For 37 years, I was lucky enough to know you and to love you. Many people don’t get that much time—and while I know it was long, selfishly, it still wasn’t nearly long enough. From the day I was born, you watched over me. You were the first “mother” figure I knew, especially during those uncertain early days when we weren’t sure if my own mom would pull through. I remember sleeping on your lap during your “Stories” at the house on Darien Street, the smell of chicken cutlets frying in the kitchen, and our shopping trips down Broad Street. And of course, the countless visits to Melrose and Oregon Diners for my ultimate favorite: the turkey club. When you moved in with Aunt Anna, it felt like you were living in your own version of Laverne & Shirley. You two bickered like sisters—but at the end of the day, you were each other’s best friend. Having only one living grandmother, I always felt extra lucky to have a bonus one in Anna. The days I spent with both of you in that house on 13th Street are etched in my heart: trips to Nino’s for “imported” prosciutto, ordering takeout, sitting on the stoop with Marie next door watching people fight over parking spots. The smell of coffee and gravy drifting from the tiny kitchen as you cooked Christmas dinner for a small army. I try to explain to my husband how magical those holidays were, but you truly had to be there to understand. I remember when Aunt Anna died. My heart was so broken for you because you had just lost your best friend. But you were resilient. You moved into Cardinal Village and took to folks right away—casino trips, playing bingo, even making it into the local paper like a small celebrity with your friend Ang. I was in awe of how well you were doing, and I was proud of you for that. I’ll miss your calls when Plinko came on The Price Is Right, your laugh, your beautiful skin (if only I could be so lucky to have no wrinkles at 97), and you yelling at me for sneaking forkfuls of broccoli rabe from the pan on the stove. I’ll miss your unwavering support and how proud you always were of me. Thank you—for the memories, the recipes, never making me order from the kids’ menu, and most of all, for the incredible love you gave me for 37 years. I’m comforted knowing you’re now reunited with Grandpa Nick, Aunt Anna, Aunt Rita, and Bisnonna. Please watch over us all. I love you. Ti amerò per sempre, Nonna, finché non ci incontreremo di nuovo. 1927 - 2025.

Please accept our deepest condolences for your family's loss.