Nonna Carmela and Libby at her First Holy Communion

I wrote this in IT TAKES A LIFETIME: My grandmother Carmela was my North Star, my safe port in many childhood storms. Strong. Independent. She swept the snow from her sidewalk wearing only a sweater, made her own wine, canned her own tomatoes, strung her own peppers to dry in the basement, and found edible dandelions for salads in the yard.

She was the matriarch of la famiglia, whose grown sons stopped by every night after work to eat at her table before going to their own homes to eat again.

She couldn’t read or write—not in Italian, not in English—but she was the smartest person I knew. She taught me how to eat pasta, how to cook, how to pray, and how to protect those I love.

My reflection: Grandmothers often hold a special place in our hearts. Now that I’m a grandmother myself, with more time and fewer obligations, I think that there are times when I’m a better grandmother than I was mother.

Something to think about: Who was your North Star? Was it your grandmother or someone else who helped shape who you are? Who gives you strength? Feel free to share in the comments or reply. I read every response.