Wednesday, September 5, 2012

22 Roseneath Gardens

In a dream, we were all back at Nonna's house.  I secured a yellow rope with a tire onto the tree at the front. We loved it. Swinging higher and higher into the clouds back and forth. Looking down below on the people we love.  Inside, Nonna was talking to old ghosts... we were all so young. Children busy playing until sunset, waiting for Nonna to make us spaghetti. Waiting for the evening when we all gathered in front of the TV watching cheesy Italian soap operas. 
Every night we'd drive to 22 Roseneath Gardens.  I never realized how much I would miss those nights.
22 Roseneath is painted over and sold.  The trees still line the road and look as if they've been weeping. That was my home when I was away from home.
We were never suppose to grow old or sick. 
We were suppose to stay at Nonna's house forever.  
In a dream, all the children have grown up and moved on. But I didn't. I stayed with Nonna. I went to the back to pick us some cherries, but our tree was torn down.  Our garden was gone, the dogs were dead.  Nonna called me from inside, but when I ran through the door she wasn't there.  When I ran to the front she wasn't there. Just her voice echoing in my ear telling me to come to her.

...I loved that home. I wanted to buy it and raise a family inside.  Host Christmas and Easter dinners there, have my grandchildren fall asleep on the firm sofa, tuck them in tight like Nonna used to.
The house isn't ours anymore... Nonna is getting old and frail and we're the only ones that visit her.  Sometimes I see her too much at once, I'm so afraid she's going to forget me, like she has the others. 
Saint Lucia pray for us