Grandmother's Rocking Chair

Rosina

Grandmother’s Rocking Chair…

If I close my eyes gently I can still see her. Her smile lit inside of me a feeling of love and trust. She was the one constant, strong and honest person in my life. I knew if I felt scared, hopeless or in danger, I could go stay at my grandmother's house. I am not sure if her house was similar to any other grandmothers in the 1970-1980's but I have always felt it wasn't. She was not the typical grandmother of those years. Sometimes it seemed as if God preserved her in a time warp for me so I could have some home grown old fashion goodness instilled in my spirit.

Growing up in those years felt like things moved fast, she didn't. We had old fashioned, family, Sunday dinners. There were family games played outside and many hours helping her in the kitchen. If she needed something at the store...we walked. She didn't have a driver’s license and didn't want it. She wore knee highs or tights everyday because that is what a proper lady wore. She wasn't a woman of leisure or means but she was a woman of integrity, decency and goodness. Her qualities extended to family, friends, neighbors and yes, strangers. Really, she never saw a human as a stranger. They were someone she just didn't get a chance to meet yet. She smiled and talked to everyone and they all smiled and responded back matching her kindness.

 

Her wedding day

There wasn't toys, money, or any of the little extras around her house. I don't even think she had a Grandmother's rocking chair to hold her grandchildren in. I didn't see any of that or need it with her. I saw her life full of love, hard work and joy to have her family around. There were hardships behind her smiling eyes but they were lessons she taught me silently, without words. She taught me with the touch of her hand on my hand, warm caring eyes as she looked at me her eyes seem to say… it will all work out in the end, don't worry. I did worry though. I worried a lot. I was the kid with anxiety, stomach aches and some aches I can't quite categorize even now with my adult vocabulary. She knew though, she always did. She would just sit me down and feed me. No real words of wisdom, just language of love through her labor. She understood and knew pain and heartache more than anyone. She buried two sons and a grandson. In her later years she buried her husband too. I never saw her break but I am sure she must have wanted to at times. I witnessed her family torn apart and put back together through the years but again she did not stumble or waiver. She guided each one of us as she went. It was our choice to listen and follow though she never used force. There were a few times, however, when I was really young she threatened me with the wooden spoon but I digress...

As her Birthday approaches next week I find myself thinking of her more. Not a day goes by that my strong Italian grandmother does not somehow influence me. I keep her with me through her recipes in my kitchen and through my oldest daughter Carina Rose who proudly shares her name. I have planted her a tree in my yard and many times through the year I am under it silently speaking to her still. I will always be thankful to the simple, happy, good and kindhearted woman named Rosina for helping my parents shape me and mold me to the woman I am today. Her heart is my heart and her spirit is the fire that burns bright inside of me. If you see me and experience my light in this world just know that is a light that has burned over generations. I hope my own future granddaughters will continue to be the torchbearers of Rosina's light.

My daughters, Rosina's torchbearers.