Memories of grandparents
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What a wonderful day
At ninety-seven she still walks and, above all, sings: a portrait of Mrs Serafina and of a love that time has not put out.
Oh, what a wonderful day, what a day of happiness, my lovely woman has gone away, she has set me free at last…
When I first met Mrs Serafina, I was struck at once by her smile and her physical condition. She was by now a remarkable ninety-seven years old, yet she still walked. Yes, she had gaps in her short-term memory, but many would sign up at once to reach her age in such good shape and with such a beautiful spirit!
Her calling card was singing: a beautiful, perfectly tuned voice. Once I happened to be the only volunteer present in the care home. I had gathered just a few people around a table in the lounge. To help everyone pass the time, I tried to get Mrs Serafina to sing, and she seized the chance at once, carrying the whole group along with her: all different women, each with her own history and her own spirit, but united by the music and the songs that had marked their generation.
Her favourite song was “Vivere” by Carlo Buti, which she would burst into with no warning at all. I never understood why she chose that song in particular, since the lyrics are decidedly odd for a 1930s tune: the singer is happy because the woman he loves has run off with another man, so at last he can go back to living! Stranger still that it should be sung by a ninety-seven-year-old lady in a care home! Yet, despite the meaning of the song, I always liked the idea of a woman in a home greeting you by singing “What a wonderful day”.
What a wonderful day
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Singing had been part of her since she was young. She told me she used to “bicker” with her husband because, when they drove, she would start singing and he would always say she was distracting him from the road. I would love to go back in time and be a fly on the wall just to see the scene — what a lovely couple! And just as she spoke of him, her beautiful smile would darken: she was homesick for the time and the moments they had spent together.
Memories are what hold you up when you are old.
They say eternal love does not exist, yet even so, decades after his death, she still held vivid the memory of her husband and of his love!
She loved children very much; her great regret was not having managed to have even one. She told me that children would often come into her house to play “tricks” on her, but she said it with a smile on her lips.
Memories are what hold you up when you are old. I often wonder what I will remember, if I am lucky enough to reach her age…
Sadly, very soon after I met her, she died suddenly, leaving me the sorrow of never hearing her sing again. Luckily, though, I had recorded her voice, so that I can still hear it ring out in moments of melancholy: “Oh, what a wonderful day, what a day of happiness…”.
Collected by Riccardo Beretta · AVO Concorezzo volunteer