I fall prey to a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle now and then, most often in the dead of winter but occasionally off-season as well. It’s a little thrill when you’ve finished, even if your dog always manages to steal and [possibly] consume a few pieces, so that in the end, like many things in life, it’s mostly, but not quite, complete. But some puzzle pieces are worth more than others. This is the story of one puzzle piece that ended up being the unexpectedly life-changing blessing of 2023.

The story that I’m about to relate didn’t begin with my DNA test*, but long before that, about five years ago, when I found a photo among family albums and posted it on Facebook, on my paternal family’s “name page”. I could [mostly] read the Italian and knew that this was my father’s cousin Aurora with one of her sons. She’d sent it to him, with a note on the back, after my parents’ 1970 visit with her in Calabria. You can’t imagine my excitement when “That’s my mother and my brother!” appeared in the Facebook comments. Soon after, my sweet, newly discovered cugina, Pina, called me. I remember distinctly saying “My great-grandmother’s name was Aurora…” and her finishing the sentence with “DeLuca.” Her grandmother, Caterina, and mine, my father’s mother, Maria Grazia (pictured below), were sisters! My grandmother, below, and her two brothers, Onofrio and Vito (in the cover photo with Vito’s family), came to the United States; their sister Caterina, my new cugina told me, remained in Italy to care for her mother.

My father’s parents settled in Western Maine. Onofrio and Vito, however, lived minutes away from us in Central Pennsylvania. My father loved his uncles dearly, and, whenever possible, we followed the old tradition of Sunday afternoon visits. Sadly, my grandmother, of whom I have only the foggiest memory, died suddenly in 1953.* Onofrio passed when I was in high school, but Vito and his wife, my dear Aunt Nancy, lived well into their 90s.

Every now and then, Uncle Vito or my father would mention Caterina—usually with reference to her strong, direct personality. Vito often said that his daughter took after her feisty aunt. My father never met Caterina, but he obviously knew the family lore and sometimes [with a twinkle in his eye] said the same.

After Daddy passed, I began actively searching for something, anything, that would tell me more about his mother’s side of the family. Daddy knew a great deal about the family, had helped others to put together a limited family tree, and was always a willing storyteller. I only wish I had asked him more questions, but somehow, amid the flurry of daily life, raising kids, and working long hours, I didn’t. Here’s a caution to anyone out there who hasn’t asked about family history: in the blink of an eye, it will be too late. DNA can tell you many things, but it doesn’t replace the anecdotal tidbits that only a living being can provide.

Over the course of periodic phone conversations and Facebook messages, my new cugina and I became acquainted with each other. She and her two brothers had settled in Canada as young adults; later, their parents, now passed, joined them. I always ended our phone conversations with a promise that we would meet in person. ” I don’t know how, or when, but I will get there.” She’d laugh and say she hoped so, even though to both of us it seemed like a long shot.

Meanwhile, real life got in the way. The horrible isolation of COVID lockdown passed, but some orthopedic issues followed, keeping us at home. Then, a sudden, welcome breakthrough—a wedding celebration near Cleveland, just a few hours from my cousins. “Let’s go!” Hubby said. We chunked up our itinerary to make the drive less wearing, stopping first in Erie, which I described in a previous post. The wedding was next, and it was fabulous fun—not only for the company of our dearly loved friends and their families, but also for the celebration itself—the happy young couple, the laughter, the memories and music and dancing. It had been so long, so very long, since we’d had such a joy-filled evening. Thus were we set-up for an entirely different kind of joy as we crossed into Canada the next day.

We were late. Embarrassingly late. There was construction, and then a long back-up at the border. I texted one apology after another. Then, all of a sudden, there we were—my cugina Pina and I meeting in person, hugging, for the first time. After visiting with her and her son Dominic, hearing her story, seeing her photos, we went on to her brother Onofrio’s house (named for our uncle!), where we sat with him and his lovely wife, talking, having homemade wine and salume, exploring a garden that looked and felt like it belonged in a Calabrian village. And then, onto her brother Nic’s house, where we met his beautiful wife, admired the little piece of Italy in his backyard, and talked for several hours over yet another repast, also featuring delicious homemade salume and Italian pastries. I will never forget the way we “strangers” were welcomed, without question, as family, With each visit, I felt an almost indescribable joy as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Hubby felt it, too. Daddy, my grandmother, and my uncles would surely have been very proud.

Ai miei cugini, grazie mille, fino al nostro prossimo incontro.

*So many things about my grandmother, more than any of the other relatives, intrigued me. For one, I’d been told that she was musical, that she had a lovely voice and sang constantly while cooking, doing housework, and gardening. That’s not unusual for Italians, of course, but to me it seemed very special. And then there was the leech story, which I’ll save for another day.