The Root of the Story

Grief leads you down paths you don't expect. The starting point for the idea of the story was probably somewhere between thirteen and fifteen years ago when first my grandma, Zina, passed away in 2008, and then in 2010 when my grandpa, Frank, joined her again. My path led me to wanting to find a way for their lives to continue touching mine and my children's.

So I started to write down some memories. The cherished little moments of life; like how their butter tasted better on English muffins than mine at home. Or how grandpa used to shake my hand, like my arm was rubbery. He did it to all of the kids. My kids called him "shaky hand grandpa" for lack of a more imaginative description. Or how he kissed both my cheeks when he said hello or goodbye. Not a typical greeting; but I could relate. I kissed my kids that way too because one kiss was never enough. (When we went to Sicily in 2019 and everyone was doing it, I imagined my grandpa chuckling.)

Grandma was a complicated lady. Full of love; but it seemed difficult for her to express. Full of generosity; she was always finding a way to satisfy a need - whether with scrumptious homemade cooking, or crocheted blankets, baby sweaters, or booties - for the whole family. She had a special and unique upbringing that shaped her into the woman I knew as grandma. As I got older, the influence of her life events made more and more sense to me about how it affected her. So I tried to see the world through her eyes.

Those visions became little stories. Can I be a fly on the wall in the past? When grandma found out her family's secret about who she really was, what would that fly see? I wanted to understand her life. I wanted to give her a voice to explain to me what it was like for her, how it made her feel, and what she thought about it as she probably tried to understand why it all happened.

The little stories began to fit on a timeline. My mom began a genealogical trip probably ten years before my grandparents, her parents, passed away. Researching documents in Sicily was easy because we knew the towns they were from. My mom went to Family History Centers, even the one in Utah, and pieced together parts of the family tree. My grandma loved it. All except for the part that we could not find her real father's family. Then all of the records became digitized. My mom quickly became a devoted on-line historian and keeper of the family tree, gathering names like she was raking leaves. As she found names, I got inspired. I saw in the records the places, dates, and connections. I tried to imagine how they met. How did they get from there to here? What was that like? And my stories grew.

Finally, I realized it was 2018. Seriously? Remember it's the little details that bring meaning, right? So 2018 marked 100 years after my grandma was born. My grandpa was one year older than she, and met her when she was a week old. So I realized that year marked a centennial moment. I would have loved to have a family reunion of all the Vincenti family. A Vincent-ennial. It would have been perfect. Except for logistics, time and money.

So I decided to mark the moment by finishing my manuscript. The little stories became organized and intertwined with the history and family memories. My imagination, a fly on the wall perspective, and all my mom's research began to form into pages and chapters.

Now I am on the journey of sharing it with more than just my mom and sisters, aunts and cousins. I think Zina would get a kick out of being "famous" and her story being told to many. So as my story of Zina unfolds, thank you for joining me :)