I tend to be a little behind on some of the blog “things”. There are times I sit and think about a thing for awhile instead of doing my customary shoot from the hip (too often it’s shoot from the lip) approach. Honestly, sometimes my words and actions are way ahead of any brain activity. Anyway…here is my idea for a novel.

It isn’t fiction, but I would write it that way because I don’t have enough of the facts to flesh out the story. I would love to write the story of my Grandmother’s life. She died when I was only two, so I don’t have any memories of her, but I have listened to my Mom and her sisters talk about her all my life. She was an amazing woman.

She came to America from Italy when she was five years old. She came with her mother across the ocean on a big ship, landing at Ellis Island. My Mom tells how she had to walk for miles through this strange new city, clutching her mother’s hand, to join the family members who had come to New York before them..

She was married at thirteen – an arranged marriage to a much older man. She didn’t get to finish school, and was instead immediately thrust into the role of wife and surrogate mother. My grandfather sent for his family members as he earned enough money, so whenever someone arrived from Italy, my grandmother took them in. The marriage was a strong, loving one that lasted until my Grandfather died at age sixty-five.

She never did anything newsworthy or amazing by the world’s standards, but she quietly sacrificed for the sake of her family day in and day out. She lost babies in ways that could easily have been prevented in our time. One little girl died of blood poisoning from a cut that became infected. Another little boy died of spinal meningitis. One heartache after another, and yet she continued to be the heart and soul of her family. Whenever there was a tragedy or sickness in their poor neighborhood, she was the one they called. During the terrible Influenza epidemic, she went from home to home nursing those who were ill and couldn’t afford a doctor. Miraculously, she never got sick herself nor did anyone in her family. When the depression made putting simple meals on the table a challenge, she managed to feed not only her family but anyone else who needed help.

When I think of her life and compare it to mine I am humbled. She was a remarkable woman. I wish I could do her story justice.

Blessings,
Linda