All the People in the World

Chapter 15: God, Sir, Please, Sir

When my grandfather passed I didn't cry. I was only 15. We had known it would happen for some time and had gathered at the house to be with him, all the cousins and aunts and uncles, close friends. Anyone and everyone who loved him- which was a great deal of people. I was in the backyard with my cousin Gio, making a bouquet for my grandmother "so she wouldn't be sad." When it happened, they called us in, walking us in front of him so we could say our final goodbyes. They had set up a bed in the living room once he couldn't climb the stairs. That was where he laid. Very vividly I remember having the urge to smile, because eyes were on me and there were expectations to appear a certain way and smiling was the furthest thing from meeting them. Nonno wouldn't have minded even if I did smile. He would have joined in maybe, made a joke about how silly everyone was being, fussing over him like this. But then I saw his body. Cold and almost blueish. He didn't look like himself at all. He looked like a stranger. A stranger who wouldn't join me in smiling or joke and jest. And then I didn't feel like smiling. But I didn't feel like crying either. I felt betrayed more than anything. That he had left me with this haunting blue figure in my living room who I had never known, or learned 6 Pezzi, P.44: No. 3. Notturno from, or hidden a broken flower vase from my grandmother with. He had disappeared entirely.

My grandmother was very different. She left bits of herself wherever she went. She couldn't help it. I'm sure I've said this to you before. Like a trail of light and color and everything good to follow around and remind you that you were safe, as she would never lead you anywhere harmful. And I knew she would do the same in her passing. I thought about this on the flight, and on the drive to my home, and on the walk up the driveway, and through the doorway, until finally I stood before her and realized I had been right. She was placed in the same bed as Nonno. The scene looked almost identical, aside from the glow that streamed from her bed. You must think I am being dramatic, but I am not. I sat beside her and held her hand, which was still warm, despite her weakness. I knew I would cry. I knew that most assuredly.

"Hello," I whispered. She didn't respond or stir. And for a split second I got a picture of how it was going to be. In a world without her. And despite the temperature of her hand, I found it very cold. "Nonna," I tried again, "You must keep your promise to me. You said you'd say goodbye."

Still nothing. I sat for a while, tending to her as she slept. I suppose I was tending to myself. My own needs, which were to be beside her and never to leave. Finally I got up to eat with my parents. They tried their best to ease my mind with conversation, which I met with a cruel silence until they finally gave up.

As I helped my mother with the dishes she paused to look at me. She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Andrà tutto bene." It will be alright.

"Sure," I said with a bitter smile.

"Death is not so final," she said as she rubbed my back.

"Death is the most final thing in the world," I retorted, then moved from her touch. I felt immature, like a child. But it felt like my last time to be so. Nonna had raised that child, known him more deeply than perhaps even I did. And it seemed he would pass with her. How does one mourn the loss of themself?

I stalked away from my mother, passing by the curved doorway that led to the living room. That was when she said my name. Barely a breath. Luca. I went to her, took her hand once more, and laid kisses on it.

She spoke in Italian, breathless and weak, "I told you..." I moved closer to her, "I would not leave without saying goodbye."

"Yes," I nodded.

"So why do you look surprised?"

"I am not surprised, just relieved."

"Are you alone?"