The Cerminaro School of Love

November, 2016

“You must be English majors!” the deacon exclaimed to us before my grandmother’s interment: certainly one of many memorable quotes from this week’s events. No, not quite surprisingly, though we are a gifted bunch, I must say. Without doubt, characters in a beautiful story. 

A story, as my Aunt Annie so eloquently put it during her eulogy of my grandmother, Doris, our heroine, whom we laid to rest this past Friday after she succumbed to years of illness weakening her - “a story that she wrote.”

A story rich with symbolism, metaphor, drama, tragedy, romance, and humor, just like all of the books my grandmother cherished so dearly. Stories within stories that last through the ages; an infinite tale of love that has inspired me to tell my own story so I, too, may feel larger than life, like my grandmother certainly was. 

The Origins

The setting is Scranton, Pennsylvania. A relatively small town compared to the hustle and bustle of the Northern Virginia suburbs, where I’m from. It seems like everyone knows and looks out for one another here. The sense of community is unlike anything I have ever experienced. It’s another world, an alternate universe: something out of a novel.

I tend to joke about the Cerminaro family’s seemingly celebrity status around town - clearly crafted by the legacy of athletic heroics (among other things!) my father and his brothers left behind with my darling aunt on the sidelines cheering them on (and leaving a legacy of her own becoming a brilliant, well loved professor influencing young minds at Marywood, a local college). 

Most notably, without doubt, the kindness my grandmother and grandfather showed others throughout their 63 years together had a lot to do with it as well. For them, it was love at first sight. My grandmother saw him at a dance and said to her friend, "I'm going to marry that guy!". 

You see, our family isn’t exceptionally wealthy or powerful. No, we have our own kind of wealth. A much better kind, in my opinion. Family, solidarity, and once again and forever, undying love, support, and devotion not only for one another, but for everyone close to us as well. This theme is more powerful than anything else in this world. 

How I happened to be part of this story, I still find unbelievable —though exceptionally lucky. When I visit Scranton, I'm reminded of my roots. Each time I feel alien to the world, as if I don’t belong, I look at my family and feel at peace. 

Self Actualization

I’ve always been extremely private about myself - especially things I’ve written. After seeing and hearing my fearless Aunt Annie, Uncle Tony, and Cousin Deirdre pour their hearts out in tribute recently, I felt like this would be the perfect time to get over my phobia of sharing my thoughts with others. We have always been a family of storytellers, after all.

Often, friends would tell me my stories don’t seem real, like they’re from a book, and I should document my memoirs at once. I’d just smile and give a nervous laugh, a dreamy sigh - “yeah, maybe one day...” What an excuse! What would my grandmother say?

Listening to the memories of her being recalled, I began seeing so much of her in myself. I always knew this, but this time around, at this point in my life, it all meant so much more. As Aunt Annie reminisced, my grandmother once was a woman coming into her own, as I am and continue to be.

Though my grandmother never seemed to wait for “the right time” as many of my fellow procrastinators frame it. Her passion for life enabled her to create the life of her dreams and live it to the fullest. 

It’s times of loss like these when you’re confronted with your own mortality, staring down an unknown path ahead. You take life a lot less for granted and know that life simply is too short for anything less than living the life you desire. Something my grandmother embodied so well.

Over the last few years, I've been on a journey of finding myself, of determining my place in life, not too uncommon for a woman in her 20s. Unsure of who I am and who I want to become, but always knowing that through perseverance, I would always get to where I am meant to go. 

I myself have struggled with illness much of my life, though invisible and carefully hidden away from most. My depression is a shadow I will always carry with me. There have been times when sickness brought me to my knees, and I thought I couldn’t possibly continue down such a cruel and rocky road. 

During these instances, I would always think of my grandmother, who, despite going through so many tragic events - loss, cancer, scares about her children only a mother would understand - she never complained. Her ungodly resilience got her through the unimaginable. 

I quickly thought twice about giving up. If she could get through it all, so could I. Are my problems really that bad? There is always a solution, a way to turn a spare into a strike, as my Uncle Tony mentioned during a portion of his eulogy, alluding to yet another amazing feat my grandmother accomplished: an all-spare game of bowling to which she received a special patch for. 

Unconditional Love

Even through all of my difficult, dark, and rebellious times that were cries for attention, even through my aloofness and erratic behavior, my grandmother always loved me unconditionally. 

I recall a story my Aunt Annie told where my grandmother, a mama bear forever coming to the defense of her cubs, boldly told a woman complaining about my Aunt being a fresh girl: “That’s just her way,” with an unapologetic shrug.

Well, it’s as if my grandmother accepted this was all just my way. She never gave up on me. I always felt like she saw my potential and would never forget to remind me so. She never judged me, never once tried to correct me or tell me to be anything other than who I am. 

My grandmother appreciated me for me, and I knew she was always rooting for me, no matter how lost or found I was in life. 

This is only a small tribute to just how extraordinary this woman was. I only wish I had found the words to tell her how I felt more often, but somehow I think she always knew. I find solace in that. 

Thankfully, I'm learning to overcome these demons of mine, to acknowledge their undeniable existence, and make peace with them. To instead live my life with optimism, faith, and gratitude because I know this is the only way forward. 

It’s funny, just how much symbolism you can pick out if you really open your eyes and pay attention to what the Universe is trying to tell you. 

Rituals and Metaphors

During the viewing, we were graced by many adoring fans of my grandmother coming to pay their respects. In the daze of receiving countless people and shaking many hands, I overheard a family friend telling my Aunt Chris he was a late bloomer. 

Boy, did I need to hear that. I heard lots of things I needed to hear these last few days, for that matter. At least I am blooming, and for the first time in my life, while it is cheesy to say, I feel like a flower. A bright, brilliantly yellow flower, not unlike one you'd find in my grandparents’ garden.

Out of what seems like the worst of times, there can also be the best of times. Some feelings of normalcy, as if those days were like any other when we had the family all gathered together. Telling stories, eating delicious food, joking, having serious life discussions, and watching sports. 

We talked about the series for days with excitement because Joe Maddon, manager of the Chicago Cubs, fellow Italian and Northeastern PA’er, is, of course, third cousin to our protagonist Doris. 

What a roller coaster of a game it was, too, consisting of everything you could want in a baseball game. I joked about “baseball feng shui” as we ordered each other to stay in the same spots because my father switching seats clearly caused the Cubs to give up their lead in the bottom of the 6th. 

Once he returned to his previous seat, the Cubs came back with an incredible home run, a catalyst that would lead them to their late-night victory. You’re damn right we stayed up to watch. 

I like to think that the Cubs won the game for my grandmother. No, I know they did. And, if you know baseball at all, you'll know it was the first time the Cubs won the World Series in a very, very long time. What are the odds? 

Life Imitates Art

The following morning, the day of my grandmother’s viewing, I awoke to begin a new ritual. You see, that same Wednesday of the acclaimed World Series game, I took a nostalgic stroll through Cathedral Cemetery with my father, Uncle Tony, and cousin Deirdre. We were not only getting some much-needed exercise but checking out the cemetery plot chosen the day before.

The cemetery is an eerily beautiful place just a few moments’ walk from my grandparents' house. My great-grandparents are buried here. Many people go walking or running around because somehow, it's just perfect for that. 

During autumn, it’s extraordinary because the surrounding mountains blanket the area with bursts of color from the changing flora that, while juxtaposed against the drab grey of cemetery tombstones, is quite striking to the eye. Children play here, as did my father and his brothers and sister when they were younger.

And so, thinking of how my grandfather likes to begin his mornings walking around the cemetery, I decided I would do so from now on whenever I come up to visit. To pay my respects and honor the dead and living. 

There is a sort of comfort in this that I can’t find words to explain. That’s also how I began the day of my grandmother’s funeral.

Empowerment

My Uncle Tony, who, along with my Aunt Annie, did a tremendous job arranging this celebration of my grandmother’s extraordinary life, asked me to be a pallbearer. 

I admit, my first thought was “are you serious - don’t only guys do that?” Turning it over in my head on the spot, I realized that’s a silly way to look at it. 

Well, this is a woman who dressed as a boy when she was little to shovel snow for extra money, who is over the moon about the notion of a woman becoming president, who insisted she go to nursing school as a condition to getting married! 

Of course, I can be a pallbearer. I am a woman, and I can be anything! A feminist in her own right, well ahead of her time. My grandmother would be proud if I did this. Her fire and passion burn within me.

So I was one of her pallbearers, and I embraced the honor with a pride I’ve never felt before in my life - and wearing high heels, might I add. I know I embodied her strength that day. I also volunteered to lead a prayer with my father, again, a first for me, but a beautifully humbling thing nonetheless.

I’m not religious - truly more spiritual than anything - but I would dare say my grandmother was saintly and the type of person of faith who gives me faith that people out there actually do practice what they preach. 

The Wisdom

My grandmother’s story is one I'm proud to share. I'm not perfect by any means and have been both the protagonist and antagonist during the chapters of my existence. However, I can make the intention to live by her example the best I can, keep striving to better myself, and spread her “gospel of love” to others.

I truly hope this stands as a reminder to refrain from judging others, to not expect them to live by our expectations. To accept them as they are - flaws and all. To do unto them as we wish to be done to ourselves. To love and be loved unconditionally. 

My grandmother is my Saint, my idol, my strength to survive, my guiding light in a world that can seem so cruel and dark at times.

Lately, I've been nursing a dream of completely switching directions in life and following my heart about getting more serious about my writing. Making changes to my diet and lifestyle has been the most transformational experience of my life and one that has felt so natural to me. 

It seems I have finally found my calling and story to tell, after years of trying on lives like clothes to see what fits best. 

I'm not driven by money, status, or what people may think of me, but by love and the faith that everything will work out the way it is meant to. I want to give back to others and provide the same types of selfless acts my grandmother did. 

In closing, a quote from David Copperfield, my grandmother’s favorite story from the author she loved so dearly, Charles Dickens:

“My meaning simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself to completely; that in great aims and in small, I have always been thoroughly in earnest…Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”