Love is Accepting People Where They Are

A lesson from my mom for Meghan Markle, myself, and everyone else

When my mom and dad started dating in the late ’60s, my dad lived in Milan and my mom in Padua, about four hours of train and two hours of bus, apart. History has it that the first time my mom went to visit my grandparents in Milan, my grandma Natalina did not let my mom through the gate because my mom was wearing trousers. Yes, blinded by outrage grandma would not welcome in her house her future daughter-in-law, after my then 19-year-old mom had gone through what at that time, felt like a transatlantic crossing.

My grandma Natalina

My grandma Natalina was born in 1911 right before the 1st World War, and grew up amidst rubbles, loss, and third-world misery, in a countryside that looked a lot like Ermanno Olmi’s The Tree of Wooden Clogs.

She was raised in a house with bare earth floors; under the same thatched roof, several families across generations shared the fireplace, meals, and a place to sleep. Everybody, men, women, and children were working in the fields, belonging to some wealthy landowner. At the end of the day, despite the hard work, families could hardly provide enough for their children, leading to chronic malnutrition and high infant mortality.

Grandma was not allowed to go to school because she was a girl, and as a young woman she just never had enough authority to speak and was regularly reminded of her “status” by both men and older women in the house. Many, many years later, grandma would tell me stories of violence or verbal abuse coming from all directions; the time an older woman took without permission, her shoe-polish — one of her rare personal belongings — and my grandma was slapped in the face for complaining and being ungrateful.

In those days, women were giving birth in the fields while working, the luckiest were assisted by other women. After delivery, women were going back to work regardless of whether they had a healthy baby, a stillbirth, or a miscarriage. That’s where my grandma was from, a woman, who grew up in extreme poverty, worked like a slave, survived two World Wars and a dozen pregnancies, and raised seven children.

Gate closing

Between 1959 and 1960, my grandma and her family moved from the countryside in Padua to one of the many villages booming around Milan, and hosting hungry Italian immigrants eager to work in the pre-industrial factories mushrooming at that time.

Let’s dissect this for a moment. Imagine an illiterate woman in her late 40s leaving the harsh-yet-safe countryside, to land in a city in the midst of an industrial, cultural and societal revolution. Imagine not being able to either read or write and having to deal with such change and complexity. Uprooted, transplanted, and in the isolation of illiteracy, grandma carved herself a space in her new home and never really left for the next 30 years, apart from going to mass early on Sunday mornings, gaze down, black polished shoes, a black coat, and a black veil around her fine hair.

My mom Giuseppina

When my mom — a woman who at the age of 10 was denied the right to continue school and was sent to work in a shoe factory, yet never lost a strong sense of self-agency — presented herself wearing trousers in front of my grandma’s gate, it was not a personal clash. It was a time bomb running out of ticks, a much delayed socio-cultural clash. Way before my mom's arrival, grandma had locked the gate to make sure no further changes would knock at her door. Refusing to let my mom in, had nothing to do with my mom.

Meet them where they are

Despite the rusty start and the bitterness of those early days, mom always showed great respect to my grandma and my dad’s family. Mom knew where her in-laws were coming from, and where they were, and accepted it. At least twice a year, we would pack up and travel to Milan to visit them, and spend time together under the same roof. Grandpa would show us kids how he could remove one of his fake teeth and put it back in place. Grandma would lay the table as if we were the royal family; all of us children felt super loved. Grandpa would sneak special licorice candies when nobody was watching, and every single year, regardless of our age, we returned home with three large chocolate eggs.

Much, much later in life, when granddad had already gone, and grandma was living alone, we invited her over to spend a few weeks in the summer with us. She loved the countryside, the birds, the colors, watching people work in the garden, and watching me and my brother and sister being busy and useless. She would ask about school, friends, and boyfriends, telling me that there was no rush and that I should enjoy my youth.

One day grandma twisted her ankle, and found herself stuck in a wheelchair for a while. In those days mom became her personal caretaker. She would accompany her to the toilet, moisturize her skin, and reassure her when she felt helpless. Mom took care of grandma as if she was her own mother.

Grandma who had never been taken care of before by anyone in her entire life, lushed in my mom’s attention. She started referring to my mom as her savior, she would treasure every little attention my mom gave her, and she would only accept help from her because mom was the only one who knew the exact amount of moisturizing cream her 80-year old skin needed, and she was probably right.

Maybe a little too late, but grandma fell in love with Mom and started respecting her deeply. Meanwhile mom prepared grandma’s favorite dish peperonata every other day, and made sure grandma was looked after when she was busy with other errands.

Mom who had all the right to be resentful did not let her resentment decide for her, she did not expect excuses or explanations, she respected and understood where my grandma was coming from and where she was, and did not attempt to change that. Instead she preferred to lead by example, making herself helpful, and teaching a lesson to both grandma and her children.

The school of life

• It is easy to feel enlightened, or even emancipated, and expect the world around us to catch up to our speed. We should be very humble in wanting others to change just because we think we know better. Enlightenment should not lead to a false sense of self-entitlement.
• Accepting and being accepted are the two sides of the same coin. Nobody is in charge of fulfilling our expectations.
• What disturbs us is what we let disturb us.
• Empathy, understanding, or being accepted, is all stuff we need to pay forward, without expecting anything back. Left to its own devices, resentment can turn into a machine of mass destruction and self-destruction. It is a slippery road that never led to love.

Had my mother in law slammed the door in my face when I was 19, I do not know what I would have done. I doubt that 50 years later I would have held her soft hand and combed her frail hair. I doubt I would have let her close to my children, but my mom did this and beyond.

Love is for-give.