The Difference

by C. D'Angelo

  “What a giving family; to take in two boys they intended as temporary guests.” I have immense gratitude.

  “Maybe deep down you wanted to help kids because your family needed help as kids,” Brian concludes.

  I smile and reply with a light-heartedly sarcastic, “Thanks, Dr. Holden,” following in a serious tone, “But, yeah, maybe.”

  Hmm, I remember something I read about in graduate school. “You know, there is this phenomenon called genetic memory.” I am shocked I can function at this fine-tuned sort of cognitive level at this time, but it’s a day full of miracles. “The whole concept is something about how us humans have the ability to know things we never learned, only due to it being in our DNA. So, the desire to help children may be part of my genetic memory, in some way.”

  Brian agrees, “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He flashes a smile.

  Teodora chimes in, “It is like how our family are all hard workers and ethical people. That is something that is just inside you, and we don’t all necessarily learn that from being taught by others.”

  “Exactly. It’s imprinted on us and in our DNA,” I beam with pride. “And, maybe I’ll never know why our name was shortened. Or maybe I’ll keep looking for the reason, you know, in the future once I can catch my breath.” I widen my eyes and look at Brian.

  “Yes.” He mirrors my expression and smiles.

  “I am going to get some things to show you. Want to move to the other room again?” Great-Aunt Angeline politely asks. She must have thought this conversation is too off topic, or that the younger people are talking hooey.

  “Sure, let’s do that.” I would move to the moon with her to keep listening to stories about my family.

  “Teodora, do you need help cleaning up?” I ask.

  “No, bella, but thank you.” She smiles. “You are a guest, even though you are family.”

  That statement touches my heart and speaks to a longing I’ve had so long at this point, even before I knew I needed it.

  Great-Aunt Angeline brings a box to the family room and sets it down on the coffee table.

  “I have letters from your great-grandpa, grandpa, and uncle in here. Also, photographs and your Great-Grandmother Francesca’s journal,” Great-Aunt Angeline tells me.

  “Oh, wow.” My eyes are stuck wide open.

  She takes out photos first. “Look at me as a young girl.” She points to a black and white photo.

  I examine it and see a familiar face. Before the wrinkles and gray hair of time, I see…my face. “You and I could be twins!”

  She laughs. “Yes, I knew the second I saw you that we are family. I had those same freckles on my nose.” She reaches to her nose and rubs it. “They have faded now, but you can see them if you really look.”

  I lean into her and look at her face. “Yes, I can.” I touch mine as well and smile. Suddenly, they aren’t so bad.

  “I had hair just like you too. Look.” She points to another photo. “I wish these were in color, but I know you believe me.”

  “Yes, I do.” Now I rub my hand on her arm for a moment. It’s soft and warm.

  Regardless that by the time color photos in the box show Great-Aunt Angeline’s hair had turned gray, her hair was, yes, red and curly in her younger years. She retains her beautiful big green eyes today, which are glowing in the color pictures. Even at this moment, her eyes twinkle and stand out from the bordering crow’s feet in the room’s natural light. Her daughter, Teodora, sure has “our” hair and eyes as well. I am definitely not alone anymore with my features, pale skin and all. And now I know the features must be inherited from my maternal great-grandmother’s side of the family, carried down with Grandpa straight to me. I never thought I would find out anything, let alone unbelievable facts and see so much proof that I belong.

  I’m also looking at pictures of my Great-Grandpa Gino, Great-Grandma Francesca, and Great-Aunt Antonia for the first time. Grandpa’s family. My family. I burn them into my memory. I couldn’t forget them if I tried. Maybe she will let me take pictures of the old photographs with my camera, though.

  Seeing any photos is beyond all expectations I set for myself on this ancestry journey. To be able to put faces to the names of people, even family members’ names I just learned on this trip, is the gift of a lifetime. Plus, look at all of the cousins I have! I want to meet every one of them immediately. I hope that can happen someday.

  Best of all, looking at all of these nuggets of gold show me that I’m not an oddity in the world anymore. I blend in, so to speak, with my own family, but don’t have to blend because I fit in. The lack of desperation to fit in is a welcomed change I want to hold close to my heart. I feel free from my own ridiculous notions and enjoy a surging sense of peace from being part of the strong women in my family. Maybe I can just be me and be okay with it. Why do I have to be like everyone else in the world anyway? I’m me, and that’s wonderful.

  Great-Aunt Angeline pulls out a stack of disintegrating envelopes tied together by a red ribbon. “These are letters from Gino, your grandpa, and Vincenzo.”

  Even the mere thought of them trigger my eyes to fill with tears. I look for that nearby box of tissues and grab one to dab the known forthcoming waterfall.

  Seeing my family members’ words in their own writing on the outside of the unbundled letters now bring on those waterworks full force. Brian places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I put my hand on his and pat it.

  Grandpa’s letters, out of any of them, have a profound effect on me, of course. His signature that was on every birthday card I ever received in my life from Grandma and him is right here in front of me, only in a more youthful version. I reach out and touch one, but don’t pick it up.

  “It will not bite you.” Great-Aunt Angeline smiles and picks it up for me, then hands it over.

  I hold it a second before opening the ripped open flap. Pulling out the aged, folded paper, I see the letterhead reads, “On board RMS ‘TITANIC.’” My breathing rate increases and my hands shake.

  Teodora comes back into the room and sits on the opposing seat. “Would you like for me to translate the letters for you?”

  I look at the writing in my hands and realize it’s not in English. I was too focused on other details. “Yes, please.” I hand it to her slowly.

  One by one, Teodora starts translating the letters in the box for me, reading them aloud.

  April 10, 1912

  Dearest Mother,

  Dad, Vincenzo, and I have made it safely on board the RMS Titanic. Although this is our first night, I know it is going to be a wonderful voyage. I still cannot count my blessings enough to think that we are in first class on this fabulous ship. I miss you and will write again soon. Say hello to Antonia for me.

  Love,

  Salvatore

  April 11, 1912

  Dearest Mother,

  We have been enjoying our time in first class on the Titanic. Dad, Salvatore, and I cannot believe all of the luxuries that first class people have on board. Do you know they have a special string quartet that plays while we eat or walk along the deck? Rich people have music for everything! We are acting as though we are one of them. Hopefully, nobody knows we are not. Tell Antonia hello from us. We love you and miss you.

  Love,

  Vincenzo

  April 12, 1912

  My dearest Francesca,

  Our sons and I have been doing well aboard this luxurious ship. I have never seen anything like it in my life. I wish you were with us. Maybe the Bastows will give us another round of tickets soon. They have not been spending as much time in Genoa as they have been in their hometown in England. Then, you and Antonia can come to the United States as well. I love you and miss you dearly.

  Love,

  Your husband Gino

  April 13, 1912

  Dearest Mother,


  We have been having a grand time on this ship called Titanic. We were able to try out the gymnasium equipment and also the Turkish bath. I feel like the luckiest boy alive. We will soon be in New York City. Only a few more days. I don’t know what I am more excited about, the ship or going to America. Soon we will be saying hello to Miss Statue of Liberty. I can see her in the distance now.

  Love,

  Vincenzo

  April 14, 1912

  My dearest Francesca,

  The boys and I are still doing well. We attended the church service this morning, which gave us a feeling of being at home in our own church. People do not seem to know we are not usually first class travelers. They treat us like all the rest. I am glad to be blending in with them. The suits I made have us fitting in just fine.

  Tonight, after the boys are asleep, I may try watching the card players in the smoking room. Do not worry, I will not be smoking. Nor gambling. We need all the money we have to make it in America and I intend to save every cent. We all send our love and will write to you soon.

  Love,

  Your husband Gino

  April 16, 1912

  Dearest Mother,

  I do not know if you heard what happened, but the Titanic sank yesterday morning. I cannot believe I am writing this to you. I also cannot believe I need to tell you that we think Father died in the sinking. Salvatore and I have not seen him aboard the rescue ship, the RMS Carpathia, so we believe he may have perished in the Atlantic Ocean. Salvatore and I were lucky enough to get on lifeboats because we are still boys and look younger than our ages, I am sure. They only allowed women and children on them. We tried, Mother, we tried so much to get Father aboard the lifeboat with us. We miss him terribly and are still holding out hope for him to appear upon arrival in New York in a few days. I think ships went to look for people who did not get on the lifeboats. Do not worry, Mother, Salvatore is safe with me. We will be fine when we get to America. I will write to you soon.

  Love,

  Vincenzo

  April 18, 1912

  Dearest Mother,

  We arrived in America today. We do not have Father with us, as Vincenzo told me he wrote to you a few days ago. Father still has not appeared anywhere that we know and we fear he is not going to be in New York. Mother, we really tried to have him come with us in the lifeboat, but the men would not let it happen. We miss both of you terribly. But do not worry, we will be meeting the Serafinos soon. We will be fine in America. We will send money as soon as possible. I love you and Antonia and I will write soon.

  Love,

  Salvatore

  April 30, 1912

  Dearest Mother,

  Vincenzo and I are settled in with the Serafinos. They have shown us nothing but kindness in their home. Even though we could not take our sacks of personal items with us the night of the sinking, the Serafinos have provided us with everything we need. Vincenzo and I are trying to help out with household chores and anything else they need, to show our appreciation for them letting us live with them. They are also teaching us about the tailoring business in America. We are slowly learning English and I want to tell you a new phrase I learned; “Hello Mother, I love you.” I am doing well. Vincenzo is also doing well. Give Antonia a hug for me. I will write to you soon.

  Love,

  Salvatore

  When Teodora stops reading at the last signature from my Grandpa, I sit in silence a little longer.

  “I know these must be hard to hear for the first time.” Great-Aunt Angeline speaks in a quiet tone.

  All I can do is nod in agreement.

  The recounting of the details of the shipwreck would be difficult for any empathetic soul to hear, let alone when they include loved ones. Oh, the horror the boys went through that April night in 1912—from not knowing what was happening, to having to leave their dad and hoping he would be on another lifeboat safe and sound, to realizing they would never see their dad again. Madone and Mother Mary, the terror that must have set in to have been entering a new country parentless, where they needed to learn the foreign language. Did they even know the Serafinos before meeting them in the US? No wonder Grandpa never wanted to talk about leaving Italy. No wonder he never would consider going for a visit. No wonder Great-Grandma never wanted to come to the United States. She was probably terrified to leave land.

  The letters are heartbreaking, yet show such strength and resiliency. Those kids had to carry on without their dad. It never ceased to amaze me when I learned Grandpa came to America and didn’t know English, but now that I have the whole story I am in awe times a million. I finally know his story.

  And how Great-Grandpa Gino talked about blending in with the clothes…that blows my mind too. Is that another family trait passed down; the desire to be unseen? Maybe it is more of the genetic memory concept. I’ll have to research that idea more.

  As if the letters aren’t hard enough to process, Great-Grandma’s journal lies ahead; the last item in the box. The grief she must have went through is astounding, especially still caring for her present child, Antonia. The fear she must have had, the loss she experienced, the heartache that I bet never healed. I cannot imagine.

  She never saw her boys again, though I know they wrote to each other. But she never could see or speak to her sweet husband, Gino, anymore. Yet, she went on. She survived and thrived. She was able to remarry, and even had another child, Great-Aunt Angeline, who of course personifies what her name means; an angel. But I am sure the pain of losing her Gino in such a traumatic way never left her soul.

  I feel guilty for “reading” another person’s journal, but am glad to have the opportunity to get to know my great-grandma a little more. I think she would have wanted her family to know our story, I hope. I cross my fingers in my mind’s eye.

  “Would you like me to read my grandmother’s journal now? Are you ready for more?” Teodora dips her head and raises her eyebrows.

  “Yes, please continue. I want to know all I can.” I grab Brian’s hand again.

  May 13, 1912

  Why did you do this to me, God? I am a good woman. I am a church going woman. I pray every day. Have I done anything to make you think I am not a good mom? A good wife? Why did you have my beautiful and sweet Gino die when he was just trying to make our lives better? He was trying to give us a new life and now we have this life. We have three kids to take care of still. Why did you do this to us? To me? Give him back to me!

  My eyes tear up again and I get the tissue ready.

  Her tone was begging and tortured. The words conveyed the deep pain and suffering she must have been going through. I can tell the rawness she allowed in herself to write, probably because she had to be strong for her daughter and, through letters, for her boys.

  Teodora continues reading.

  May 16, 1912

  I do not understand why you did this, God. This tragedy that happened on the sea not only happened to them but to me. What did I do to deserve this? Why did you take my Gino? My boys need a father and now they do not have one. They are with nice people, but Mr. Serafino is not their father. Please help me to get through this horrible time.

  As Teodora flips the page, I notice it has a smudge on it. I bet it was a tear drop that caused the ink to run. I imagine my great-grandma writing, crying, and trying to negotiate with God to bring back her Gino. Being a therapist and knowing the stages for grief, she seems like she was in the first few stages in these letters; denial, bargaining, and a touch of anger with God in particular. While going through the grief stages is the norm for grievers, seeing and hearing the suffering through my great-grandma’s letters, my own relative, is excruciating.

  I take a deep breath and continue to listen to Teodora reading.

  July 2, 1912

  I have not been able to write in some time. I have not had the strength to do anything but to take care of Anto
nia. I do not understand why you took my Gino away. Please help me to get through this because I cannot do this on my own. What will happen to my boys? To all of us?

  October 15, 1912

  Today is 6 months from my loving Gino’s death at sea. He was a good man. He was trying to do better for his family by going to America. I never want to go to that land. Why would anyone want to journey across the Atlantic for that place? It is not worth it to me. I will be staying with my daughter in Genoa, where we are loved and safe. I cannot travel there, even though my boys are there. They are strong and will be okay. They know this from me. I taught them to be strong boys. And so did Gino.

  The journal entries are fewer in frequency as the months carried on. I am sure my great-grandma didn’t have much time to write when trying to manage on her own. How did she live? What did she do to earn money? I’ll have to ask Great-Aunt Angeline another time.

  April 15, 1913

  It is one year now. One year since my love, Gino, died in the Atlantic. That ship was supposed to be unsinkable. Why did God make this happen? This happened to people who were good, loving men. People who had families to take care of and who depended on them. People who were going to America to have a lifetime of providing to others. My Gino is gone. Gone a whole year. I miss him so much. I cry tears of sorrow every night still, after being so strong for my kids. They will ever know the pain I carry in my heart. I will love you forever, Gino.

  “That’s the last one,” Teodora says.

  But, closing the journal, one tiny folded up paper falls out.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Have you seen this?” Teodora asks her mom who shakes her head.

  “May I?” I reach my hand out so I could see it before knowing what it says.

  “Yes, of course.” Teodora leans over and gives it to me.

  I open it gently and began to see a part of my grandpa’s signature once again. How could a letter of his be in his mom’s journal?

  I run my fingers over his writing, wishing I could hug him and tell him how sorry I am for all that he went through as a boy. I know he’s with me right now, though. I look up for a second. I know now, Grandpa.