.

Ti amo per sempre.

¹Ed Sheeran & YEBBA- Best Part of Me
² In memory of John Coletta

To a Distinguished Heart and Honorary Healer

The devastation of a cancer diagnosis knows no bounds, a crippling reminder of your own mortality in pursuit of answers which we yearn to hear and might later regret.

As patients, we may find ourselves in an alternate reality disguised to those outside of the cancer club in which we host members from all walks of life; divided into 2 categories: patients and allies. These allies support the diverse needs of a fight club whose tenacity is unparalleled in the face of what seems to be insurmountable odds. These allies can illuminate a diagnoses as they push past modern day limits fuelled by compassion and the art of the possible, crafting experiences that are progressively less dim than the last. One of my steadfast allies has been Dr. Loach.

During my journey, Dr. Loach has been a resounding ray of light whose bedside manner should be awarded, emulated and admired. Having seen a multitude of doctors over the years, it has always been apparent to me that Dr. Loach emitted a genuine caring and compassionate quality that I, as a patient, could take comfort in. A Bone Marrow Transplant can feel like a highly redundant, anxiety charged daze- waiting to see which side effects will afflict you. With that said, I would look forward to his daily assessment and delivery of the current state. I never felt as if he was time constrained though I’m sure he was spread thin and beyond all else trusted that his decisions always had my best interests at heart.

In an environment devoid of entertainment, Dr. Loach honed his voice and musical prowess for the benefit of all that would listen. A true testament to his thoughtful character could even be seen in his clothing, a combination of eclectic and sometimes quirky outfits to put a smile on your face – BMTs unicorn. It is without a doubt that his retirement will be felt by his team members but I can only hope that his many years of service were imprinted on the culture of BMT, remembering that the compassionate and caring aspect of the process is just as important as the practical.

I wish you all the very best in whichever direction life takes you and am forever grateful for your impact on my cancer journey.

Your friend,

Adam

Albatross

In a pandemic, our dread for the the COVID19 albatross and its unprecedented fear mongering, demand changes to hospital operations in anticipation of an overloaded medical system. Patients, like me, are balancing preexisting issues- some more complicated than others, many of which are life threatening, and yet we’re reluctant to seek care based on public perception. A perception that endangers the lives of people compromised by serious medical conditions who are now turning a blind eye to potentially life threatening symptoms.

Within the last week, I began to notice some symptoms that I was suspicious of for internal/external bleeding. Without any physical trauma, I presented with burst capillaries (petechiae), warning of low platelet count. This in conjunction with chronic epistaxis (nose bleeds) were enough to place me on high alert, emailing my chief physician and then being advised to visit an emergency hospital. All I could think was that I have been isolating for months to avoid the new world pathogen and was now asked to visit Dantes inferno.

Arriving at the emergency department felt as if I was going to war, immunosuppressed and dodging the oppositions viral ammunition. Wanting to avoid another layer of complexity to my never-ending patient file, I used the appropriate precautions, and reluctantly crept through the sliding doors into the mass hysteria I anticipated….

There I stood in the waiting room of a city hospital, all alone, not another patient in sight. This was a welcome surprise- contradicting conclusions that I had previously drawn! I quickly registered and was reminded that visitors were not allowed, a security provision that I knew had been implemented but that I hoped I would never fall victim to. I was quickly triaged and placed in a containment area which again seemed abandoned. Our media has successfully cast a global fear net where patients are trepidatious to seek medical expertise resulting in diminished intakes and increased capacity.

My mind moves at a mile a minute, weighing me down with the worst case scenario, flashbacks litter my psyche, uninvited and unwelcome. Every sense seemed to instigate my anxiety coupled with the fact that I was in a 6 patient capacity room- separated by the almighty curtain. Slowly, patients began to trickle in, each forced to broadcast their unique circumstance, devoid of any audible privacy.

“When I find myself in times of trouble

Evelina comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.”

My faith steered me in an optimistic direction, feeling as if God casted me in a screenplay, with fortuitous characters and mildly entertaining storylines. More importantly, I took comfort in the fact, that though our circumstances were different, we weren’t alone.

On the phone, my first roommate indignantly explained that she had not had a bowel movement in 2 months. As I was compelled to listen, it became quite apparent that her symptomatic profile reeked of hyperbole. The doctor quickly rejected her request for treatment, on the premise that too much of a good thing can be harmful. Her plea for an enema echoed through the halls, a resounding certainty that this was necessary or would have devastating consequences. After the doctor reassured her that this was anxiety driven and to speak to a family physician for anxiety management, they managed to compromise with a glycerin suppository. Clearly not operating in good faith, the sly fox tried to ask for a second but was quickly denied and asked to leave.

On to the next.

A elderly man was escorted into the adjacent cubicle with broken English. Hospital controls restrict accompanying visitors thus he was left to fend for himself, and actually articulated his point quite well. Rather than explain his scenario, I will allude to the issue by saying it was a guy problem and leave it at that. As we wait in the room unattended and in anticipation of our next steps, the man blurted “I love my mother” followed by her admiration for his dog. He also passionately told the wall that he could come back later as if to threaten the dingy sheet rock, rat bastard. Though unusual I assumed that this was some variation of dementia where I felt it better to notify the nursing station to a possible comprehension issue. But hey brother, I love my mother too.

Following a 12 hour stint in the ER, multiple consults and clarifications, I was admitted to PMH at which point I would be eventually moved to my “home unit” – Allogenic Transplant. Returning to the airtight passage, paralyzed with fear, coincidence would place me in the same room that my last transplant began. The floodgates opened, my mind invaded by vivid imagery, and sensory memory that assaulted by spirit. The battery continued for an hour before I could collect myself, undercutting the reality that this was now the best place for me with the best people.

“And in my hour of darkness

She is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be.”

The slew of testing is underway investigating the root cause of my underlying cytopenia. In waiting for a definitive diagnoses, an hour seems like a day- time passes at an almost punishing rate. Do I want to know the outcome? Is it positive? Am I strong enough? You might think that my veteran patient status would have grown me accustom to the idle time and yet it is equally tormenting with every order. I live in a perpetual state of unrest, a fear that follows me in the shadows, taunting me to no end.

My mindset is disrupted as I am once again forced to face my demons, an incessant battle that I am conscripted in and a war that I pray to emerge victorious. I draw strength from my family from afar, harnessing the will to push forward, framing this admission as just another hill to climb.

And brother, I’m an expert.

Jumpstart

Gratitude. As a society driven by the perpetual acquisition of things we’re forever wanting, rarely satisfied and regularly pining for our next fix. We move a million miles a minute, slaves to our desire to maintain a lifestyle- a repetitive loop to a song we can dissect down to each and every melodic line and yet we’re resistant to pause, stop or change. These actions are usually shoved down our throats, an unwanted epiphany that calls into question the trajectory of our life and more shockingly, its’ destination.

My epiphany was born out of hellfire, in a time when I was derailed by sickness and emblazoned by routine. Playing the economic violin, I was inducted as a member of societies orchestra- lost in the sweet song of being- undermining life’s hourglass. As we maneuver lifes’ obstacle course, our perception is characterized by our exposure, experiences that are traded by currency and therefore restricted to the disenfranchised. And so we want what we know and know what we see, inherently limiting our vantage point and our appreciation for what we have.

During my stay at 610 University Ave, I developed a loathing for styrofoam that imprinted my psyche, the inpatient water goblet that truly branded me a member of the building. Day by day, hour by hour, these cups would taunt me, a never-ending reminder of my circumstance that I wished I could banish.

Showering seems like such a menial task, a pseudo-aquatic getaway in the comfort of our own homes. I was once guilty for assuming that this activity was accessible to all, until my energy depleted to the point where it became a gargantuan task. Panting for breathe, I frequently required my nasal prongs to transport oxygen to my inflamed lungs, praying that I would muster the athleticism to shampoo my head and wash my body.

Perhaps closer to your current reality is the isolation you feel, away from friends and family, left to your own devices in the comfort of your home. I can relate, as can many club members who have fallen victorious to inpatient treatment. A 30 day check-in period with varying isolation necessitating yellow gowns, nitrile gloves and surgical masks to break the curtain barrier. Visitor restrictions blocked children under 12 from being able to visit, preventing my light from entering- a withdrawal from my daughter that I hope to never repeat. I get it…

I write this in the hopes of applying a different lens to your reality, a mental jumpstart to awaken your sense of fortune beyond the numbers in your bank account. This pandemic has aggravated a nerve that has left society uncomfortable- gnawing at our conveniences for the safety of our collective, leaving us to question what is truly important.

I’m grateful to sip water from a glass, the cool crisp taste of water untainted, free of the chemical stench of styrofoam. I am grateful to shower, uninhibited by my body and the uncertainty of whether my legs will hold me. I’m grateful to wake up to my heart and soul, watching my daughter develop into the exquisite child and person she’s destined to become.

I’m grateful for what I have in the absence of all that I don’t and may never hold. The air in my lungs is really all that I need.

Did the “engine” start?

Thank you,

Passing the Torch

Press play for accompaniment

As children, we’re entrusted to the care of our parents, a role that encompasses a wide array of tasks that will intrinsically influence who a person will become. In our development we’re sculpted by our inherited diet, activity level and environment- a splash of love, pinch of experience and we have a nicely rendered human being. A now 30 yr old man, my senses electrify and revitalize when exposed to family tradition that predates the battlefield of adulthood. The smell of fresh casatiello, pizza scarola, and freshly fried fittina exist in my Never Never Land complimented by the clean Saturday aroma of bleach and dusting aerosol to jumpstart my morning. At this point you’ve probably deduced that I’m not just any Dad, and you’d be right, I’m a cool Dad.

Growing up at 57 Ba*****, I can still smell the sweet aroma of espresso bubbling in the percolator. It would quickly envelop the entire house, navigating the 4 level back-split with ease and signalling the beginning of a new day. Soon after, the 7am sizzle of freshly fried chicken cutlets suggested that I was going to school with the crown jewel of lunches, a 5 pound panini stuffed with love – compliments of Nonna. I can still remember the grand panino menu usually a recreation of what I was craving – a concept that started in my mind, was voiced and transformed into a bona fide trophy sandwich. From prosciutto and fresh garden tomatoes, polpette (meatballs) and rapini or a classic sausage and pepper combo, Nonna elevated my lunch status to CPO (Chief Panino Officer). These sandwiches were so good they could be monetized and/or traded for loot- though barter usually implies an equal trade which was never the case. Are you hungry?

Snacktime…brb.

Being able to retrieve these memories has proven to be one of my biggest assets, a great way to escape a painful situation or cope with loss. An asset that I believe to be of such enduring high value, that I vow to expose my daughter to these “happy thoughts”, hoping that these too will be her fuel to fly (I won’t forget the fairy dust).

COVID19 continues to test our endurance and fortitude as most of us sit in distress, trying to pray a rewind button into existence. I personally have abandoned the concept of time travel and am looking ahead to the future, trying my best to construct a reality in which my daughter has elements of our (my wife and I) traditions in the absence of its most vital components, our family. And then came Easter….

Being blessed by the company of great women, my wife was ready and willing to tackle some of our chief Italian Easter staples. To truly understand the significance of this act, you need to know that, in my experience, these were historically made by our angel thus to say that this person had big shoes to fill, would be an understatement.

A sentiment that I would echo to anyone pursuing a similar task….

By chance, osmosis, or genetics we had takeoff in every household trying to recreate not only the food but a version of a feeling we so long had but now yearn for. It is more evident now than in my lifetime to not take people for granted. As a byproduct of this pandemic, we’re reminded to cherish our lives, the people in them & the experiences we hold dear.

Though I think that it will never be the same, I believe that it shouldn’t be- we’re different, we’re inspired by our heart and have been passed the torch to produce our own interpretations guided by our recollection.

What we can do is really a testament to the hard work of our elders & a value system that we carry on in their memory.

From what I’m seeing, we’re not doing too bad. ❤

Bon Appetit

In loving memory of Evelina Coletta.

Spirit Defence

As people, most of us pride ourselves on being social beings and the subsequent interaction that comes from that. Our normal is often undermined by our naivety, forgetting that even rocks erode and that the concept of “perpetual” is more often an idealist construction than a reality. As we proceed through the world in the midst of a storm of change, our choices influence our outcome in what we perceive to be positive or negative results. By default, as a consequence of our place in the animal kingdom, our collective species are supposedly responsible for the trajectory of our lives and our self proclaimed earthly domain. Or are we?

As you may know, my lifestyle of late has been somewhat self-deprecating as my treatment journey moves me further and further away from my idealist self. A large part of that has involved adapting to isolation as both a functional and mental barrier for my recovery. For those of you that know, our hands have long been dry from the sanitizer, ears sore from the face mask and weary of restaurant food in violation of food handling guidelines. We change our clothes often and have heightened crowd awareness, conditioned to avoid the herd and fight our human instinct to socialize ^. Medicines recluse.

This feeling was largely restricted to the Cancer Club, a reality that manifested in the shadows where I shamefully thought I belonged, a social leaper amongst societies elite- the concert goers and crowd herders. However, rocks do erode.

COVID19 has moved the taboo topic of mortality out of the shadows. Heavily invested in our bulletproof misperception, it has awakened a mentally dormant reality- mans’ fragility. The fact that no-one is immune casts an inclusive global net testing our endurance in the absence of a cure. A virus that is proving to be a fearsome opponent, igniting a rampant fire that thirsts for a suitable host to overcome. In the absence of a medicinal solution, we are forced to implement control measures to limit the spread and so……..we quarantine.

Where once it was busy, is currently slow- where there once was a gathering, is empty and alone. Where we may have had pleasure, is now replaced by fear, the monster advances, its’ motive unclear. And yet, there is light.

Though my new normal has maintained itself relatively unscathed, the truth is that my focus has continued to be on the positive. These changes have enabled me to spend precious time with my daughter that I am thankful for every second, minute and hour of my life. Our communities stand united and hopeful as they try and envision a world beyond this pandemic- a transformational journey that at its best rekindled a gratitude and awareness for our rich lives and at its worst, we mourn those that were lost, loved and fell victim to the possession of COVID19.

My hope is that you and your loved ones are safe…

My hope is that when the tide calms and the dust settles, we remember those that must remain isolated due to their misfortune, whatever it may be.

United, we’re strong but more importantly- we’re not alone.

Manifest

Road-to-Horizon-1024x640

Been a minute…

Been broken and fallen but am rising from the ashes of my pain and solitude – trying to combat my weening confidence. My mind travels to my hospital bed unwillingly and without my permission, forcing me to relive the horror of countless treatment and yearning for my family. When will the dark shadow disappear presenting a persuasive argument that I will fail, an attempt to erode my hope, transforming my optimism and influencing who I’ve become. I find myself uttering wishes to be healthy hundreds of times a day, hoping it will be picked up on the divine circuit. And then…seeing my daughters face, suddenly, the shadow is obliterated by the light of her smile and with it comes my solace.

To say my family is supportive is a gross understatement, committed to a fault resulting in their discrete unravelling. Part of my journey has involved waves of guilt, ashamed by the dependency that I have forced on my loved ones, though I am eternally thankful for them. On the other side, the clarity I have with my relationships has evolved seeing action in place of words – affirming who I can count on- a rare perspective.

124 days post transplant and I know its time to look to the horizon, leaving behind the uncertainty and fear of my past. I envision walking my princess down the aisle, a healthy, elated stud overwhelmed with pride at the woman she has become- hoping that in some small way my experience added to her strength and fortitude.

I look to the future, one foot in front of the other hopeful that my demons will retreat as I’m stronger today than the last…

Regards,

Evelinas grandson.

Erosion

Eating on my hospital bed, the curtain is closed to block the reality that looms in front of me, natures ticking bomb. A timer seems to be set for all of us, a destiny in which we have no control- hovering through a predefined path indignantly. Resistance seems futile when imagining the slope of my uphill battle, sometimes 90 degrees where even gravity is against me. In our lives, we are blessed by people that compliment our ride but that we soon learn are not affixed to it. Within the last 2 years, I have been confronted with loss. Loss for the life I had and took for granted, my nonna 1 year departed and for everyone I’ve dragged along the way.

As I sit here collecting my thoughts, I find myself suffocating, missing the person I was and forced to become. We know from an early age life is fuelled by death. One is necessary for the other to flourish yet our experience is so drastically different. It is different because we can’t miss what we never had yet can easily pine for what we did. Perhaps we have a limit to how much or how many people we can lose, a slow erosion like rock into sediment.

Outside of my bubble, I have been monitoring a close family crisis- close lipped and closed curtain. I tend to avoid writing about subjects that make me uncomfortable, thinking the written word may perpetuate a bad situation. It was for this reason that I remained idle, hoping and praying that my uncle would rebound this one last time. He would come through this last hospital visit humbled and appreciative of his gift – a come to Jesus moment that he so desperately needed but never found.

We experience life with highs and lows, only really to appreciate one in the midst of the sharp harsh contrast of the other. My uncle was a man that forged a life born of strong family values and a steadfast loyalty towards his inner sactum. Separated by time, our paths were produced on a similar stage, with common characters that resulted in a lifelong bond and brotherhood. My uncle was a larger than life personality and people pleaser, one of his most admirable traits and faults. A lifelong socialite, he excelled around family and friends and reserved judgement in lifes’ pitfalls. My hope is that he is at peace and aware of how much he was loved. I will forever regret having missed the opportunity to say goodbye though I will always carry our good times, life lessons and assigned moniker:

“Bush-pig”, said with life-long gumption and enthusiasm”

A term of endearment that I whole heartedly keep close to the chest, exclusively reserved for my uncle.

❤ Nonna, you can give him a pass on the nickname. Take care of each other.

___________________

Wimp C

Until we meet again. 1934-2018

Press play for accompanying music

Mio Angelo

It’s a sobering reality to be caught reaching for the phone only to remind yourself that the person you’re calling isn’t there. My diaphragm swells up, inflated by heartache, followed by a feeling likened to pleural effusion- gasping for oxygen while submerged in a bayou of tears. The memorial of her passing unleashes imagery that invades my mind, a loop that has branded me in a state of perpetual mourning for the last 2 years. I turn to my writing to attempt to extract what she means to me, an endeavour in which I can’t help but fall short, as words as I know them, don’t do her justice.

My eyes are closed as I try to summon my memories, begging whoever will listen to not dampen them, to keep them vivid and loud, however painful. I pray to whoever will listen that she knows how remorseful I am for not being around when I couldn’t and even more for all the times I could but didn’t…

Nonna,

For all the life lessons, nurture, and example you set for me, I am forever appreciative. I remember the good times and continue to look to you when I’m uncertain or my faith falters, to be the man that you saw in me.

The gratitude I feel for you holding on in the hysteria of your ascension replays in my mind, raising Marquesa to see the woman largely responsible for her father, to help him say goodbye to his life-long best friend- flashing in my mind like a strobe light on the edge of a seizure…and then you pull me back.

Thank you,

On the anniversary of her passing, I leave you with her eulogy, raw and airbrushed with one edit, her newest great-granddaughter added to the Coletta team roster.

Our family has requested a virtual memorial mass in her honour, live streamed at St. Clare of Assisi church on Monday June 15 at 7:45 am EST. The mass will also be uploaded to their Youtube feed if you would like to join at a later time.

For anyone that wishes to join virtually, please click here to navigate to their Youtube page.

Life is a rollercoaster, a series of ups and downs that has your heart beating out of your chest one minute and the next -waiting in curious anticipation of the next sprint. Throughout our journey we’re surrounded by passengers that enrich our lives and give meaning to our time on this earth, kindred spirits that we’re blessed by but not permanently affixed to – mine was my Nonna. My mother gave me life; my Nonna gave me the motivation and courage to push through it uninhibited and unapologetic.

June 15th marks the day my grandmother exited this ride, my heart broke and my motivation stalled. It has become all too apparent that our time here is short and irony has it that our loved ones time be even shorter. It is then, only appropriate that I recount her impact on my life.

I’ve been told that God blessed me with an unbreakable bond to my Nonna that had been fostered from birth. Our relationship can only be explained by the word love, not in the loose social context that it is exercised but true to the meaning that it was intended. I feel as though to truly understand her level of involvement in my life, I would have to describe Nonna as my second mother, biggest supporter and confidant. In my life, I have turned to her example to find the strength to be resilient in life’s greatest challenges- finding comfort that we endured together. I can recall listening to her routine telephone conversations where she would boast seemingly menial accomplishments – which granted may have given me a complex but also conditioned me to always see the best in myself. Some of the discussion topics included:

The entire street commenting on how “stirato” (ironed) my uniform looked, a testament to her tireless pressing efforts.
My uncanny ability to eat an an entire panettone or pizza scarrola and occasional gelato before dinner. Like any good Italian boy, a good appetite was considered admirable. A concept that truly fed into my iron man physique.
My choice to not only partake but enjoy household chores. This was a foreign concept to that generation but a trait that I inherited and evolved, primarily in our Saturday rise and shine mornings. And by shine I mean, the bathrooms, furniture, kitchen and anything else we could clean to brillare (shine).

From infancy to early adulthood, my sister and I had quite successfully relieved Nonna and Nonno of ever having to feel empty-nest syndrome. Her open door policy, I feel, was a reflection of her resounding commitment to family – a trait that her lineage would continue to parlay into their individual households. I had always admired Nonnas fortitude in response to difficult situations, turning to her steadfast faith. I can vividly remember hearing her speaking alone in a room – which I would later come to know was praying. Sometimes it was also her speaking to herself or venting because I had done something wrong- loud enough so that I could hear and…quickly

– Apologize OR

– Fix what I did

A true matriarch, her devotion to her family was unrivaled and fierce. I say fierce most intentionally as it was ill advised to cross her and especially her legacies. Whether I was right or the many times I was wrong, her maternal instincts sheltered me from harms way and instilled in me the true meaning of unconditional love. I must commend her on maintaining that stance in spite of my teenage shopping trips to the bar which she frequently said left her with 0 bottles of “whishkey”

An exuberant personality, one of her favorite pastimes was to speak on the phone, a tool to stay connected to her family and friends and a way to amplify her reach as she praised her loved ones. Without fail, my friends would normally be witness to Nonna beaming with pride as she triumphantly explained that she raised me. Irrespective of the audience (my mom included) her endearing recollection of hiding me in a closet so that my mom couldn’t take me home was whimsical. “hi me, hi me” she would re-enact time and time again- and Nonna would always comply. I can still feel the mink coat on my face as I stood still, hoping that I could stay with my best friend. I should mention that my success rate was good.

She was the champion of our family, a journey that began 65 years ago and evolved to what we see before us today. She is survived by:

Her husband, 3 daughters, 1 son, 10 grandchildren and 2 great-granddaughters.

It seems that the tables have now turned and she is hiding from me, out of sight but never out of my mind and heart. Until we meet again, I find solace in her watching over us accessorized with a set of leopard print wings and crystal halo.

I love you, Nonna.

Riposare in Pace.

Mi manchi di più ogni giorno che passa. Sei per sempre nei nostri cuori.

Sei la mia forza quando sono debole

¹Ed Sheeran & YEBBA- Best Part of Me ² In memory of John Coletta

¹Ed Sheeran & YEBBA- Best Part of Me
² In memory of John Coletta