The Matriarch. That’s what I would call my grandmother, because she felt to me as head of our Rocco family. She was the glue that made sure we all stuck together. And I think we have done so, largely, because of her.

Her family was her everything. Her entire world. And her love language – well, that was food. I learned from an early age, though didn’t appreciate until I was older, that family was something to be respected. Appreciated. Valued. And always should gather around a big meal with animated conversation. On Sundays. In the early afternoon. Even if you didn’t all agree with each other. You came together. End of story.

The matriarch.

She left her homeland of Sicily, and the family she was born into, to come to America with my Nonno, at a young age. She came to build a better life for her own family – my mother, aunt, and uncles, but in all truth, she wasn’t thrilled to leave her beloved city and even more beloved family. But she came to the U.S. for a better life. Did she suffer in silence? No, and anyone who knows her, knows that, but she still did it. And where would any of us be if she hadn’t?

The matriarch.

As her granddaughter, I can tell you that she was always a sense of home to me. And what is family if it isn’t home? When my family left Buffalo for Los Angeles when I was 10, I was devastated. Didn’t realize how much everyone meant to me until I left. But who made sure to talk to my mother every Sunday from the moment we left? The Matriarch. Who made sure to visit for a month at a time while I was growing up? The Matriarch. And who would sit in darkness because she didn’t want to use extra electricity? The Matriarch.

Was she perfect? Of course not, but who among us is? Was she all about her family? Yes, and that’s something this granddaughter feels blessed to have encountered.

Her weekly phone calls to my mother, her always ending our phone conversations with I love and miss you, her telling me her door was always open until she couldn’t remember she had a door.

Three years ago, on a couple of my visits to her apartment after my grandfather passed, I asked if I could interview her as if I was a journalist writing about her. With a sly smile and inquisitive eyes, she asked me, “You want to interview me?” I said absolutely and began what turned out to be one of my most treasured moments.

The matriarch.

As I mentioned, my grandmother was always a sense of home to me. She had that way about her, one that made you feel welcomed and wanted.

She ruled with an iron fist but she would always be there for you. No matter what. Yes, she wanted you to do as she said, but what I saw, as a young woman, was a person who loved her family, who didn’t have the choices I had but remained headstrong with the idea that family was everything. When I ventured out into the world, I realized how special that was. And how I would value it and her forever.

RIP to The Matriarch.

La mia bellissima nonna, possa riposare in pace.