I would like to talk about my grandmother. I think we all have role models in life, but I never thought I had role models until I was asked who my role model was. The first people who came to mind were three women who raised me, my mother and my two grandmothers.
Today, I want to tell you about Nonna Pia, my mother’s mother. Born in 1935, in Rovereto, Italy, in a family of 8, 5 sisters and 3 brothers, she lived through the German invasion of Northern Italy and the entire Second World War, losing track of her father for most of it, as he had been forced to work in a German camp (since they were not Jewish he was not killed, but he still had to work in awful conditions and had no contact with his family for years). I know this because Nonna Pia would tell me many stories of her life. Although I didn’t understand the context of her stories at the time, I remember them all. It is clear that the experience of the war truly impacted the rest of her life. Nonetheless, her stories were beautiful because she always could see the silver linings in life. She would tell me about how she would spend the summer days going out in the fields with her sisters to work under the sun all day, gathering the sheep, picking berries, working on the harvest, and just trying to bring back something to eat. She told me about how they made soap bars, which were made from the bones of animals.
She also told me about the reality of the war. For instance, she told me about having to go to bed dressed because sirens would go off in the middle of the night sometimes, warning the inhabitants of her village of incoming bombings or attacks and how they would have to run to the nearest underground shelter to take cover. She also told me about having to go days with barely any food, except for some soup and some bread. Her point was that she made it through the war, so she would tell me not to take my daily struggles so seriously because things just work themselves out in the end and also they probably weren’t as bad as the war.
After the war, she studied and eventually became the Caposala, the “Head nurse”, of the San Giovanni Hospital in Rome, Italy. Soon, she met my grandfather in Rome, where they raised my mother and her two brothers.
It is a beautiful story. My mother grew up in Rome, where she found my dad and they had me. However, not long after I was born, my grandmother was hit by a motorcycle while crossing a street. She seemed to be fine at first, but, in the following weeks and months, she slowly started losing her eyesight. She got to see me when I was a few months old, but she soon lost her eyesight completely.
Growing up with my grandmother
Growing up, my grandmother spent a lot of time with me. She would sing songs with me out in the garden or she would take me for long walks in the sun. She wasn’t a gourmet chef, like my father’s mother was, but she always cooked simple, yet flavourful, meals for herself. Indeed, she taught me how to make ‘canederli’ a typical dish of Northern Italy, and one of my favorite dishes.
Still, it wasn’t the same as if she had been able to see me. Every time I wouldn’t see her for a while, she would ask to touch my hair to feel how it had grown and if it was still curly like it was when I was a little girl. She would ask me to describe to her what I was wearing, the colors and patterns of my clothes, and I would happily describe it all in the most detail to her because I really wanted her to picture it, I really wanted her to be able to know exactly what it looked like. Sometimes, I would make her feel the fabrics of my clothes so that she could get a better sense of what I was trying to describe to her. One thing I’m never going to forget is that she would always tell me to wear bright colors now that I am young because when we get older we forget and we wear only sad and boring colors. Honestly, some of my best childhood memories are with Nonna Pia.
As I grew older, I started taking her on walks, especially in the warm summer afternoons. But, I had to learn already at 5 or 6 years old to make sure I was aware of where she was walking, not just where I was walking, because she couldn’t see. We would always walk with her arm linked around mine, because that way she could feel how I was moving. I would look on the ground in front of me and in front of her to check for any roots of trees sticking out in the road, or potholes, or any other obstacles. I had to be especially careful when there were stairs, which took longer to learn. However, the most difficult thing when I was little, and significantly shorter than my grandma, was watching out for any street signs that she might run into, or tree branches, or branches of other plants and flowers sticking out at the height of her head. I Have to admit, I think there’s a story of a time when I might have been too focused on where she was stepping that I did not realize to inform her that there was a stop sign right at the level of her head. But, now we laugh every time she tells this story. She laughs first, I still feel bad.
But aside from a little help here and there, she was fully independent. She lived alone most of the year, except when she spent the summer with us or if she visited her other relatives and stayed with them. She had hobbies, namely knitting. She belonged to clubs in her neighborhood, like a ‘bio dance’ club, which she loves to do. And, she would go visit her sisters often during the week, as they live within walking distance from her and she memorized the way to get there.
Ultimately, I didn’t even realize she had a disability most of the time. But, it was wonderful to grow up close to her because she made me realize how much we still marginalize people with disabilities in our society and how we really shouldn’t. Aside from the just accommodations and some assistance, if given the chance they deserve, people with disabilities are and should be treated just like anyone else. But, I think it’s hard because we often still have an ingrained idea of pity when we look at someone who has a disability. This also means that we forget that some disabilities are not visible.
My experience at EDF and the connection with my grandmother
Working with EDF this semester opened my eyes to the need to “give them the chance they deserve” that I mentioned above because, although the EU has done so much to outline and protect the rights of its citizens, including persons with disabilities, a lot of work must still be done to ensure these rights are being protected in real life. Particularly, we must give persons with disabilities the political platform to outline what their needs are, as this is the only way to really give them the chance they deserve. Their political participation is key and I am glad to have been able to assist and learn from EDF’s great work towards this goal.
In her retirement, Nonna Pia joined the “Unione Italiana dei Ciechi e degli Ipovedenti” in the chapter of her hometown, Rovereto, Italy. Here, she soon became the vice President. She became that voice.
She is one of the women I look up to the most in my life. She always gives me the best advice, and my relationship with her is one that I value greatly. I hope I can become just half the woman she is.