To be an Italian.

Erik's grandmother Josephine is in transition. She is will be 99 years old in 6 days. Yes, I said 99. Can you imagine all that she has been witness to? Her last few days are approaching us.

Erik's parents moved to Fargo-Moorhead when he was just a baby. The rest of his family has remained in Colorado. Erik's great-grandparents came here from Italy. From what I understand his great-grandfather was a farmhand and he fell for the the farmer's daughter. I think a story that is very similar to my great-grandparents but they came over from Norway. Living in our area you assume most of us are from the German-Norwegian-Scandinavian descent, a good bulk of my friends were growing up. Then I met Erik who is almost 100% Italian. His stories of his family culture growing up were so different from mine. I loved to hear about his stories.

Italians are serious people. They are serious with everything they do. At his holiday dinners he can remember the men all gathered around the table for a couple of days watching the women cook. They would roll out the dough to make all of their ravioli's, homemade spaghetti noodles and meatballs, and Italian breads. Which would be served along a turkey, ham, and all the American holiday fixings. The women would place their hands in boiling hot water to make sure the noodles were not sticking speaking jubilant Italian the entire time. Boiling hot water.

Once they were ready to serve, all the men claimed their spot around the same table they had been sitting at for days and would be served.  Then there duty was to literally eat all day long. He explained to me that they would start at 11 am and end at 5 pm. Everything is served in courses and if you did not literally eat everything on your plate the women were offended. My mother-in-law told me that she thought she was going to split her pants the first holiday she ate with them. Once you are done with the main courses you follow it up with Italian pastries, cookies, and coffee. Then they would share a nice bottle of vino. Then you would start all over again.

I have always wished I could have been a part of one of these dinners. Of course to actually try authentic Italian (love ya Speak Easy) but to be a witness to this family dynamic. I can just picture all these little Italian women bustling around the kitchen (they were all 4'8" or less) and the men sitting there rattling them with remarks. Erik told me that they would all wear matching white and red checked aprons with their hair pinned up high on their heads.

Josephine has has Alzheimer's for many years now. They never placed her in an assisted living facility. They took out her beloved stove and anything else that could hurt her. Her only daughter has cared for her everyday. She has fed her each meal, given each bath, and comforted her when she is not sure where she is.

Even thought I have never had the pleasure of meeting Josephine I am very sad. You can feel this strong Italian family waver in their strength because this little woman had a heart of gold. It is time for her to go meet her beloved husband and sons that have gone before her. I wish her a safe journey. I want her to know that it is okay to go because even though I do not know how to roll out a ravioli from scratch I will make sure that all of her boys here are well taken care of. Love you Great-Grandma Josephine Tortorice.