No matter how expected, no matter what the cause, even when someone is old and infirm, their departure will hurt at least someone. This day, an entire community hurt. Giuseppina Giordano, the matriarch of the old neighborhood of several good friends would be departing for a better life; prepared to be reunited with her dear husband Angelo, who had died years before. A time for celebration and tears; for gratefulness and sadness, emotions of all sorts mixed together to bring loved ones to her side as she took her last breath.

A young lady, short, petite, and very sweet and a parent for the first time, dealing with the challenges of being a mother in the non-traditional sense in that she "sired" her daughter with her wife. Elaine Esposito was weeping at Mrs. G's bedside; feeling the loss of one of only two women who had extended the care usually reserved from a mother. She had been rejected by her own mother, only to be adopted in a sense by Diane McPherson Alluccio. And she had always been like a granddaughter to Giuseppina and her late husband Angelo, despite her "condition" of being transgendered. Her parents abandoned her, but neither Diane nor Mrs. G. turned their back; embracing the girl with open arms and welcoming her; providing healing for wounds which should never have been inflicted by those who were encharged by God to love this dear child. Her tears wet the pillow by the old lady's head, who stroked the girl's hair and consoled her with a soft prayer heard only by the two. Mrs. G. had little strength left, but she was strong enough to raise her head to kiss the girl on the lips like a momma blessing a little girl at bedtime.

"You have always been a good girl, Lainey...never forget that I have loved you since you were a little child, and that I am only a tiny fraction of what God has for your life. He loves you so much, and so do I."

Several others stood in the room; her bedroom, she was home with loved ones rather than in the hospital, although she would have told you the doctors and nurses who had ministered to her were more than just professionals; she had made friends with every one of them, and treasured them just as she would her own children, had she any who still lived. She and Angelo had one son, Anthony, who died in a helicopter crash at faraway place called Danang decades before. Their daughter Margo had died as an infant; living long enough to endear herself to everyone who met her and short enough to be a sad but treasured memory of this sweet lady who would be joining her children and husband so very soon.

Recent additions to her friends, Diane McPherson Alluccio and her wife Michelle kissed Mrs. G. and said a blessing before stepping back, hands lingering in grasps almost unwilling to let go.

A very attractive woman, raven-haired and tall, stood beside her husband. Gina and Ben Kelly had known Mrs. G. through friends, and had come to value her friendship as if it were a life-long blessing rather than a brief acquaintance. She was like that; Giuseppina had made everyone she met feel welcome and important and dear to her, and her love made it that much harder for Gina and Ben to say goodbye. They both wept as if they were her own children, and she blessed them as well, kissing both of them on their foreheads like the matriarch she was, imparting a blessing of hope and long life and love.

A tall young lady held a baby in her arms; she was weeping unashamedly and thankfully, since she had spent years of trying to keep out any love or comfort, fearing that they would be revoked as a violation of some unspoken condition. Her own parents had done that countless times, and even after reconciliation and forgiveness, she still harbored fears of rejection. Lainey, who had only moments before said her goodbyes, held her wife's hand as she said her own goodbye to Mrs. G. It was as if her blessing had empowered Lainey for the first time to be strong and courageous, despite her own years of rejection, and she was almost stalwart as she rubbed her wife's back in consolation. Mrs. G. once again raised her head and kissed April Esposito on her lips. April had never been kissed in affection, at least as a child, by her parents, and this one moment, late in life as it was, served as a restoration of hope and acceptance. She shook enough that she needed to hand little Diane to Lainey, since she wept more in that moment than ever before, such was the loss she felt even only knowing Mrs. G. for such a short time.

"Bacce e tanto affeto, cari uno. Dio ti benedicta! Kisses of great affection, dear one, God bless you!" Mrs. G. rarely spoke Italian, even though she grew up in the hills of Sicily outside Palermo. She had come to the States with her husband Angelo, seeking a life beyond what was promised in her home. She and Angelo loved each other, and she whispered to April just before they parted, "I bless you with long life with Elaine and baby Diane and perhaps, God willing, many more." She kissed April once again and smiled that lovely grandmotherly smile everyone knew and loved.

Betty DiMaggio stood beside her own dear love Andrea. She leaned over and kissed Mrs. G. on the forehead and said,

"I thank you so much for all you have done for us. You gave Andrea hope where there was discord and shame and sadness. I can never begin to thank you enough for all that you did for her...God bless you, my dear sweet mama; be at peace as you join your sweet family and enter into the rest God has provided. I will miss you more than I can say." She kissed her again and stood back, leaving the last farewell to the one who knew and loved Giuseppina Pasqualina Abendando Giordano longer than anyone else, save for the God she would be joining soon.

Andrea tried so hard not to; there was so much to say with so little time to say it, but she collapsed on the bed, weeping tears that only a child can for a mother. She loved Mrs. G. and of course Mr. G while he lived, like they were her own parents. Her strength was almost gone, but she had strength enough to stroke her loved one's hair and coo affectionately,

A love song actually, but fitting for the two. She remembered even as she held the girl in her arms, weakly but determined to say goodbye with every part of her being.

"Andy, what's wrong?" Mrs. Giordano had gone to the back door, only to find a little boy sitting on her step crying. Andy's mother had passed out from her daily drunken stupor, and it was only nine in the morning. The boy hadn't had breakfast; food was a rare commodity in the house, since his father and mother were self-indulgent alcoholics who rarely spent any time taking care of their son. He was neglected, and only received any help from the nice people in the neighborhood. Everyone pitied the boy, and each family took unofficial turns seeing that the boy had what he needed. He grew up in a time when child protection was a distant dream of well-meaning people, and families and neighbors were the intervention. Andy had a terrible secret, a secret he would come to share only decades later with his future bride. No one suspected the sexual abuse the boy went through; hardly anyone knew about such things in his neighborhood, and even in the early eighties, no one talked about it. And his shame and guilt prevented him from saying anything...so he suffered in silence, his frequent crying believed by all to be merely the sadness and regret of a neglectful family.

"Come in, cari uno, let me make you some eggs and bacon, yes?" Mrs. G had already ushered him into the kitchen for something to eat. It would be an almost ritual performed by her and others. It got him through his younger years until he was old enough to take care of himself, albeit still with the help of friends.

Mrs. G. remembered with sadness years later the same boy, grown to be a man, married with responsibilities and such. He had gone to school and with the help of scholarships and anonymous gifts, become a veterinarian, giving care and comfort to puppies and kittens much in the same way he had received help as a child. He sat in her kitchen, his head buried in his arms, weeping bitter angry tears, not at anyone other than himself. His wife had left him and he felt helpless and alone. He had taken his anger, amassed in unmanageable size over his bitter disappointment with his life, and directed it toward his only love, and she had not the strength to endure it any longer. He still had received no help for his abuse, which shame and guilt kept hidden, gaining strength and power over his life until he had no choice but to give up. He gave up in the presence of the two who loved him the most and who wanted to see him change.

Mrs. G. stood over him and prayed, asking God to help this young man give up his anger and bitterness. He had finally told her what his mother did to him in the secrecy of her bedroom. She was angry, but her anger was not directed at anyone; she wept quietly when he had told her of things unmentionable and horrific, and she left the judgment to one so much wiser and higher than herself. Both of his parents had died years before, likely never acknowledging the damage they both inflicted on their dear son. But even if they had not, Andy needed to let it go; he needed to forgive for his own sake. His bitterness, understandable as it was, ate him up inside and destroyed the only beautiful thing in his life other than the friendship he had with this dear woman.

"Carrie may never come back, Andy; you know that, don't you?" Mrs. G. did not want to say that, but she had to if he were to get help for himself.

"It's up to you to forgive yourself and her and ask her for forgiveness, no matter how things turn out. You did what you did out of your own volition; no one is responsible for your bitterness, no matter what was done. Do you understand? You must get help, or you will continue to hurt others the way your mother hurt you. I want you to see someone who can help you. Will you do that?"
Her words pierced his heart, not like a knife, but more like a surgeon's scalpel, albeit without anesthetic. It began the surgery that would cut away the anger and bitterness. She remembered him raising his head and looking at her, not to argue, but to agree, and she held him as his tears turned from bitterness to remorse and sorrow. She was an instrument in his healing.

She remembered another conversation, years later, only recently, but perhaps just as transforming as any words she had ever spoken. She had encouraged her beloved friend to make a choice that would be transformational. Andy had re-married, and his love for her was wonderful, but he was torn inside. She helped him by reminding him that he was the happiest when Andy was Andrea. The love of this sweet grandmother helped Andrea move into the life intended for her and Betty, and the decision was born out of encouragement and love and support. Mrs. G. was giving her "daughter" sage advice that was not just life-changing, but life-giving.

Andrea held onto Giuseppina Giordano, not wishing to let go, fearing of course the inevitable; it certainly would be the last in this lifetime. She had wept from shame for her mother's abuse. She had wept in shame for her own abuse for her hurtful behavior which destroyed a love and hurt another. She wept tears of joy at the restoration of hope through her marriage to the most wonderful woman in the world. She wept tears of relief and restoration as Carrie, her ex-wife, forgave her. She wept overwhelming tears of grief and sadness as her restored relationship with Carrie, now a sister to her, died when Carrie and her husband were murdered. And she wept tears of overwhelming joy when God provided restoration for her and Betty by blessing them with Carrie's little boy Joshua. And now, of course not the final tears in her own life, but perhaps the most wrenching, as she said goodbye to her mother; yes, the woman who loved her more than her own life and gave her the love that only a mother can provide.

Andrea raised her head off of Giuseppina's chest and sang softly and quietly in response to her, “

Giuseppina Pasqualina Abendando Giordano smiled sweetly and kissed her daughter once on the cheek, tears mingling in joy and sadness and then she took her last breath. Her name, Giuseppina Pasqualina...Josephine Patricia...God will provide nobility. He had through this wonderful example of God's love to so many, but to this one in particular.

Andrea stood and held Betty as they both wept tears of sadness, but also tears of joy and celebration over this dear one’s life and love. The pair held each other, not wanting to leave the bedside, but a gentle nudging got their attention. Standing next to them, tugging on Betty’s skirt, was Joshua, their son. Betty picked him up and kissed him with many kisses, like they say, with affection and gratefulness. And another nudging came, unexpectedly. Andrea looked down to see Angelo, Mrs. G’s Airedale, rubbing up against her legs, looking for attention. He was whimpering, almost as if he knew what just had transpired, and he also looked as if he knew how things were to be. He wagged his tail in recognition, and Andrea responded by patting his back and scratching his ears. A sad and joyful departure, and yes, a new member of the family.

Mi Mancherai — words and music by Luis E. Bacavov, 2002 as sung by Josh Groban, “Closer” 2003
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJwNS-FPXOI
Dedicated to my sweet mother-in-law, Natalie Elizabeth....1928-2009
More stories of the DiMaggio family to come with much love and blessing! ‘drea