Tina

The long Thanksgiving weekend has come to a close, and I sit and revel in the newly formed memories of the precious time spent with my family.  I ponder these thoughts as well as conjure up images of the special people in my life who are no longer here – my parents, other relatives, and friends, and to that list I now add my sister, Tina.  Though her passing happened in June, and the celebration of her life in August, it was just recently that I returned to the cemetery where her name is engraved below my parents on the crypt they now share, making it as real as it will ever get.

My sister and I were estranged.  She was a very difficult and challenging force to deal with, and the bitterness and anger she felt  at a life that did not pan out as she had envisioned was turned outward, and projected onto others, and, most specifically, onto me. She was, as we all are, broken, and, into her brokenness, seeped her own personal demons which she was unable to corral – to tame – to keep at bay, but this is not what I want to dwell on anymore.  In fact, my purpose in remembering my sister today is to continue letting go of all the sadness, hurt and pain of the past, and to honor her good spirit instead.

We all have, inside each of us, that core of goodness, of perfect beauty, harmony, and innocence with which we are born.  It behooves us to access this, though it is often not an easy feat in the least. I want to access that core for my sister through a few memories of her, and us, during younger, better times.

From an early age, Tina was put in charge.  She was already 4 1/2 when I was born, and a second mother I was given.  I do not have firm memories of her until we left Italy in 1958 to join my father in the U.S.  I have an image of my sister, brother, and I cuddled together in bed, exhausted after the long trek across the Atlantic to Brooklyn at the house of relatives. Then, after our arrival in California – another picture of the four of us now, huddled together in one bed in Mountain View , during my father’s hospitalization, which happened shortly after our arrival, and I see a 9 year old Tina and my mom leaving early in the morning to walk downtown Mountain View to clean the J.C. Penney Store, one of my father’s many janitorial jobs.

I fast forward to 1965 when we made our first trip back to Italy. On the TWA flight to New York, our layover, the plane abruptly and significantly lost altitude three times – I was sitting on the aisle with one seat between Tina, who was by the window, and myself.  She undoubtedly was as terrified as I was, and yet, she looked over at me with that beautiful smile and with those “Sally Field” cheeks, giggled, grabbed my hand, and held on tightly, and I was calmed and reassured that it would be all right.

Once in Italy, there were many moments of laughter – she had a “ripply” laugh –  when you throw a pebble into the water ripples are produced, and I always thought that if this were ever to be accompanied by a sound effect, it would be my sister’s laughter. That summer we visited a lot of people who offered us wine, regardless of our young age.  She once returned from one of those visits with my mom, and she was really giggling a lot, having imbibed a bit of vino, causing me to laugh as well.

One day, I was given the task of setting the table in the sala of my grandparent’s house to host the men who had helped my grandfather harvest his hay – il fieno – while my mother and grandmother were preparing lunch.  After I was done, I sat looking at my handiwork – and remembered my sister’s funny behavior from the day before, and thinking, ” I wonder what that wine tastes like without being diluted with water and sugar (that I had been accustomed to drinking most of my very young life.) I started with one glass of my nonno’s very tasty Lambrusco, followed quickly by four more.  By the time my nonna and mother came in to check on me, I was a very happy and intoxicated ten year old.

Sternly, my nonna ordered me upstairs.  At that moment my sister walked in and took one look at me, and immediately emitted that infectious “ripply” laughter of hers.  She was instructed to drag me upstairs and put me to bed.  So, my sister grabbed my hand, and we stumbled upstairs, her laughter making me act even sillier.

Once upstairs, in bed, my eyes made contact with the roving eyes on the Virgin Mary in a painting on the wall – the eyes would follow you everywhere.  Nonna , seeing me looking at the Madonna, admonished me by telling me that Mary was very angry with me, and I honestly did not mean to be disrespectful by my response, “Why is she angry? Does she wants some wine too? Because there’s more downstairs.”  Nonna’s lips quivered as she fought to not laugh, and quickly left.  Her exit was serenaded by another onslaught of Tina’s “ripply” laughter as she gently pushed me down, and I finally slept.

Most of my memories of Tina entail family time spent together – with the steady stream of Italian and English as she spoke and  discussed any and all topics with my father. In the background my mother is busy in the kitchen, and my brother and I rolling around on the floor, irritating each other.

When I was younger, she was my encourager.  I was very quiet and not too confident.  When I was a senior in high school, and it was getting close to deciding  what to do after high school, I had made up my mind to not go to college, as I couldn’t imagine living away, and I also thought I wasn’t smart enough.  When she asked me what my plans were, I told her that I would just stay home, get a job as a secretary somewhere, buy a car, and maybe take a class or two at Foothill College. She responded quickly, saying that that wasn’t good enough – that I was plenty bright to go to college, and so, together, we filled out applications, and I was accepted at UC Davis, and even qualified for a state scholarship, so off to college I went.

Tina also encouraged me to do my “Junior Year Abroad” in Padova, Italy,  just like she had. When I was there, so was she, having moved to Milan.  I saw her a lot , and we went to plays, films, museums, an opera at La Scala, and so much more.

Milan is the Panettone capital, and one day, we bought three of them, freshly baked, along with a few bottles of Asti Spumanti, and went back to her hotel room as she hadn’t yet found an apartment.  Without utensils, we grabbed at the panettoni and drank the champagne – all the while Tina talked and I just listened – I was her sounding board – that was my role and I simply listened – her voice was always a comfort.

Once when I couldn’t get anyone to go to Switzerland with me, she encouraged me to go on my own. She arranged to travel up to Lucerne with me, help me locate a place to stay, visit a little, and them she would go back, and I would travel on.  I was ok with the plan until it came time for her to leave, and then I panicked and didn’t want to do it anymore.  I remember how she started to laugh and couldn’t stop saying, “This is so funny,” which made me see the irony as well.  Then I started laughing too, and my confidence returned.  That was the best week ever as I went on to a few more cities all on my own.  I’m pretty sure that my wanderlust today had some of its origin on that day.

My sister loved to travel, and travel she did, extensively, especially during her 3 year stint living in Milan, working for an airline.  The goal was to take up permanent residence, and then, we would all somehow follow. It was during this time that she “broke,” and the stories explaining it abounded, but definitively, there was not one specific cause, other than she was no longer comfortable in her own skin.  Because of this, she was often angry and bitter, and that inner core of good was further obstructed by her unmet expectations of life.  I had become at this time no longer a “listening board,” but rather a”punching bag.”  Time and time again I rallied to “fix” her – to “make” her happy,” in spite of the detrimental effects her “arrows” had on me.  I always had the hope that I could help her – but the reality is that no one changes unless it is within them to make it happen.  I had to let go, something that happened not that long ago.

I wish that my sister could have been more at peace in life, but somehow this alluded her, and my heart is filled with a profound sadness and compassion, and has been for a long time. Since her passing in June, whenever I  think of her, though, it is her amazing smile, that melodious “ripply” laughter,” and her goodness that I welcome to my mind.

One of my most favorite quotes comes from Maya Angelou: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you’ve said; people will forget what you did; but people will never forget how you made them feel.” And, so the lesson I take away with me is that we must take good care in how we treat each other, through being  just a little more kind, empathetic, understanding, helpful, and less judgemental to anyone we meet along our path.