Forgiveness

The hardest decision I’ve ever had to make was taking Jonah off life support. I was his mother, I was supposed to protect and shelter him from the evils in this world. It’s my fault he’ll never see his fifth birthday. It’s my fault he’s dead.

It has been a year since the accident. The date was August 12th, 2004, I was driving home in my red 1998 Audi Sedan. Jonah was in the back seat sleeping, after all it was almost 2AM. We spent the week at my parent’s house, they live in Bozeman, Montana. I wanted to escape my life back home, I wanted to escape from Dan. My parents said it was the perfect place for them to retire to, my dad always said, “No people, no problems”. The mountains that surround the town are breathtaking and a nice change from rainy Seattle. I decided to drive, despite the long haul. Being that the drive is almost 10 and a half hours, I planned on stopping mid-way and resting. I left my parents house around 6PM hoping to arrive back by 7 or 8AM the next day. That was the plan. By the time 2AM rolled around I knew I shouldn’t have been driving, I could feel myself drifting every so often. I hadn’t seen another car in almost 45 minutes. By 2AM I had already crossed into Washington, Jonah had been asleep for hours, I envied how peaceful he looked. Nodding off again I decided I would pull over at the next rest stop. Between trying to stay awake and the constant thoughts of my husband berating me with questions once we got home distracted me from realizing I was entering an intersection. I breezed past the stop sign and before I realized another car had slammed into the right side of the car.

The next few days were blurry, and I was in and out of consciousness. On the third day I got the news that Jonah was in a coma. The impact from the crash caused irreversible traumatic brain injuries. He would never recover the doctors said, he would essentially have to remain on life support for the rest of his life. My heart sank, I could feel it collapsing on itself. My stomach was in knots and I instantly felt the need to vomit. I couldn’t breathe, I could barely comprehend what just happened. The doctors informed us that we had two options, to take Jonah off life support or continue his life through a machine. It was selfish to keep him alive and I knew it. Broken beyond repair, Dan and I both decided to take him off life support. This was the only decision we’ve ever agreed on about Jonah.

The accident tore my already broken marriage to shreds. Over the course of our 12-year-marriage Dan grew angrier and more self-centered. Was it from work? The responsibilities of being a husband? A parent? Nearing the end, I hardly recognized the man I fell in love with in the summer of the 90s. The once loving relationship we had crumbled completely and left us bitter and empty. Jonah was the only reason we stayed together and now that he was gone, we had absolutely no reason to remain married.

I’m not sure how to pick up the pieces that my life has become. Jonah was my everything, my purpose in life. The court ruled negligent homicide in light of the circumstance. Despite the fact I’m free, I still feel trapped in a cold cell 100 feet under.

While it’s been a year since the accident it still feels as though I was driving down that road yesterday. I would do anything to hold my little boy again. His gentle eyes and sweet smile were my favorite thing in this world, the way he laughed brought me pure joy. I will never forgive myself for what I did, I can’t forgive myself. Most of my friends did their best to support me but eventually moved on and left me in the dust. They couldn’t understand my pain, they will never understand this feeling of utter shame and disgrace. My parents began to distance themselves from me. I didn’t blame them, I would have done the same thing. I took away their only grandchild, that’s unforgivable. Everything around me was a reminder of what I had done, I couldn’t stay in Seattle, I couldn’t bare it any longer. I was hoping for a miracle.

A few weeks later I was sitting at home eating breakfast when the phone rang. I walked over to the landline and picked it up.

Nearly belting I hear, “Ciao Camilla! Issa Gramma Mia!” I pulled the phone away from my ear, I was very confused at how she got my number. I hadn’t seen my Italian gramma in nearly 20 years, she must be well into her 80s by now.

I put the phone back to my ear and responded, “Wow! Hi! How are you Gramma?!”

Very loudly, “Imma good mimma! How are you?”

“I’m alright…Gramma, how did you get my number? Where are you calling from?” I asked.

“I move back to Firenza a year ago anna finally hadda someone install one of those telephones.” Her accent was thick, and I had a hard time understanding what she was saying.

[The rest of the conversations are going to be paraphrased]

“You moved back to Florence? Where were you living?”

“A little town called San Gimignano. It’s a beautiful town in Tuscany.” She replied with.

“It sounds lovely Gramma. I don’t mean to sound rude, but why are you calling?”

“News travels slow apparently and your mother finally told me about the accident that happened a year ago. I’m terribly sorry about Jonah, I would have loved to meet my great grandchild. Your mother also told us about Dan, seems like a real piece of work. I know you’re still hurting, after your grandfather past I was lost for awhile too. I wish I had someone who was there for me. Camilla, I know I haven’t seen you in many years, but I have an extra bedroom in my apartment. I know you have a life in the US but if you decide you need some change, my offer will always stand.”

Nearly in tears I responded with, “yes, yes I want to come!”

_____________________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks consist of packing and preparing. Purchasing my one-way ticket allows me feel freer than I have in years. Being that I am a writer, I take my job wherever I am. It’s almost as if fate was telling me to pursue this next chapter of my life. The lease for my apartment was ending, all my bills were paid off, and I was ready to start over. Reflecting on my relationship with my grandparents is quick, mom moved to the states when she was 18; she never told me what happened between her and gramma. She met my dad shortly after and within the year they were engaged. My mom told a while ago that my grandpa tried to make arrangements for us to fly over but he grew sick when I was a toddler and died shortly after. Mom was the only one who flew out for his funeral. When I was 14 my dad finally convinced my mom to fly us out to Florence so I could finally meet my Gramma; I haven’t been back since. I wonder how much the country has changed since I was last there.

I arrive at Tacoma International Airport two hours before my 9:45 flight. I did my best to condense my belongings, however, I still end up with two large suitcases, a carry on suitcase and a duffle bag. I check the two large suitcases and lug the carry on and duffle bag around the airport. Being that my flight is over 13 hours I’m praying for a window seat.

While descending I look out the window and awe at the stunning mountains that surround

Florence. Massaging my temples, I groan at my pounding headache. After getting my luggage I can see my gramma standing patiently by the doors. She’s scanning the crowds of people in hope she can spot me before I spot her. Despite the fact I haven’t seen her in years, her face seems to have barely changed. We lock eyes and she begins to tear up. As I’m walking over I drop my luggage and we embrace each other. I missed her hugs, they’re comforting, they’ve always made me feel safe.

My Gramma looked up to me with promising eyes, “You’re a timeless beauty Camilla, I’ve missed you my child” she spoke softly.

“I’ve missed you too Gramma.”

After struggling to get all my luggage into the taxi we’re off. Gazing out the window memories of coming to Florence when I was 14 flow back. This isn’t the Florence I remember I said in my head, I don’t remember all this graffiti plastering the walls, or the decrepit buildings on the verge of collapsing. As we draw closer into the city, the buildings begin to change, growing more immense and intricate. Ancient cobblestones glisten under the beating sun, while vendors line the street in hopes of making a sale. Before today I wasn’t anxious or nervous, actually being here makes me realize how drastic of a decision it was to get up and completely move my life to another continent. I know barely any Italian, I don’t know the culture, why did I think this was a good idea?

Noticing my anxious movements, gramma says, “What’s wrong love, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Distracted in my own thoughts I don’t realize she is speaking, “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“What’s the matter mimma?”

“Being here is unreal, gramma, I’m just nervous, I don’t know if I made the right decision."

“There’s nothing to worry about, hon. If I can give you one piece of advice it’s that life doesn’t wait for you if you want to see change, you have to be the one to make it. Nobody can do it except for you.” She looks at me sincerely and while I barely know this woman, I trust her wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, gramma. Since Jonah passed, a part of me died with him, I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces. Its beyond harder than anything I’ve ever had to do. I will never fully recover I don’t think.” I pull out a picture from my wallet, it was a picture of Jonah on his fourth birthday, his face and hands are covered in chocolate cake and he’s grinning from cheek to cheek.

Showing her the picture I say, “This was on his fourth birthday, he was so happy when I told him that I was going to bake him a cake, chocolate was his favorite.” He’s holding both of his hands up, they’re covered in chocolate cake.

Chuckling, I say, “He would never use a fork, it used to annoy me so much, but now I miss his grubby little chocolate covered hands.” I carefully put the picture back in my wallet.

The driver stops in front of an old beige building, the window shutters are all a navy blue.

“We’re here!” Gramma says chirpily.

The building has a warm feeling to it, in front of all the shutters is a flower box. Each box has a different arrangement. The taxi driver grabs all of my luggage and places it on the side of the curb.

“Grazie signore, quant’e?” gramma asks.

“Diciotto euro, per favore,” he says. Gramma hands him a blue €20 bill. The currency here is beautiful compared to US bills. There are three steps leading to the massive front door. She unlocks it, this leads to a gate, which requires another key. Her apartment is on the bottom floor to the left. "Three keys, that seems ridiculous," I say to myself. Once she opens the door I’m greeted with an unfamiliar face.

“I knew I forgot to tell you something!” Gramma shouts. Sitting their wagging its tail sat a dog.

“This is Luca, Camilla!”

I was shocked, why does this 80 something year old have a dog? Dogs require a lot of time and energy.

Still startled I say, “Gramma, when did you get a dog? Why did you get a dog?”

“Don’t you worry dear, I made an agreement with a kind man who lives in this building. He knew I wanted a dog but also knew I wouldn’t be able to take it out and walk it daily. He said if I adopted a dog from the shelter, he would take it for walks every day.”

“That’s sweet! That’s so kind of him.”

“I adopted Luca about six months ago, he’s around the age of six. The gentleman’s name is Gabriel, he comes around 8AM every day to take Luca out. He sometimes comes in the evening too.”

“I know it’s early but I think I’m going to head to bed, it’s been a long day,” I say while kissing Gramma on the cheek.

“Good night Camilla, I’m so glad you’re here!”

My bedroom is quaint, it is simple, but still has an elegance to it. The peach curtains reach from the ceiling to the floor, there is a small wooden desk in the corner, a white dresser stands parallel to the desk, and my bed is placed in the middle. Fresh linens line the bed, and a peach quilt lays folded neatly in the center of the bed. The second my head hits the pillow I am out.

I wake the next morning to a dog barking, Gabriel must be here to take Luca out I realize. Sitting up makes me realize how dizzy I am, I walk into the kitchen to fill a glass of water. Gramma is sitting at the table drinking coffee while talking to who I presume to be Gabriel. For some reason I thought he would be older, this man couldn’t be older than 40. He stands at 6’, dark brown hair, he has brilliant blue eyes. He is wearing a pair of black gym shorts, and a navy-blue V-neck. He turns in my direction.

“You must be Camilla! It’s so nice to finally meet you, I’ve only heard wonderful things! I’m Gabriel,” he reaches out to shake my hand. His accent is thick but his english is perfect.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say with a smile.

“I’m taking Luca for a walk, I wouldn’t mind the company if you’re up to it! We would pass by my favorite cafe, they have the best coffee, my treat.”

Surprised and flattered by the offer I say, “Sure, let me change real quick.”

Having barely unpacked anything makes trying to find something to wear a bit of a challenge. I throw on a pair of shorts and a blouse, quickly brush my hair and slip on a pair of sandals. Despite the fact it’s only 8:30AM its already almost 80 degrees out. We begin walking in silence.

To break the awkwardness I say, “What you’re doing for my Gramma is incredibly nice, she really appreciates it.”

“Your Gramma is a very kind lady, she’s helped me in many ways these past few months. It’s almost like she's my grandma too,” he said while chuckling.

He continues, “I owed her this. Plus Luca is the best dog, sweetest guy.”

Intrigued I ask, “How has she helped you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He hesitated at first, “My wife, now ex wife I guess, left me about eight months ago, got up, packed her things, and left. I’m guessing she met someone else. We were married for 10 years.”

Embarrassed that I asked the question I begin to fluster.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, it’s awful. My husband left me about a year ago, after our son died.”

Raising his voice, Gabriel nearly shouts, “That bastard! He’s no man, he must still be a child. Have he no integrity?”

Lucas head tilts up at this remark and he makes a startled yelp.

“Our marriage was falling apart before we lost our son, losing him pushed us over the edge. The only reason we didn’t get divorced earlier was for our son.”

“You must have been an amazing mother.”

I know he was just trying to make light heart of the conversation, but his words seemed genuine. I appreciate them more than he could ever know. Not wanting to relive the experience. I respond with a simple thank you. As we walk across the Ponte Vecchio streams of clear images flow into my mind of what seemed so long ago.

“It’s amazing how much is coming back to me,” I say.

“Oh, you’ve been to Firenza before?” he asks.

“When I was 14 my parents took me to meet my gramma for the first time. I haven’t been back since. My Gramma and my mom have had a rocky relationship for a while, neither of them have told me why.”

“You should ask your Gramma, she’s a very understanding person. We’re almost there by the way,” he says while pulling Luca along, who keeps getting distracted by the smell of all of his surroundings.

About two minutes later we stop outside a cafe at the corner of Via Calimala.

“Wait with Luca for a second, I’ll order us cappuccinos,” he says politely.

While we wait I scan the crowd of people coming and going. I’m still in disbelief that I’m even here. About two minutes later, Gabriel comes outside holding two white mugs.

“Best in town,” Gabriel says with a smirk.

I take a sip, being that it was already hot, a cappuccino wasn’t my first drink of choice, but I had to admit, it was very good.

“It’s a bit hot but it’s very good, I’m actually not much of a coffee drinker.”

“In a month you’ll be drinking it every day.”

After taking a sip of his he asks me, “So, what do you do?”

“I’m a writer, I haven’t published anything in awhile, but I’m hoping a change of scenery will help me.”

“Well Firenza is beautiful, you’ll fall in love with it. It is the city of love.”

I gave him a puzzled look, “Isn’t that Paris?” I ask.

He chuckles and says, “What do the French know about love?”

Throughout the rest of our conversation I learn that he’s never been to the US, he had the chance when he was younger but he decided to study in Europe instead. I realize that this is the first time in awhile that Jonah wasn’t the only thing on my mind, it was almost a relief. Before Gabriel left he invites me to join him tomorrow for his walk again. I can feel the smile spread across my face as I say, “I’d love to.”

By the end of the week I can feel myself falling for him, I haven’t felt this happy in years. He asked me on a date shortly after. When I entered the kitchen Gramma must have seen the smile beaming across my face.

“I knew you two would get along,” she said with a wisp of a smile.

“Yeah he seems like a wonderful man, I really like him Gramma.”

While I didn’t say it aloud I know I haven't sought someone’s touch this much in a very long time. It’s bizarre how life works, one day you’re complete strangers, the next you’re falling in love all over again. For our first date he takes me to a city called Luca, we rent two bikes and ride around the city wall. It is such a charming little town. Every time I think about our walks, his smile, just our time together, I smile and realize something good is happening.

_____________________________________________________________________________

A few months have past since I moved to Firenza, I’ve picked up quite a bit of Italian, I know my way around, I’ve even started working part time to supplement some of my income. I also begin to write again. A year ago I felt numb to emotion, but being here, surrounded by history, beauty, and love has inspired me to start again. Gabriel not only has given me unconditional love, he’s given me something so much more. He’s given me the words, the tools, and the confidence to do something I never thought was possible, to forgive myself. For this I will always be grateful, regardless of what may happen between us. One morning when I was walking down stairs I see Gramma making breakfast, she is stooped over the countertop, squinting to read the directions on her cookbook. It reminds me of when I was a child when mom used to make me breakfast, this mirror image compels me to finally ask what happened between them years ago.

Sitting on a bar stool I ask her, “Gramma, can I ask you something?”

Looking up she says, “Of course you can. What’s on your mind?”

Adjusting myself on the stool I finally say, “Gramma, what happened between you and mom? I know neither of you want to talk about it, but it has been years.”

Instead of answering she walks over to the fridge and takes a few apples out. She begins cut one of them on the cutting board. I can tell she’s thinking of what to say so I let her consider her words.

“Camilla, this happened years ago, your mom was young she was only 17.” I can tell she’s hesitating and that this topic makes her very uneasy. Despite her nervous looks, she continues. “She was dating a boy who I didn’t approve of, she got pregnant, with you. When the boy found out, he left her. I told her she was too young to be a mother, especially a single mother. I told her to get an abortion or give you up for adoption. I’m so sorry.” She is in tears.

I was in utter shock. I wasn’t sure if I should be mad or disappointed. Instead I walk over to her and give her a hug.

In a soothing voice I say, “It’s okay Gramma, everything turned out alright in the end.”

I knew my dad was not my father, but mom would never tell me who my real father was. She grew angry whenever I asked her; I guess now I understand why. I know Gramma wanted what was best for mom but I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt.

“Gramma, I’m going to tell you something that Gabriel told me, it’s helped me more than you can imagine. He asked me, how could anyone else forgive me, if I haven’t even forgiven myself. You can’t change the past gramma, and that’s okay. But you can reconnect with mom, it’s not too late for that.”

That morning Gabriel, Luca, and I go on our daily walk together, I tell him about what Gramma said and that I used his own words to help.

After I finish speaking he says, “You know, your Gramma isn’t the only person who should reconnect with your mom, you should too.”

I know he is right, he’s always right.

“I know, you’re right, I just don’t know if it’s the right time.”

He asks, “Okay, if now isn’t the right time, when is? You only have one mom. There isn’t enough time in life to waste because of regret and pride.”

“You should really be one of those inspirational speakers that travel around the world inspiring others to be a better version of themself,” I say while laughing.

“I do my best,” he says solemnly.

We hold hands and continue our walk in silence. Unlike before, the silence isn’t awkward, it’s peaceful; it’s a good feeling knowing we have each other.

Later that day I go to Gramma’s room, she’s lying in bed reading.

I knock twice and say, “Gramma, we should call mom, together.”

“I think you’re right, it’s about time.”

Together we sit at the dining room table, I dial mom’s phone, hoping she’s home. It rings four times before someone picks up.

Speaking softly a familiar voice echos into our ears, “I thought you guys would never call.”