#64: Italy, USA, Geneva, USA, January – June, 2008
A Time of Transitions — Death, Confirmation,
Reunion and Respite

May

This was a month that really demanded a lot of grit. It started with Aunt Ethel throwing us a curveball in the form of an email from her Lighthouse for the Blind Volunteer. In the most terse communique possible, he informed us that she’d already moved into the continuous care facility which we three (R, E & N) had chosen together last August.

I won’t bore you with all the details, but after several efforts, we finally reached her by phone. The best we could glean was that she’d seemingly taken it into her head to “be independent and move on [her] own.” I surely felt foolish, especially because we’d talked some ten days before about my upcoming visit and help. Then I remembered how she’d done similar things all her life, and I felt better. The bottom line is that she’s in the facility, after years of Dad, her sister Anne, her brother Charles and I all trying to talk her into moving into a place where she could get the kind of care she’s needed for a long time. Thank heaven.

We’ve had to revise my travel plans, no longer spending four weeks in northern Virginia helping her move. Lots of difficulty doing this at such a late date, but we finally ended up with something we can live with. I’ll now be a little over a week in the DC area, helping Aunt Ethel (at her request) with doctors appointments, unpacking and various errands. As usual, I’ll do more while in the States, with Russell later joining for trips to New Mexico and California.

Two days after we got the email about Ethel’s move and while we were trying to resolve all these issues, Graziano passed away in Terni Hospital. We’d been to see him often and felt distressed over his suffering. For reasons we don’t understand and despite the family’s repeated requests, he wasn’t given morphine until the final 24 hours and then not enough to really kill the pain. Even though I was there near the end, it’s still difficult to accept his passing. I find myself thinking, “Oh, I must remember to tell Graziano that…” And then I realize that I’ll never tell him anything ever again. He was our brother, a significant part of our lives here, as you can see from our favorite photo of the days we shared.

R.I.P., Graziano Paragnani.

His funeral was scheduled for the afternoon of the day Russell was to fly to Mozambique on the U.N. project. We decided I’d drive R to the airport-train from Orte, then turn around and drive to Terni, because the family had asked me to accompany them and the hearse from the hospital to San Gemini Cathedral, where the service would be held. I counted this a great honor, in that usually only family accompany the deceased on this last journey. But I hit all sorts of problems with traffic and directions to the morgue, so I arrived just as they were leaving. Giuseppina, Graziani’s wife, called out to meet them at the cathedral. I ran a half-mile (in heels) back to the parking lot, hit every stoplight red and arrived after the funeral mass had started. I can tell you that none of this felt good. But at least I got to say goodbye to our dear companion and give my condolences to the extended family. I was deeply touched when so many of them came forward to hug and kiss me, saying they knew how Russell and I felt Graziano was like a brother, and that he’d returned the sentiment.

All this stress in the space of a few days set back my recuperation from diverticulitis, but I stayed with the diet and spent the weekend mostly resting, going out only for another set of blood tests. By the time I visited my doctor in Rome on Tuesday, I got the good news that I could start a more nearly normal diet, albeit avoiding a lot of things I like — nuts, sesame seeds, grapes, blackberries and anything else that could result in granules of a certain size getting lodged in the colon’s diverticula.

My respiratory infection returned, as happened to a lot of Amerini. So here I was, recuperated from the diverticulitis attack but having trouble breathing. R came home between the attacks of Big D and the second R.I., so I was able to drive to the Rome airport to collect him and have a happy reunion. Thanks to his good care, I’m feeling pretty much like my old self again as the month ends.

We attended the next-to-last confirmation of our Amerini friends’ children. Hard to imagine we’ve been here long enough for all those kids to grow into early adolescence and be confirmed. It rained cats and dogs that day, but it still couldn’t dampen all the good spirits at the cathedral nor the Bishop’s long-winded extemporaneous remarks (twice!). Afterwards, we went to our friends’ parish hall and had a multi-course meal lasting three hours. An afternoon of joy and celebration, but I must admit that when we got home, we were more than ready to kick off our dressy shoes and watch the news.

June

When I left home for the States more than five weeks ago, it was spring. The grass was green, the fruit trees were blooming, and we slept under a quilt with maybe a window open, maybe not. Now the grass is browning, the fruit ripens on the bough, and we sleep with all windows open, hoping for a breeze so we can shut off the ceiling fan.

Actually, it’s not really that hot yet — only in the high eighties during the day — but the contrast with the cool fogs of Monterey is palpable. I think about all the Stateside weather I’ve come through — high heat and humidity on the East Coast, dry and hot in Santa Fe, cool and moist along California’s central coast — and I’m again reminded of what a large and diverse country America is. Foreigners always remark on this, but we Americans take it for granted.

One of the highlights of the long time away was helping Aunt Ethel settle into her new digs. When I arrived, she was ensconced in a jungle of boxes that filled the living room and the bedroom, with only pathways through the middle. I opened boxes and took out items one by one so she could decide their dispensation — discard, give to Goodwill, save and use. When I left after some ten days, her apartment was neat and tidy.

We were also able to fit in a checkup with her doctor plus a haircut with her favorite beautician. Her retirement community offers this service, but she wanted at least one more visit with her long-standing coiffeur-lady.

The main reason for the trip was to help Aunt E, but lots of other tasks and events got tacked on to take advantage of being in the States. Backing up a bit, I arrived on 3 June and left the next day for West Virginia, driving Route 50 for nostalgia’s sake. Now that most of the traffic takes the Interstate, it’s an easy drive through gorgeous scenery — the horse country of Virginia, the high mountains of Appalachia, along the rushing rivers of the Cheat and Tygart and into Clarksburg, where I stayed with (step)sister Mary Anne. The only thing that marred that beautiful trip was being struck by a violent storm while atop one of the mountains — a veritable white-out, debris striking the windshield like bullets, conditions so difficult that even the truckers pulled over. Once the storm had passed, there was quite a bit of flooding, but these areas were well-marked by highway crews who must have gone out almost immediately. Even though traffic had to slow and take turns driving single-file through high water, there was never any real difficulty.

Mary Anne and I went up to Morgantown to view WVU’s Scholar’s Walk with its incised brick commemorating the Leonard C. Swing scholarship. We were then treated to a nice lunch by one of the WVU Foundation officers.

Back in northern Virginia, Russell arrived while I was helping Aunt Ethel and took her for her first walk since moving into the retirement community. A few days later, R&I flew to Albuquerque and rode the shuttle van to Santa Fe, where I attended a reunion of sorority pals. On the negative side, Russell came down with a cold, and we discovered that we sure don’t want to live in the Southwest, despite its many charms. Just way too dry and deserty for our tastes. Positive side: being with women who still care about each other.

On to the San Francisco Bay area, where the deliciously cool and moist air soothed not only our respiratory passages but also our souls. I attended the Mystery Writers Conference — a mixed bag as these things usually are, but on the whole helpful. I got very positive feedback on my WV-based mystery from an established author who asked to see the manuscript when it’s finished — about the most one could hope for at this point. If she likes the completed book, she may pass it on to her agent and/or editor. As you well know, the publishing industry is in such a mess that this sort of referral can make all the difference.

Afterwards, we drove down to Monterey Bay for a brief look-see to determine if that region might offer what we’re looking for in a retirement venue. We discovered two communities, Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz, which are intriguing possibilities. Surprisingly, we found Monterey town itself to be disappointing. The city fathers (and mothers?) have allowed rampant development to ruin what must have once been a lovely place. At any rate, we plan to return to CA next year, visiting family and friends but also allowing significant time to explore this whole area. We found we liked the climate, the old cottages and the ambience of the two coastal towns, and we’ve heard tell of others in the area which we should explore.