She raised me.
SHE RAISED ME The woman who raised the woman who raised me died on this day years ago. As many years have passed as the age I was when she passed. I’m humbled by how the years swiftly go. An immigrant woman who boldly stepped foot In a new world during the Great Depression, she spoke little English, which made me think she was dumb but I was the fool to think this. She was wise but too humble to brag or insist. She knew things I may well never know. An angel on Earth, she accepted pain like a martyr. This tiny immigrant woman had worth. My Nonna was a fighter who chose LOVE as her weapon, which led me to think she was weak. I perceived her to be a dusty doormat until I found myself used and abused. She would turn her cheek, again and again, and learning of this angered me. “I guess she didn’t know better; how to defend herself,” but of course she was strength and durability. When someone is wronged it is easier to react with the same venom rec