2 February 2024, Montreal, Canada
Giovanna’s son Santo delivered the following eulogy in Italian and English. We will post an all-English version first, and then the bilingual speech below that.
12 years ago I stood before you in this church, on the occasion of my father Pasquale’s funeral.
Today I do the same, on the occasion of my mother Giovanna’s. Their life together was a love story, an immigrant love story, at that.
You cannot tell his story without telling hers, and vice versa.
Their lives were intertwined.
***
They met in Sicily in the mid 1950s – in Santa Lucia del Mela, near where they were born, she in 1931 and he a year later.
She had already rejected several suitors – one of them, as she relayed to my sister, because he wasn’t nice to his mother.
Pasquale was smitten – he proposed to her, and she accepted, but there was one problem – his family was so large, and so poor, that there was no way his parents could afford a proper wedding.
So, as was his character, he did what he thought was best for his family – he asked her to elope, and leave together for Switzerland to start a new life together.
She was devastated – she had looked forward to a traditional Sicilian wedding, and her bridal dress was ready.
Yet, she accepted.
All it took was his beaming smile, his gentle and kind demeanor, and his beautiful blue eyes, for her to take the leap.
That, and how nicely he treated his mother.
They were married in December 1959, and from then on, they were inseparable.
They lived in Vevey for 7 years, where my sisters were born. And in 1967 they crossed the ocean to settle here in Montreal, and welcomed me into the world.
And here is where they built their lives and family.
It was not without hardship.
Soon after arriving in Montreal, they found themselves in dire straits and my dad, disillusioned, starting planning to return to Europe.
They were saved by the kindness of the Sciotto family, and of my late godmother Biagina, who took all of us in until my parents could get back on their feet, and in whose home on Hurteau I was born in 1968.
I mentioned it in 2012, and I’ll say it here again, that was an act of selfless love if there ever was one – 10 of us, including 6 kids ranging from newborn to 19-year old, all crammed into that duplex apartment for close to a year.
Tony is here with us today, the last surviving family member, and his presence is a comfort to us.
***
With the rest of my parents’ immediate families still back in Sicily, the Sciottos would become our family in Montreal.
And so did the rest of our paesani from Santa Lucia – the Amicos, with whom we spent so many Christmases together, the Liparis and Salvadores, the Andaloros, Giannones and Boggias, the Rapazzos and Siracusas.
This Messinese community, our comare and compare, were a source of support for my parents and helped them get through the hard times – while creating a loving extended family for me and my sisters.
And my parents reciprocated, always striving to maintain and strengthen the bonds formed within that community, and offering its members support whenever needed.
***
My parents lives were defined by an intense LOVE for their family, and a stubborn resolve to make our lives better no matter what it took.
And that was obvious, in the way that my mother lived her life.
There was her WORK ETHIC. To put food on the table, she worked HARD – as a cleaning lady at Place Ville Marie in the 70s, at the button factory in Ville Emard, or later on at El Pro in Cote St Paul making leather purses.
She worked tirelessly, and they saved every penny, for us.
She was ASSERTIVE. My dad was a softie, but Giovanna was a tough cookie, fiercely protective of her family and children, and didn’t suffer fools.
On one occasion, some mean kid down the block hit my sister Nancy – my mom found out and confronted him, and he never dared bother any of us again.
She was STRONG. That came from her mother Anna, who would walk miles with heavy sticks on her back in the old country.
Then there was her sharp intellect and wit, and SENSE OF HUMOR, which she inherited from her father Domenico, who was jovial as can be. He didn’t just ask my grandmother for dinner, he would say “Piripi Piripo, pesce stoccu vodiu io”. She had that same gift, and often left us in stitches.
And last but not least, she expressed her love through her CUISINE.
There were the Sicilian arancini – rice balls, with the mozzarella, Bolognese sauce, carrot and pea filling.
But especially, her famous and delicious meatballs – somehow, she managed it so that the very center of each meatball was juicy and moist.
As a first-born Sicilian son, I was shall we say just a tad spoiled, and my mother doted on me.
At the age of 15, I attended a sweet 16 birthday party, and succumbed to peer pressure and drank beer. A bit too much unfortunately. I was brought home and stumbled into the house, with my parents and my sister Anna, now awake, watching. As I somehow made my way to my room and collapsed on the bed, my mom was next to me the whole way, and she sat down next to me on the bed, with grave concern. A bucket was nearby for obvious reasons, some retching took place.
Now my mom was very religious. And at that moment, I said probably the worst words I should have said to her… “Pregge per me, mamma” – “Pray for me, mom”.
***
She always had the support of our compare and compare in the close-knit Santa Lucia expat community.
But her rock, the constant in her life, was Pasquale. They were a team.
Until 2012, when he was no longer there.
My father passed away on April 5th that year, and by September my mother had withered away.
Not eating, suffering from depression, doubting her ability to go on without him, she had lost her will to live.
Until later that fall, when a little kitten, white with black spots, came into her life thanks to my sister Anna – she named him Bianco, and he gave her a reason to go on.
And she did. She never went a day without missing my dad, but she managed, kept in touch with family and friends, and enjoyed family gatherings.
For more than a decade she lived alone in the house on Giguere, until the age of 92.
But she was never truly alone.
It was the constant devotion and attention of my sisters, Anna and Nancy, that sustained her, especially as old age started to take its toll.
I want to recognize them here, along with our eldest niece Sabrina – for all that they did to ensure our mother felt cherished and loved – they acted selflessly, and so often at the expense of their own lives and families.
Now you can start to reclaim your lives, comforted in knowing that you made hers so much better. You can let go now.
***
Santo with his mother Giovanna
My mother’s decline slowly set in – starting with Covid, which was so difficult for everyone.
Then her Alzheimer’s began to take root, and her memory, always sharp and precise, began to suffer.
Her physical strength, always a point of pride for her, began to desert her.
She suffered from anxiety, and fear set in, including of being alone at night.
When your strengths become weaknesses, when the independence you have known your whole life is gone, you cease being you.
And that’s what happened to Giovanna – and it led to her no longer being able to stay in her home – she spent the last 10 months of her life in a nursing home.
It was a nice suburban home in Beaconsfield, and she had all the comforts she needed, but it signaled the beginning of the end.
Her health deteriorated over the last month or so, to the point where she wasn’t even able to walk without great difficulty.
We brought her to the hospital on Sunday and were given the sobering news that she didn’t have long to live.
We caressed and comforted her, but looking into her eyes, it felt like she was already somewhere else.
I held her hands, and examined them closely – I had done the same with my father shortly before his death, in the palliative care ward at the Montreal General.
There were the creases and wrinkles, the callouses and moles, the scars, all accumulated over the years.
The plain evidence, in those hands, of a long life – a life of hard work, and sacrifice.
And the ring they each wore, a reminder of their bond of love.
A love that endured long after my father’s passing, long after she could no longer clasp his hand, though she prayed for that moment when it would happen again.
Now, her prayers are answered.
As my niece Sabrina envisioned, they are walking together, hand in hand, on their new journey.
They are in God’s hands now.
You can read Santo’s 2012 eulogy for his father, Pasquale Manna here
Here is the bilingual version of the eulogy for Giovanna Manna, 27 January 1931 - 29 January 2024
