Unbreakable

UNBREAKABLE.

If my grandmother’s every facet could be reflected by a single word, it would be this one.

But how could any number of words come close?

Even her name, Bridget Martha (Belisario) Nusca, proved unable to contain her. Like all timeless icons, she became known by another one entirely that served as both first and last, and followed her everywhere she went. Mamma. 

As a little girl standing in her kitchen, more pots bubbling than there were burners, casseroles stacked like Jenga and tin foil like claps of sheet lightning, I just couldn’t work it out: How can one person produce so much? She was quicker than sleight of hand, a laugh so big it made no sound as she stretched time and space and food in ways that seemed . . . not of this earth. I decided, as any child would, that there could be only one explanation.

She was magic.

As the years passed, I got older, understood better, and only grew more convinced.

To meet her was to understand on sight you were never going to forget her. An incandescent whirlwind, equal parts grit and grace, the strength of twenty men and elegant as a strand of pearls. A force that could bend steel, wrapped in blue silk and heels.  

Her petite stature fooled no one for long. Mamma moved outside gravity and loved with ferocity (often at full volume). When her mouth twisted to one side in determination, you were wise to buckle in and just try to keep up. Over the years, many suggested she take a rest, but her answer was always the same: there was plenty of time for that in the afterlife.

You often hear people referring to “making a fuss” like it’s a bad thing, an inconvenience to be avoided wherever possible. Mamma was not one of those people. She lived for the fuss, to pull out all the stops, to celebrate BIG in every small way, no matter the occasion. Thunderstorms called for popcorn on the covered veranda as we cheered the angels bowling in Heaven. A Christmas parade or The Wizard of Oz on television had her calling you up, demanding you drop everything.

Her inner child was inextinguishable. Whether we happened on a window display of animated music boxes, battery-powered visors with rainbow lights flashing, carnival rides going up in the shopping mall parking lot—anything designed to make innocent eyes spark wide—mine and Mamma’s did so in unison, and the excitement was palpable as she unfailingly looked to Grandpa, already pulling out his wallet. . .

Creating joy for others was Mamma’s greatest joy. Whatever came into her possession, she immediately set about trying to share. Her cooking was incomparable, her hospitality impeccable. No matter how tall the order or grim the task, you never saw her falter. Her stride, like her smile, was unshakeable.

She was a lion.

She was a firefly.

She was a Queen.

Beautiful Mamma, my wish for you today is this:

As those shimmering gates swing wide, may you glide through like that cruise ship on its maiden voyage, “ticker tape” flying across the sky, the slew of familiar faces wild at your arrival. At last, your work is all done. The kitchen is clean, the company blissfully full. The last piece of silver returned to its velvet place.

It’s your turn to rest, and no one has earned it more.

Yes, our hearts are broken, but we’ll carry on in the way you have shown us, your fighting spirit alive on every wind chime. For these tears today are the price to be paid for a love that is

unbreakable.