Chapter 12: What's in a Name?

This manuscript is both a memoir of sorts and a work of fiction.  The stories and events included are based on my life experiences and memories but I have changed names, details, event sequences, and outcomes throughout the work.

Read Chapter 1       Previous Chapter       Next Chapter

Chapter 12: What's in a Name?

Elizabeth's walk went pretty well despite the depth of the snow. The air was crisp and it felt refreshing somehow to have that cold air fill her lungs. She enjoyed walking outside in the snow because it always gave her time for contemplation. On this walk she thought about how her fears and worries were like little yappy dogs, nipping at her heels as she journeyed along life's path. She did not understand why she couldn't shake these annoying habits. She considered her name, thinking of Queen Elizabeth I whose presence, leadership, and action had defeated the Spanish and brought England a sense of national identity. Under her reign, English drama bloomed and prospered as did the exploits of English sea adventurers. Elizabeth wondered if the queen had ever allowed her fears and worries to dominate her to the extent that she felt paralyzed in her personal life. Where did a woman like the first Queen Elizabeth find the courage to face and overcome the obstacles in her life?

Elizabeth felt that she had never grown into her name. Her name seemed to have many different meanings depending on which dictionary of names one used. Elizabeth could mean "My God is a vow," "Consecrated to God," and Elizabeth's favorite "God is satisfaction." Although Elizabeth most identified with this meaning, she didn't see it evidenced in her life, at least not yet. Just thinking about the role that fear and worry played in her life negated the idea that knowing and believing in God brought any satisfaction in her life! She felt a little nudge as she formulated that last thought. Perhaps her name was actually an answer to some of the questions she was always asking.

Her thoughts turned to an early experience related to her name, a story that her mother had often recounted that showed that Elizabeth's baby sister had some confusion about Elizabeth's name. The story was one that everyone found humorous. But there was a subtle significance that always affected Elizabeth, one that she believed may have colored her perception of herself. Her mother, too, felt mortified by the story because it didn't put her in such a good light as a nurturer of children.

The story took place when Elizabeth was about six years old. As a child, Elizabeth was quite precocious, often getting into mischief. Her mother expressed annoyance with her many misbehaviors by saying, "Damn it, Elizabeth, don't do that!" or "Damn it, Elizabeth, come here!" One habit that her mother found particularly irritating was when Elizabeth wandered away from her when they were in the store. On this particular day, Elizabeth, her mother, and her little sister had gone to a local drugstore. Her sister was in the shopping cart, and Elizabeth was supposed to be walking right next to the cart. But being the adventurous and independent child she was, Elizabeth had wandered off. Her mother was informed of her disappearance when a little voice coming from her shopping cart piped up asking loudly, "Where's Damn It, Mommy? Where's Damn It?" Elizabeth's extremely embarrassed mother quickly found Elizabeth, gathered up her sister, and immediately left the store, errands forgotten in the mortifying moment.

Of course, the story brought smiles. How could it not? But the story also showed that Elizabeth's mother used the phrase "damn it" attached to her name so often that her little sister had confused the expletive with her name! Although Elizabeth had no memory of the events or of her mother repeating "damn it," the story always struck a discordant chord in her heart. How does it affect a child's psyche and self-image when someone who loves them consistently uses an expletive as an adjective to her name? Not that Elizabeth blamed her mother for her own insecurities. She had grown up enough, especially after raising her own children, to know that passing judgment on her parents accomplished nothing, simply shifting her focus from what she could do now to a past that no longer existed. She did wonder why she still felt that twinge in her heart though. Obviously some part of her was holding onto the hurt, using it to prove that she really was less than.

As Elizabeth reflected back to her school years, she hadn't cared much for her name. People would often shorten it to Liz or Beth, both fine names but neither was her name. In Elizabeth's mind, only her mother was allowed to call her Beth. Anyone else who called her by a nickname did her a disservice because they were diminishing who she was. She had a strong identity with her name, that it reflected (or was supposed to reflect) who she was or at least whom she was growing into. She had always embraced the idea that names were significant and that their meanings were important.

Elizabeth also remembered that there were times that she seemed to not recognize her name. Sometimes, her mother would call her or address her directly and would actually use a different name to get her attention. The name her mother chose was the name of another famous queen of England, Victoria. When Elizabeth wasn't listening or ignoring her mother's call, she would hear someone calling, "Victoria! Victoria!" Elizabeth would immediately look at her mom or respond to her call.

Elizabeth recalled another time when she actually changed her name. At the age of eight, Elizabeth decided she didn't want to live at her home any longer. She wanted to move across the street and live with her friend Christopher's family. Chris was two years younger than Elizabeth and had two older brothers and an older sister. Elizabeth thought she would like his family better, so she informed Chris's mother of her decision. Since she was going to a new family, Elizabeth decided her name should be Mary Jane. Chris's mother and her mother allowed her to carry on with her plans until dinner time that day, at which point Mary Jane disappeared back into Elizabeth's imagination, simply a childhood memory.

One of Elizabeth's fondest memories related to her name happened when she was six-months pregnant with her first child. The church she attended was preparing for their annual Christmas pageant. This year the choir director was going to have a multimedia production that would include a movie with scenes leading up to and including the birth of Christ. The pastor's 16-year-old daughter was playing the part of the Virgin Mary. Elizabeth was asked to play John the Baptist's mother, Elizabeth. How appropriate! There were no speaking roles since there would be Bible readings and choir songs that related to the different scenes presented. All Elizabeth was required to do was be pregnant and look radiant when greeting Mary. The fact that her name was the same as her character's was just an added bonus. Elizabeth smiled at the memory.

Elizabeth knew that Vincent appreciated her name. He felt the name suited her well, and he had written poems in which he used her name in creative ways. He thought her name was romantic and that their two names together formed the perfect couple in a beautiful love story. He had never used the abbreviated versions of her name and she loved that about him.

"So what was the importance of a person's name?" Elizabeth wondered. In the past, names were based on family tradition. In Italian families, the first-born son was often named after the father's father and the second-born after the mother's father. A tradition that had been followed in Elizabeth's father's generation. Many of her father's Italian first-born male cousins were named Dominic (after her paternal great-grandfather) which, Elizabeth thought, made for a lot of confusion during family reunions. In the case of her generation, most parents took time choosing their child's name, consulting naming books or the Internet to get just the perfect name for their new baby.

Elizabeth's name had been chosen by her mother and was the middle name of her mother's best friend in high school. Elizabeth had never known this woman and couldn't remember any stories her mother had told about her friend, other than her mother had been in a car accident with her friend. That car accident resulted in her mother being thrown through the window and narrowly escaping death. She had lost her hearing because of the head trauma she had suffered. The other story Elizabeth recalled was about the two young women leaving their home town after graduating high school. They had gotten jobs as telephone operators in the state's capital. While there, her mother had suffered severe appendicitis and had had to have her appendix out, making it necessary for her to return home. Both of these stories focused more on her mother than on her mother's friend, Arlene Elizabeth.

So what was in a name? Was there really a reason why each of us was given a specific name in this life other than for a way to differentiate between that person and this one? Elizabeth believed that everyone was eternal, which meant that a name simply provided a location at a certain point in space and time. She also knew that names reinforced the idea of separation between people. She had a sense of the Oneness of Life, though. So she also played with the idea that wherever a person found himself or herself in space and time, the world that surrounded them was of his or her own creation. Whatever was seen, felt, or experienced illustrated and reflected the person and facets of the person's personality. Of course, that would extend to a person's name. She had already considered the relationship between herself and one definition of her name. She would like "God is satisfaction" to be reflected in her world, but she wasn't sure how to go about achieving that.

Elizabeth sighed as she realized that she had come to another question to be answered. "Does magic have anything to do with questions or answers?" she wondered. She noticed that the sun was swiftly sinking below the horizon, and she turned toward home to get ready for Vincent's arrival and the evening ahead.

Copyright © 2011-2012 by Vicky Lynn Macchione.
All Rights Reserved.
No reproduction of this text is allowed without the written permission of the author.

Chapter 9: Nonna Stories

This manuscript is both a memoir of sorts and a work of fiction.  The stories and events included are based on my life experiences and memories but I have changed names, details, event sequences, and outcomes throughout the work.

Read Chapter 1       Previous Chapter       Next Chapter

Chapter 9: Nonna Stories

When Elizabeth looked back on her time with her Italian grandparents, she remembered many special times with both of them. In fact, almost all of her earliest memories were of her times with them. But many of her most memorable and favorite moments came from her experiences with her grandmother, Nonna.

One of Elizabeth's earliest memories was of traveling with Nonna from where her parents lived to where her grandparents lived. Nonna came by train to visit Elizabeth's parents and to take Elizabeth back to her town to spend a few weeks with her and Nonno. Although Elizabeth's memories were fragmented—she was only 4 years old at the time—she remembered her father driving her mother, Nonna, and herself to the place where Nonna and she were going to catch the ferry boat that would take them across the bay to the train station. The ferry terminal must have been near the bus terminal because Elizabeth remembered the smell of diesel, the fuel that the buses used. To this very day, Elizabeth loved the smell of diesel. The next memory she had of that day was being in the train with her grandmother, the sun shining brightly through the large windows and the scenery ever changing as the train hurried towards its destination. She remembered their seats faced each other and she vaguely recalled a table between them.

Elizabeth's had no memory of their arrival, but she did remember moments of her stay with her grandparents that summer. She remembered going to someone's place that had horses and she got to sit on a horse with her Nonno holding the reins. A photo had been taken of that event and she still had it. What stuck in her mind more than the actual experience with the horse was Nonna's sharp voice, warning her to watch out for the dog poop because the ground was littered with it. 

Then, another day, Nonna and Elizabeth were outside in the backyard. Nonna was doing something in the yard. She may have been hanging clothes on the clothes line that stretched from the house to the woodshed. Elizabeth had a stick and was digging in the strip of ground that rested between the chicken coop and the cement patio. Elizabeth remembered digging and digging with the stick when all of a sudden something jumped out of the ground directly toward her. (Elizabeth had unearthed a toad, who, surprised at being discovered, quickly hopped toward the darkness and safety of the woodshed.) Elizabeth, startled and scared, ran up the back steps as fast as her little legs would carry her, screaming all the way. Nonna had no idea what had happened and she panicked. She started yelling at Elizabeth, fearing the worst and trying desperately to figure out what had happened: Had Elizabeth been stung or bit? Was she possessed? Had she somehow been mortally wounded? At some point, Elizabeth calmed down enough and was able to explain what had happened. Her grandmother gave her a stern talking to. (Looking back, Elizabeth was sure she had either shaved a few years off Nonna's life or at the very least had given her some gray hairs that day.) Later that same day, Elizabeth tried to search for the toad in the woodshed, a place she really wasn't supposed to go. But Elizabeth really wanted to find that toad so she risked getting in trouble yet again. But that toad had had enough excitement for one day and was long gone.

Thinking back, Elizabeth remembered other snippets of her life during that stay with her grandparents. She recalled her red bathing suit and taking sunbaths in a big metal tub. She recalled her daily walks to meet Nonno when he came home from work at the lumber mill. (Nonna was always watching her like a hawk from the kitchen window to make sure Elizabeth followed her directions perfectly: “You walk along the side of the road and no running or moving off the path. And you hold Nonno's hand when you meet him!”) And there were also the weekend days that Nonno would take her on walks to visit his friend with a large garden, and Elizabeth would get to munch on fresh snap peas and string beans pulled right off the vine. Usually those walks ended on Main Street, where Nonno would buy her a frosty—a soft-serve ice cream cone that she loved so much.

Elizabeth didn't have any memories of the trip back home. But she had one more memory of Nonna at that time. Her father, Nonna, and Elizabeth were in her parents' car. They were in front of a building with many windows; Elizabeth remembered the building being green. Nonna told Elizabeth to look at one of the windows because Elizabeth's mother was waving. Elizabeth didn't see her mother. But soon her mother was in the front seat of the car, holding a small bundle in her arms—Elizabeth's new sister. Elizabeth was in the back seat and struggled to look over the seat to see this new arrival and put out her hand to touch the baby. That's when Nonna sharply told her to stay back and not to touch the baby because she would make the baby sick, which made Elizabeth feel like there was something wrong with her. She didn't understand how she could make the baby sick by just looking at or touching her. 

When Elizabeth's mother retold this story years later, she said that she had told Elizabeth at the time how much she had missed her and could hardly wait to see her. But Elizabeth did not recall anything her mother had said, only Nonna's sharp rebuke. Despite Nonna's sharpness, though, Elizabeth always knew that Nonna loved her. 

As Elizabeth grew older, she had fewer individual memories of her time with Nonno and Nonna. But after Nonno died and both of Elizabeth's parents had died, Elizabeth would make the effort to call Nonna every week. Her grandmother was a bit hard of hearing on the phone, so Elizabeth would have to shout to make herself heard. Nonna would always answer the phone “Ciao Bella!” when she finally understood who was calling. They would talk for a few minutes, sharing their words of love. Even after Elizabeth moved to Vincent's country, she would call regularly. 

Eventually, due to her age and the fact that she kept falling, Nonna was no longer able to stay in her home so she sold it. She moved into an assisted-living home but still was the feisty, sharp-tongue Nonna she had always been. Elizabeth continued to call her every week or two, happy to hear Nonna's “Ciao Bella” cheerfully sounding in her ear.

During the summer after Nonna had celebrated her ninetieth birthday, she started having some life-threatening health problems. She had been in and out of the hospital several times. But then in September 2003, Nonna took a turn for the worse. Elizabeth was having a hard time getting any information about her grandmother's condition because of government regulations about with whom hospitals could share patient information.

Her grandmother's condition continued to become even more serious, so much so that the hospital staff indicated that they didn't know how long her grandmother would live. Elizabeth was worried and didn't know what to do about the situation.

Amazingly, her grandmother revived from the crisis and seemed much better. Elizabeth was able to speak to Nonna, shouting her greeting in the usual way. Elizabeth yelled into the phone: "Nonna, I love you." To which Nonna replied, "You are glad I didn't die?" Since Nonna really wasn't hearing Elizabeth well, she replied in the affirmative. Nonna went on to tell Elizabeth that she had always been her favorite grandchild and Nonno's, too. Although Elizabeth had always believed that truth in her heart, she felt joy that her grandmother had shared it with her.

During the two weeks before her death, Nonna kept asking if Elizabeth could come and see her. Elizabeth said she might be able to come once Nonna returned to the assisted-living home. She hadn't told Nonna that she had fallen on her bike several days before and had injured her ribs with the handle bars. Elizabeth had trouble moving because of the pain. Traveling five or six hours by plane and then another four hours by car was not an option.

A week went by and Elizabeth called the hospital again. She spoke to a nurse who said that the doctors thought her grandmother had had a stroke when she was eating breakfast that morning. When Elizabeth phoned later, she was able to speak to Nonna, who proceeded to tell her: "I didn't have no stroke!" Elizabeth hoped that her grandmother might still recover.

The following Monday night, Elizabeth called the hospital to speak to her grandmother. She was connected to the room but a nurse answered. She told Elizabeth that her grandmother couldn't talk. The nurse offered to hold the phone to Nonna's ear so that Elizabeth could talk with her. Elizabeth told Nonna how much she loved her and how special she was to her. She just kept repeating, "I love you, Nonna. I love you." The only sound Elizabeth could hear was the sound of Nonna's raspy breathing. Elizabeth's heart grew more and more heavy as tears streamed down her face. The nurse came back on the line and said she would continue to hold the phone to Nonna's ear, but Elizabeth told the nurse that she couldn't stop crying. She thanked the nurse and hung up the phone.

Elizabeth's grandmother, her little Nonna, died later that evening. Although it was a difficult decision, Elizabeth was happy that she wasn't at her bedside watching her die. She would always remember Nonna the way she looked the last time she saw her. Nonna would forever be smiling and laughing as she had when Elizabeth and Vincent had visited that summer two years before. In her mind's eye, Elizabeth would see Nonna walking around her house, holding her cane instead of using it. She would remember Nonna looking at Vincent and saying, "You make the salad!" For Elizabeth, Nonna would always be alive, watching out the kitchen window to make sure she stayed on the path.

Copyright © 2011-2012 by Vicky Lynn Macchione.
All Rights Reserved.
No reproduction of this text is allowed without the written permission of the author.