Pieces

It is our wisdom and duty, under mournful events, to do what we can to comfort ourselves against our sorrow, by suggesting to ourselves such considerations as are proper to allay the grief and balance the grievance. But sometimes the sorrow is such that the more it is repressed the more strongly it recoils. This may sometimes be the case of very good men ... whose soul refused to be comforted and fainted at the cordial.

~ M. Henry (Jer. 8:18)

Josephine Stanoli

It's as if it never happened. They say 'What the eye don't see the heart don't grieve for,' big fat lie.

~ Call the Midwife, S2 E3

The beginning of Sam and Angie's financial heyday was circa late '54, the year they joined the ICF (The Italian Catholic Federation), tallying up another feature to already active lives that lasted until the September of Destiny, 1959. The crescendo of '54 was met by the decrescendo of '59. It goes to show what is for some a mere five years for others a lifetime can make.

Vincent's Aunt Rose, second eldest of Sam's sisters, flew out from Detroit in December of '57, at eldest sister, Josie's, behest to fly her back to what would be the final resting place she called home. Early in January of the New Year, they received a phone call from Rose that Josie had passed. Twelve-year-old Vincent never forgot his Aunt Josie's last words just before she was wheeled out on a stretcher to an ambulance in front of their house on route to the airport. She wanted all the children there, too, to hear a promise, though, so infirm was hardly able to speak. The words came out just above a whisper that she would send them a sign after leaving this world she was finally at peace in heaven. It would be something no one could mistake, not in the San Fernando Valley. And that would be snow. Vincent remembered the moment, and held close to his heard the last words he would hear his dear Aunt Josie utter again.

Sure enough, one morning, about a three weeks later, Vincent awoke with the strangest feeling. He looked out the window of the current bedroom* on the corner of the house that faced The Wash and front yard. And there, to his wondering eyes, beheld the serene quiet of snowflakes falling down from grayish-white skies. The normal green of the front lawn was transformed into a heaven-sent picturesque glistening landscape. He scurried over to his brother's bed, shaking his shoulders to hurry and get up and see the snow before it was too late and then ran to his sisters' bedroom and woke them up, as well. Soon, they were all out in the front lawn scooping up as much of the beautiful welcoming white as they could, in unspoiled joy forming it into balls and throwing them at one another. Then Vincent turned and ran back into the house to his parents' room. The door was open and he carefully peaked around the corner seeing his dad putting on his slippers and mom her robe. With that, he ran back to the hallway and yelled out for them to come see that Aunt Josie had kept her promise. A minute later he was back outside with the others, while his pa, with his arm around ma and she, leaning into his chest an arm around his waist, stood on the stoop watching their children run, dance, and play on the new fallen snow.

It stayed one full day. A day of sweet sorrow and, to one little boy that lacked understanding of what had happened to his dear aunt short months before to so suddenly be taken away forever. Aunt Josie, a woman that gave him so much love, care, and attention, so giving and cheerful, to decline and plummet so rapidly, totally bedfast. And then to see her carried away, in shock and dismay, left him bewildered. All through that week Vincent found himself remembering, remembering this woman, the one that had meant so much, the one who taught him how to comprehend what he read like never before, line upon line, precept upon precept. Through recent years of paternal disapproval and disparagement, he'd regressed, and she was the kind instrument to help bring not only his aptitude but also fondness in reading, to a degree, up again. Equally, she helped him understand the principles of arithmetic and do it well. It was Aunt Josie who had been there every day after school to greet Vincent and his brother and sisters with those big, warm, loving open arms and that contagious Stanoli smile, while their parents ran Sam & Angie's Café on Cherry Street in the heart of Hollywood. It was Aunt Josie who, without fail, served that big bowl of hot buttered popcorn fresh from the kettle, to snack on every day after school, while they all watched Looney Tunes on Cartoonaroony, before venturing out to burn it off outside, playing hard before suppertime.

She was a good cook, too, and always had dessert and plenty of it, either homemade cookies or a cake made from scratch, or she gave them servings of whatever homemade pies Ma and Pa brought home from their café. Vincent could still see the large and inviting banana crème and cherry pie, and man, were they desert dreamland! And, yes, it was Aunt Josie who tolerated her nephew in ways his ma and pa never did. Her uncommon tolerance gave him room to act out, no doubt because the usual heavy restraints upon him were unshackled when his parents were away and, taking liberty, ran with it. The guilt from the way he'd acted and treated her at times, to this day, still stings his conscience. It was Aunt Josie who was thrilled spending time with her nephews and nieces and they all knew it. She adored them and that was no secret. She introduced them to some things without which they would not have known and learned to enjoy. On weekends, they would watch the late night hillbilly show, too, followed by the roller derby. It was Aunt Josie who darned their socks and jeans, crocheted slippers for the four and, just for show, when playing cowboys & Indians and pirates, knitted neckties, scarves, and gun handles as embellishments. And it was Aunt Josie who sometimes told them stories of bygone years, days when she was a tomboy and took her two younger brothers, Clem and Sam, to task. How, not infrequently, she beat the tar out of defiant, rude, and disrespectful brother Vico. Of glory days when she could want for nothing,...