Nonna
Growing up, my Nonna and I were always super close. Being the first "granddaughter" (and a kiss-ass), I was, for most of my life, the favorite grandchild. When I was younger, she would often pull me aside to her room to gift me a couple of things she got in the clearance section of Kohls. She would remind me to keep it a secret since she didn't get my other cousins anything because "they are never grateful like you are." Let's be honest, there was a reason those things were on clearance and I would never wear any of it, but it made her happy so I always graciously accepted. Nonna always had my back. For prom one year, I tried on a dress, and my mother nearly had a heart attack when I tried it on. At Easter, she showed a picture of the dress to my family, and Nonna was the only one who agreed that I should have gotten it. “When I was her age, I used to wear these little mini skirts. It's what you're supposed to do.” When I went to college, we would alternate calling each other once a week to check-in. and we would talk about her current knitting project and the new school clubs I was joining. She was always proud of me, and though she would rarely say it, I always felt loved by her.
When I was 20, I was outed as queer to my grandparents. I received a call from my Nonno (Nonna's Husband) that night, the details of which are not important to her story other than the fact that I no longer felt safe around him. Nonna has had health problems for most of my life and relied on Nonno for everything as small as making a phone call. I couldn't talk to Nonna because of this for two years. I spent two years filled with guilt and regret. What could I have done differently to never have my grandparents know about my queerness? I was devastated.
Two years later, I got a call from my cousin informing me that Nonna was in the hospital after a stroke. I had to see her. My cousin was getting married a couple of days later, and luckily, my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. As everyone left for the wedding, I went by myself to visit her. I put on my most feminine outfit, covered my newly short hair with a girly floral bandana, and prayed she wanted to see me.
I don't know if she really didn't recognize me or if she was just in shock, but as I walked it she asked me several times who I was. Once it finally hit her that it was me, she started crying, saying, "Thank you, God," as she did the sign of the cross for at least a full minute. We spent the rest of the day catching up.
Between her near-death experience, the medication, and seeing me, she gave me advice that was against everything I was taught growing up. "As long as you are happy, that is all that matters." For hours, she told me about all of the things she did in life just because she was told she had to and how much regret she had. Maybe I was projecting, but it felt like seeing me be true to myself and happy made her realize she was never really able to do that for herself.
Shortly after that visit, I moved to New York, and she moved into a nursing home (away from Nonno, although he still visits every day.) Seeing her is one of the only things I miss about living in Michigan. Every time I go back, I work with my cousins to visit her when Nonno is gone. It's always a surprise for Nonna, which is fun but also intentional so she doesn't accidentally tell her husband about my visit. It's a sad reality to have with a grandparent, but it's what I have to do to keep her in my life, so I make it work.
The last time I saw her, I decided to bring my camera and take some portraits of her and the two cousins I still talk to, Grace and Hannah. I will cherish these photographs for the rest of my life.
I now live just a couple of blocks from her first home in the US, which makes me feel closer to her even with the distance. Every time I pass Starr Street, I am reminded of her sacrifices and her advice to do what makes me happy.
