the women who brought us here

i can be the woman i am, because my nonna lorenzina

I spent so many afternoons with her making pasta. She would get mad at me for eating the raw dough. I watched her effortlessly roll out the pasta sheets as if it were second nature. Her hands moved gracefully along the rolling pin, stretching and smoothing the dough with ease. She worked tirelessly to keep us all fed, always the last to sit at the table, if ever. 

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My Nonna Lorenzina was born in a small town in Italy. I was lucky enough to go on a trip there alongside her. I'll never forget when we were stopped in the street by a man who recognized her. "Your Nonna was the most beautiful girl in the whole town." 

She was the second youngest of six, made to leave her family at seventeen to get married. She thought she was going to America to marry a rich man. However, she only got the idea he was rich because my Nonno bought her a piece of jewelry when he asked to marry her. It was one of the only times he did get her jewelry. 

When she came to Canada, it was the first time she was going to meet her new husband. She took the trip alongside one of her cousins. When she recalls the story, she always mentions my Nonno didn't show up at the train station to pick her up. He didn't want to wait for her; he grew tired of not knowing how long she would be in an era before cell phones, so he left. 

She'll never admit if she was afraid. I always wondered what it must have felt like to marry a man you don't really know and not see him when you first arrive in a city that is new to you, where they don't speak the same language.

I think of myself at that age. Seventeen. Just finishing high school. No idea who I was or what I was doing. I could barely manage to take the TTC downtown. 

Then there was my Nonna. Forced into womanhood. Maybe she felt ready. There wasn't much other choice for her at that time. With little education and a poor economy, there wasn't enough to keep her in Italy. She was going to be the one to help all her family leave. Given a responsibility she should have never had to have at such a young age. 

A rude awakening came for her when she realized that my Nonno was not the rich man she assumed he would be. She was immediately put to work. She worked hard as a seamstress, doing piecework and moving her fingers quickly to finish one project so she could move on to the next. Her older sister should have been the one to marry him, but he asked for my Nonna, specifically because she was a seamstress and could make him money. 

Due to her love of her craft, she made many needlepoint portraits. As a child, I used to stare at them in awe, not knowing that she had spent all those hours crafting them. 

She had tried to teach me how to crochet at one point. I was a child and never had the patience to learn from her. As an adult, I used the internet to learn, and I now love to sit alongside her with my crochet, asking her if I'm doing a good job. 

*

My Nonna has always been brave, a strong force hardened by a tough life. She never lets anyone see her cry. It makes me feel extra emotional to think of how much she has had to overcome without being able to express herself freely. She has always remained composure, even in her darkest hours. In the face of loss, she has pushed through to be the force our family needed. There’s no room for sensitivity. She has a job to do. 

Despite her hardness, she still loved us all with a sincere heart. Hours have been spent cuddling all of the grandchildren. Cradling us, singing us to sleep with her off-key voice, "fa la ninna."

With her heart full of love, she was also never shy about putting us in our place. We always laugh about the time she tried to punish my cousin Angelo. He had misbehaved, so she wanted to teach him a lesson. She smacked him with a wooden spoon, hitting him directly on his boney ass. The spoon broke right in two. I don't know if he ever did learn his lesson that day; he was too busy laughing alongside the rest of us about how her attempt to be stern failed. Even she had a sense of humour about it, too. She still gets a small chuckle when we bring up the story.  

I love hearing her laugh. When I recently had a sleepover with my cousin Elena, I'll always remember how I made her laugh through my stupidity. Walking down the hall, I took an opportunity I couldn't miss. I mooned my cousin very seamlessly, I should add. In her horror, she called out, "Nonna!!! Sara just showed me her ass!!" At first, it was quiet. Then laughter came from my Nonna's bedroom. I smiled and felt a sigh of relief; she wasn't going to shame me for my "inappropriate" joke.  

She loves to make me feel shame, albeit in the most grandmotherly way possible. She’ll always ask me, "Che fate boyfriend?" in her broken Italian-English. Her hope for me to find someone is constantly met with disappointment when I tell her I haven’t.

If I could make her a great-grandmother, I would. It pains me that she may never have the joy of that experience. Especially knowing how much she has lost in her life. I wish for nothing but to be able to bring her some form of happiness.

But that's the beauty of her sacrifice. She paved the way for me to have personal freedom. To not have to rely on marriage to be successful. Even though biologically, I could provide her with a great-grandchild, I am not forced into starting a family too early.

Her plan was not to have to work, but she's taught me to be proud of my work accomplishments. If one day I ever become successful, it will be because she created that foundation for our family. Now, I get to pursue dreams far beyond being just a wife and mother. It’s women like her that made that possible. 

Her traditional ideals can't comprehend why I would be happily single and choose not to get married, but it's the freedom I can cherish—a freedom she doesn't understand since it was never an option given to her. 

*

I hope to experience the most enriching life as a single person—not just for myself but for every Nonna who was never able to. For the women who didn't know there was a life without being a wife or mother, where they could travel and work for themselves without relying on a man. For all the sacrifices they made, I want to make it worth it.