sweetened the surroundings. The older children had their enchantments, and it was a pleasure to tend to them, but a baby brings a focus to the home. A new baby binds a family together anew.
Giacomina had believed that the absence of a seventh baby shielded the other six from harm. She had made a deal with God Almighty. In exchange for that seventh joy she had prayed for but not received, He would hold the six she had close and safe. But God had broken His promise. As she took in the faces of her children, she realized that she could not comfort them. Their loss was as catastrophic as her own.
Enza gripped her mother’s hand tightly as she knelt before the casket, taking in for the last time Stella’s sweet face and unruly curls. How many times Enza had stood at the foot of the crib when Stella was a baby, peering up at her as she slept! She did not look that different to Enza now.
Enza would hold the image of her baby sister in her heart like the curl of Stella’s hair that she had clipped and placed in a locket before the priest allowed the mourners into the church. Enza began to list all the things Stella had accomplished during her short life. Stella was learning to read. She knew the alphabet. She could recite her prayers, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, and the Our Father. She knew the song “Ninna Nanna” and could dance the bergamasca. She was learning about nature; she could identify the poisonous red berries of the sagrada plant as well as the edible plumberries that grew wild on the cliffs. She knew the difference between alpine deer and wild elk from drawings in Papa’s book.
Stella knew about heaven, but it had been presented like a land of make-believe, a castle in the clouds where angels lived. Enza wondered if Stella understood what was happening as she lay dying. It was too cruel to imagine Stella’s last thoughts.
Life, Enza decided, is not about what you get, but what is taken from you. It’s in the things we lose that we discover what we most treasure. Enza’s most profound wish was that she might have kept Stella safe, that she had not failed her baby sister, that they would not have to face the years ahead without her.
Enza vowed never to forget Stella, not for a day.
The priest struck a long match and ignited the incense in the gold urn until streams of gray smoke curled from the open squares of the brass cup. He gently lowered the cap and lifted the urn on its rope chain, swinging it gently as he walked around the casket, anointing it, until puffs of smoke obscured the tiny casket, which now resembled a small golden ship sailing through clouds. The family encircled the casket as they had Stella’s bed.
The priest looked all around the church, unable to figure out a way to move the vast crowd through the cathedral so each mourner might pass the casket and pay their final respects. Ciro quickly grasped the problem. He nudged two young men and motioned for them to join him.
Ciro walked up the aisle with the boys, and, slipping behind the altar to the far side of the church, he motioned for the two young men to do the same on the other side of the church. They unbolted the side doors, top and bottom, letting in the fresh mountain air and beams of sunlight that immediately dispelled the gloom. The mourners formed a line and began to process past the casket and out from either side. The priest nodded his approval to Ciro.
Ciro observed the eldest daughter rise from her kneeling position to stand behind her grieving mother, placing her hands on her shoulders to comfort her. He looked away; to see such deep connection between mother and child awoke a particular grief of his own. He slipped out the side door through the crowd. Once outdoors, he took in the cool, fresh air. He figured it would take most of the afternoon to move the mourners through the cemetery after the final benediction. It would be hours before he could begin to dig the grave, and nightfall before he would return to
Giacomina had believed that the absence of a seventh baby shielded the other six from harm. She had made a deal with God Almighty. In exchange for that seventh joy she had prayed for but not received, He would hold the six she had close and safe. But God had broken His promise. As she took in the faces of her children, she realized that she could not comfort them. Their loss was as catastrophic as her own.
Enza gripped her mother’s hand tightly as she knelt before the casket, taking in for the last time Stella’s sweet face and unruly curls. How many times Enza had stood at the foot of the crib when Stella was a baby, peering up at her as she slept! She did not look that different to Enza now.
Enza would hold the image of her baby sister in her heart like the curl of Stella’s hair that she had clipped and placed in a locket before the priest allowed the mourners into the church. Enza began to list all the things Stella had accomplished during her short life. Stella was learning to read. She knew the alphabet. She could recite her prayers, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, and the Our Father. She knew the song “Ninna Nanna” and could dance the bergamasca. She was learning about nature; she could identify the poisonous red berries of the sagrada plant as well as the edible plumberries that grew wild on the cliffs. She knew the difference between alpine deer and wild elk from drawings in Papa’s book.
Stella knew about heaven, but it had been presented like a land of make-believe, a castle in the clouds where angels lived. Enza wondered if Stella understood what was happening as she lay dying. It was too cruel to imagine Stella’s last thoughts.
Life, Enza decided, is not about what you get, but what is taken from you. It’s in the things we lose that we discover what we most treasure. Enza’s most profound wish was that she might have kept Stella safe, that she had not failed her baby sister, that they would not have to face the years ahead without her.
Enza vowed never to forget Stella, not for a day.
The priest struck a long match and ignited the incense in the gold urn until streams of gray smoke curled from the open squares of the brass cup. He gently lowered the cap and lifted the urn on its rope chain, swinging it gently as he walked around the casket, anointing it, until puffs of smoke obscured the tiny casket, which now resembled a small golden ship sailing through clouds. The family encircled the casket as they had Stella’s bed.
The priest looked all around the church, unable to figure out a way to move the vast crowd through the cathedral so each mourner might pass the casket and pay their final respects. Ciro quickly grasped the problem. He nudged two young men and motioned for them to join him.
Ciro walked up the aisle with the boys, and, slipping behind the altar to the far side of the church, he motioned for the two young men to do the same on the other side of the church. They unbolted the side doors, top and bottom, letting in the fresh mountain air and beams of sunlight that immediately dispelled the gloom. The mourners formed a line and began to process past the casket and out from either side. The priest nodded his approval to Ciro.
Ciro observed the eldest daughter rise from her kneeling position to stand behind her grieving mother, placing her hands on her shoulders to comfort her. He looked away; to see such deep connection between mother and child awoke a particular grief of his own. He slipped out the side door through the crowd. Once outdoors, he took in the cool, fresh air. He figured it would take most of the afternoon to move the mourners through the cemetery after the final benediction. It would be hours before he could begin to dig the grave, and nightfall before he would return to
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