And I made the 9 o'clock mass in Triploi. April 25, 1943, is the first entry into the diary my grandfather kept during his time at war in N. Africa. He still made it to mass, walked around the town and decided to buy a little black book for 7 shilings to write down his accounts of the war. I don't think my grandfather would know on that day in 1943 that almost 65 years later I would have it out this Easter Sunday morning with tears down my face thinking about how impact he was in my life and still is. I turn to the first page in this dusty diary and it reads:
"Today was Easter Sunday and I made the 9 o'clock mass in Tripoli. Beautiful church. I decided to stay in town and get a good look at everything. Bought this little black book for 7 shilings. Also tasted some good old Italian cakes. Stood in line well over an hour to see a show which proved to be another of those day limie jobs. Couldn't understand half of what they were saying but laughed at the jokes anyway. Very hungry and arrived back in camp just in time to miss chow. LT. T.W.V. got a package so I eat candy. I almost forgot the "swell" free for all between the blacks and limies. Boy! what a show. I am very tired from walking all day. No mail today. "
65 years later and I awake this Easter morning to a cup of coffee and making the 12:30pm mass. I think I will walk around Central Park today and find peace in my grandfathers words so may years ago. For me, a Urban NYC women, the diary has been the look back a generation I needed in order to move forward in my life. It is a source of courage, faith and healing I get every time I open the page. I share with you the diary's first entry and it begins a 6 month journey into war and personal times. It symbolizes a bond between a grandfather and granddaughter 65 years later that can not be broken.
I wish you all a Happy Easter!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Lessons of Hope
As I think about life and especially life after Grandpa’s death, I feel hopeful. I have changed from the person I once was who did not believe that life was grand or even had an ounce of hope. I took my grandfather for granted much of my life and it was only at the end did I realize the real meaning of life. His words from a 1943 war diary represent to me a symbol of hope and courage. He writes about the American dream in his future with patience and hope that his life will be fulfilled.
On his last dying days, my grandfather turned to me and said “you are missing out on the real meaning of life. Life is about loving unconditionally those around you, without rules or limits, and making sure you tell them you love them because sometimes people don’t always know. Real love is not about having a husband and children. It is about loving yourself first and building on the power of all the relationships you cultivate. It’s about being hopeful, patient, humble and above all forgiving."
These words ring true to me every day that I try and focus on being a better friend, co-worker, daughter, and sister. I might not have the traditional family or the love of a spouse but I have learned to love myself first and be hopeful by the words on a dusty, page from a war hero in 1943. My grandfather’s voice lingers in my head with an overwhelming feeling of hope that breaths though me on this day and every day. For that, I say thank you and I am so proud of you Grandpa!
For more information on my book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life, a memoir about the bond between a granddaughter and a grandfather, email me at costarobin@gmail.com
On his last dying days, my grandfather turned to me and said “you are missing out on the real meaning of life. Life is about loving unconditionally those around you, without rules or limits, and making sure you tell them you love them because sometimes people don’t always know. Real love is not about having a husband and children. It is about loving yourself first and building on the power of all the relationships you cultivate. It’s about being hopeful, patient, humble and above all forgiving."
These words ring true to me every day that I try and focus on being a better friend, co-worker, daughter, and sister. I might not have the traditional family or the love of a spouse but I have learned to love myself first and be hopeful by the words on a dusty, page from a war hero in 1943. My grandfather’s voice lingers in my head with an overwhelming feeling of hope that breaths though me on this day and every day. For that, I say thank you and I am so proud of you Grandpa!
For more information on my book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life, a memoir about the bond between a granddaughter and a grandfather, email me at costarobin@gmail.com
Sunday, December 28, 2008
The Fly
This holiday season felt different for me than the last two years. Of course, Grandpa was not with me to share it with or play cards while the food was cooking but it was as if he was there the whole time in different shapes and people that have entered into my life. I know that he is watching over me and placing blessings in my life that will help me always feel his presence. I felt his presence this Christmas morning.
I awoke Christmas morning reminded of a conversation I had with my grandfather the month before he died. I was sitting next to his hospital bed holding his hand thinking about the afterlife. I wanted to know he would still be with me even after his death. I finally asked, “How will I know you are with me after you die?”
He turned his head gently on the hospital pillow, patted my hand in reassurance, and made a “buzzing” sound through his closed teeth. “I will be flying around looking over you like an angel. I will be the fly circling around that you just can’t swat away!”
“Grandpa, a fly?” I laughed. “How did you think of that?”
This Christmas morning, two years later, I got a call from my Aunt Linda and Cousin Steven to tell me an enormous fly was in their home in cold New York. I simply said, “Grandpa.” Then as I walked into my sister’s house, I noticed a fly circling in the kitchen. I looked up to the sky and said “I love you Grandpa, Merry Christmas.”
Happy Holidays and wishing you a very Happy New Year!
I awoke Christmas morning reminded of a conversation I had with my grandfather the month before he died. I was sitting next to his hospital bed holding his hand thinking about the afterlife. I wanted to know he would still be with me even after his death. I finally asked, “How will I know you are with me after you die?”
He turned his head gently on the hospital pillow, patted my hand in reassurance, and made a “buzzing” sound through his closed teeth. “I will be flying around looking over you like an angel. I will be the fly circling around that you just can’t swat away!”
“Grandpa, a fly?” I laughed. “How did you think of that?”
This Christmas morning, two years later, I got a call from my Aunt Linda and Cousin Steven to tell me an enormous fly was in their home in cold New York. I simply said, “Grandpa.” Then as I walked into my sister’s house, I noticed a fly circling in the kitchen. I looked up to the sky and said “I love you Grandpa, Merry Christmas.”
Happy Holidays and wishing you a very Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 13, 2008
WWII Memories from the Diary of My Grandfather
My grandfather was a unique man with a history in WWII that most of the family never knew about until he passed. He would speak about his time fighting in North Africa with the British Army very rarely and only if some asked a specific question. He was a top turret gunner on the B-25, Desert Warrior that flew bombing missions over Northern Africa while fighting against the Nazi troops. He flew a total of 199 hours logging 73 missions over Tripoli, Tunis and Sicily. This amount of flight time was unheard of back then based on the morality rate for top turret gunners. My grandfather was different. He could do anything!
During this time he kept a diary of his daily events in war and how he felt during the scariest times of his life. This diary is just amazing to read and hear about all the battles won or lost at this time. He had some amazing times outlined in the diary that I have grown to cherish. It was this diary which was left to me upon his death that has truly transformed my life and helped me heal from the wounds of the past.
I share with you today a passage from his diary on May 7, 1943 as well as an article that was written about my grandfather in February 1991 as the country is fighting a war in the desert. I hope you enjoy this piece of history on WWII and my grandfather.
The book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfathers Love Taught Me Life, will be available in April. Please email me for your advanced copy at Garofalorobin@gmail.com
Article Link:
http://www.lindseywilliams.org/index.htm?LAL_Archives/United_States_Planes_Pioneered_Desert_Tactics.htm~mainFrame
Diary Page May 7, 1943:
God! What a day. This was nothing doing all morning. 8th Army closing in on Tunis. Right after lunch the horn blew and we find ourselves on tap to bomb a heavy Itie cruiser in Tunis harbor. Everyone scared stiff. 9 ship deal and splits. We take off with 6X500lb and head out for target. So scared I was almost sick. As we cross coast A/A starts. Our electric system out. No guns or radio. Very cloudy. We lose formation and can’t see target. Circle about 30 mi decide to bomb Kelibia. Light A/A but no E/A. Thank God! The anticipation on this raid was the worst since our raid on Crete. Never was so glad to set my two feet on ‘ye ‘ol terra firma. Tunis fell our hands. We also had air raid last night. Sure glad this day is over. Very tired. It’ll take a direct hit to get me out of bed before morning. So air raid or not let me sleep.
During this time he kept a diary of his daily events in war and how he felt during the scariest times of his life. This diary is just amazing to read and hear about all the battles won or lost at this time. He had some amazing times outlined in the diary that I have grown to cherish. It was this diary which was left to me upon his death that has truly transformed my life and helped me heal from the wounds of the past.
I share with you today a passage from his diary on May 7, 1943 as well as an article that was written about my grandfather in February 1991 as the country is fighting a war in the desert. I hope you enjoy this piece of history on WWII and my grandfather.
The book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfathers Love Taught Me Life, will be available in April. Please email me for your advanced copy at Garofalorobin@gmail.com
Article Link:
http://www.lindseywilliams.org/index.htm?LAL_Archives/United_States_Planes_Pioneered_Desert_Tactics.htm~mainFrame
Diary Page May 7, 1943:
God! What a day. This was nothing doing all morning. 8th Army closing in on Tunis. Right after lunch the horn blew and we find ourselves on tap to bomb a heavy Itie cruiser in Tunis harbor. Everyone scared stiff. 9 ship deal and splits. We take off with 6X500lb and head out for target. So scared I was almost sick. As we cross coast A/A starts. Our electric system out. No guns or radio. Very cloudy. We lose formation and can’t see target. Circle about 30 mi decide to bomb Kelibia. Light A/A but no E/A. Thank God! The anticipation on this raid was the worst since our raid on Crete. Never was so glad to set my two feet on ‘ye ‘ol terra firma. Tunis fell our hands. We also had air raid last night. Sure glad this day is over. Very tired. It’ll take a direct hit to get me out of bed before morning. So air raid or not let me sleep.
Monday, December 8, 2008
An page from my new book: The Only Father I've Ever Know: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life
I thought I would share with you a small page from my book, The Only Father I’ve Ever Known, How My Grandfather’s Love Taught Me Life. The piece below describes when I am trying desperately to find this WWII diary, left to me upon my grandfather’s death, in a small, dusty storage unit. I know the diary is there and I am determined to find it but at the same time I am completely broken inside based on the events in my life at this point.
The book is about a transformation journey I take with the diary as my catalyst. It also illustrates my grandfather, an Italian immigrant who was a soldier fighting for our freedom in N. Africa. I hope you like it!
Book Page Excerpt:
I pushed aside the boxes that I had already searched through and plopped down on the cold concrete floor. I was exhausted, but I pulled forward to reach a small brown box. As I ripped off the tape with one hand, I took a giant swig of my water in the other to relieve my throat of the dry dust that had accumulated. The box revealed the smell of musty old papers. A dusty grit covered most of the contents inside the box, but there was a white plastic bag that seemed to be undisturbed. I blew off the dust and unzipped the plastic bag that had preserved it all these years. There is was—the little black diary. The front cover was a simple impression of a camel looking up to what resembled a palm tree with words on either side of it. Onestinghel Tripoli. The title of the front of the diary was in English: Agenda 1943-XXI. The months were written in Italian.
I looked at it for a while wondering whether or not I was ready to embark on this journey at this point in my life. I pressed my right hand against the diary hoping its strength would run through my bloodstream. I rubbed my fingers across the camel’s back hoping this diary contained the healing power I needed to pull my life together. I grabbed the diary forcefully and pressed it against my heart. I felt connected to the book as if it had magically entered my body and was beating new life inside me.
I flipped through the pages reading a few of the entries from 1943. The historical pages began releasing a part of my grandfather that I never knew existed. A part of his life that had been closed off to his family intrigued me, and I had to learn more. I pressed the diary harder into my heart to feel that connection with my grandfather again. My jeans were covered in dirt as a spider made his way up my leg to find his home. As the sun dimmed on that cold New York Saturday afternoon, I felt resurrected by the hope that my newfound 64-year-old gift would heal my deepest wounds.
You can find out more about my book by emailing me at garofalorobin@gmail.com. My next post will be more focused on my grandfather as a soldier in WWII.
The book is about a transformation journey I take with the diary as my catalyst. It also illustrates my grandfather, an Italian immigrant who was a soldier fighting for our freedom in N. Africa. I hope you like it!
Book Page Excerpt:
I pushed aside the boxes that I had already searched through and plopped down on the cold concrete floor. I was exhausted, but I pulled forward to reach a small brown box. As I ripped off the tape with one hand, I took a giant swig of my water in the other to relieve my throat of the dry dust that had accumulated. The box revealed the smell of musty old papers. A dusty grit covered most of the contents inside the box, but there was a white plastic bag that seemed to be undisturbed. I blew off the dust and unzipped the plastic bag that had preserved it all these years. There is was—the little black diary. The front cover was a simple impression of a camel looking up to what resembled a palm tree with words on either side of it. Onestinghel Tripoli. The title of the front of the diary was in English: Agenda 1943-XXI. The months were written in Italian.
I looked at it for a while wondering whether or not I was ready to embark on this journey at this point in my life. I pressed my right hand against the diary hoping its strength would run through my bloodstream. I rubbed my fingers across the camel’s back hoping this diary contained the healing power I needed to pull my life together. I grabbed the diary forcefully and pressed it against my heart. I felt connected to the book as if it had magically entered my body and was beating new life inside me.
I flipped through the pages reading a few of the entries from 1943. The historical pages began releasing a part of my grandfather that I never knew existed. A part of his life that had been closed off to his family intrigued me, and I had to learn more. I pressed the diary harder into my heart to feel that connection with my grandfather again. My jeans were covered in dirt as a spider made his way up my leg to find his home. As the sun dimmed on that cold New York Saturday afternoon, I felt resurrected by the hope that my newfound 64-year-old gift would heal my deepest wounds.
You can find out more about my book by emailing me at garofalorobin@gmail.com. My next post will be more focused on my grandfather as a soldier in WWII.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Grandparent and Grandchild Bond
It seems like every day I hear more or see more grandparents raising grandchildren and I feel so fortunate all over again. Last night I had the opportunity to volunteer for a wonderful organization that helps women with breast cancer financial and personally plan for their children’s well being. The holiday party for this organization was last night and it was filled with children, adults, music, food and most of all, love.
I was assigned arts and crafts with the children. About one hour into the party, a very shy nine- year old girl came up to me and just stood next to me. I looked down and asked her if she would like to make a hand puppet together. She shook her head yes so I started to pick up the glue and markers. As we were busy making the best hand puppet of the evening, I asked Alexis, my new nine year old friend, who was she here with? She looked up at me and said my grandmother and two sisters. I felt the bond immediately and now I knew why, we were both raised by a grandparent.
I spent the next three hours with Alexis making a paper hat, playing basketball, throwing a football and trying to see if she would dance. She smiled twice, once when she made a basket at the basketball game and the other when I hugged her goodbye. Alexis and I share a bond even if we are years apart in age. A grandparent stepped in because a parent was no longer part of our life for whatever reason.
I meet Alexis’s grandmother and gave her a huge hug. I felt as if I was hugging my grandfather all over again. I told her thank you for taking care of Alexis. She thanked me right back for spending the whole evening with her granddaughter. As I hugged the family goodbye, I looked around the large room where the party was and felt so incredibly thankful. I felt as if my life was insignificant and the only purpose is to keep paying it forward by helping other people.
As Alexis was walking out she turned and smiled one more time and I told her to listen to her grandmother because she will learn so much. The bond is everywhere and it is amazing what it can do to a person’s life
I was assigned arts and crafts with the children. About one hour into the party, a very shy nine- year old girl came up to me and just stood next to me. I looked down and asked her if she would like to make a hand puppet together. She shook her head yes so I started to pick up the glue and markers. As we were busy making the best hand puppet of the evening, I asked Alexis, my new nine year old friend, who was she here with? She looked up at me and said my grandmother and two sisters. I felt the bond immediately and now I knew why, we were both raised by a grandparent.
I spent the next three hours with Alexis making a paper hat, playing basketball, throwing a football and trying to see if she would dance. She smiled twice, once when she made a basket at the basketball game and the other when I hugged her goodbye. Alexis and I share a bond even if we are years apart in age. A grandparent stepped in because a parent was no longer part of our life for whatever reason.
I meet Alexis’s grandmother and gave her a huge hug. I felt as if I was hugging my grandfather all over again. I told her thank you for taking care of Alexis. She thanked me right back for spending the whole evening with her granddaughter. As I hugged the family goodbye, I looked around the large room where the party was and felt so incredibly thankful. I felt as if my life was insignificant and the only purpose is to keep paying it forward by helping other people.
As Alexis was walking out she turned and smiled one more time and I told her to listen to her grandmother because she will learn so much. The bond is everywhere and it is amazing what it can do to a person’s life
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Being Raised by My Grandparent
My grandfather has been the only father I have really known since I was 16. He provided me the wisdom, guidance, and love to help me through the tough time in life as well as celebrate the joyful occasions. In the U.S., more than 4.5 million children are being raised by grandparents. In fact, President-elect Obama was raised partly by his grandmother. His bond with her was so tight, that he suspended his campaign for part of two days and went to visit her at her apartment where she was in hospice care. Grandparents raise their grandchildren for reasons such as death, divorce, child abuse, neglect, or abandonment. For me, I was just happy that my grandfather took the time to help raise me. Grandparents raising grandchildren offer them a special bond that will impact their lives forever.
My Grandfather passed in 2006 and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about something he taught me or hope that I have the kindness and compassion that he had his entire life. Grandparents teach their grandchildren the foundation skills of helping other people, being kind to others and for me learning how to develop relationships with unconditional love.
I am writing a memoir about the bond between a granddaughter and a grandfather. The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life is my personal story about how my grandfather’s love profoundly made a positive difference in my life. It is my story of a women who becomes unrecognizable to herself and only through her grandfathers dying days re-establishes the bond they had so many years ago. It focuses on a diary my grandfather left me upon his death from WWII that truly transformed my life. His writing becomes a touchstone for his unconditional love and offers a lesson for creating a fulfilled and meaningful life.
So, for all those grandparents out there, thank you for being who you are and you truly are an angel on earth.
The book will be available soon. Please email me with any questions at garofalorobin@gmail.com
My Grandfather passed in 2006 and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about something he taught me or hope that I have the kindness and compassion that he had his entire life. Grandparents teach their grandchildren the foundation skills of helping other people, being kind to others and for me learning how to develop relationships with unconditional love.
I am writing a memoir about the bond between a granddaughter and a grandfather. The Only Father I’ve Ever Known: How My Grandfather's Love Taught Me Life is my personal story about how my grandfather’s love profoundly made a positive difference in my life. It is my story of a women who becomes unrecognizable to herself and only through her grandfathers dying days re-establishes the bond they had so many years ago. It focuses on a diary my grandfather left me upon his death from WWII that truly transformed my life. His writing becomes a touchstone for his unconditional love and offers a lesson for creating a fulfilled and meaningful life.
So, for all those grandparents out there, thank you for being who you are and you truly are an angel on earth.
The book will be available soon. Please email me with any questions at garofalorobin@gmail.com
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