In Memory of my Nunnu.

 

It was with disbelief and overwhelming sadness that I heard the news of my Nannu’s passing – for though he was 93 years old and in declining health, I had convinced myself that he was always going to be with us.  God, however, had a different plan.    While my heart aches for the loss of my Nannu, I am grateful for the time we got to spend together and the many wonderful memories I have of him.  It is my honor to share some of these with you all today.

Let’s face it:  you always knew when Nannu was around.  Mostly because he would announce it himself, at the top of his lungs, every chance he got.  “Nann-u!” he would yell.  Just randomly throughout the day.  And it wasn’t just his name.  He used to have lots of little sayings that he liked to call out.   “Et Boti?”  It makes me smile just to remember it J 

It’s these little quirks that made him unique.  Our Nannu was not your average grandfather.  Not at all.  He was a little gruff, a little rough around the edges.   You could always count on Nannu to say exactly what was on his mind.  And boy was he noisy.  It wasn’t unusual to walk into his house and find the radio and tv both on, both at full volume, and find Nunnu reading the paper J. 

But when I picture my grandfather, I see a handsome man wearing his “Cappel”.   Standing tall and honorable, for he had much to be proud of.   Nunnu was proud of his heritage – of being Maltese.  He was proud of his military service in WW2.  In his healthier years, I remember him dressing up in a suit and tie, putting his medals on, and heading out to the Maltese Center where he proudly introduced me to his friends.  “This is my grand-daughter” he used to say.   I know that many of you have been with him there, or even marched with him on Anzac day.   That look of pride that he had when he wore his medals is something I will never forget.

He was proud of his cooking, especially his take on our Nanna’s soup – “braw-doo ta Nanna” as he would call it.  I would watch him work in the kitchen, chopping this and that, putting a little of whatever he had at the time in the pot.   The finished product was amazing….and he always offered you a nice big bowl.   With bread, don’t forget the bread.  He was a man of simple pleasures – some cheese, some bread, and in one of his small glasses, some “Bimbi Nannu” to wash it all down.  

I remember going to church with him on Sundays, and how happy it would make him to have his family there with him.  He would drop some change in my hand, and get up and collect the offering.  Nunnu was always ready to help.  I  remember when we were little, Nannu would wait for me and my brother outside the gates of St. Brendan’s Primary school.   He used to walk us to and from school, every single day.   Over the railway tracks, under the bridge, down the streets.  Even with his bad leg, he never complained, never saw it as a chore. 

I think that most of all, he was proudest of his family.  His 6 children, his 13 grandchildren and his growing army of great grandchildren.  He was never happier than when all of his family would get together on Sundays, congregating at his home, to eat, drink, talk and play some “bish-kla”.  It was always his greatest wish that his family be close.  That even after he and Nanna were gone, that his kids would continue to see each other and spend time together.  He would be happy to see you all gathered here today.

I think I was right, after all.  He really will live on forever.  When I look around and see you all here today, I see our Nannu.  So many of you resemble him.   So many of you carry on his interests.  When you build your cages and raise your birds, think of Nannu.  When you make your wine, think of Nannu.  When you fry steak and onions for dinner, think of Nannu.   When you love your families with all of your heart, and do everything you can to help them no matter what – think of Nannu.  He may be reunited with Nanna in Heaven, but he will forever live on -  in our hearts, our minds, and in ourselves.  Nannu - we’ll love you always.

With Love, Your grand-daughter, Cathy, “ta Mary”.