I first met my Zia 20 years ago. So I kind of feel like she is my zia as much as she is my husband's.
Zia, the Italian word for Aunty, is the perfect word for Lucia. Small and straight to the point.
I have many stories of my husband's family, and hope there are many more to hear.
Today I listened to an interview with her on ABC radio with Richard Fidler. You can listen to it too here.
It was, well is, a lovely story reflecting on some of the more significant moments of her life.
An Italin girl who found her way here to Austalia.
A reunion with her family, including my father in law who was separated from his mother at the age of 3.
A very sad tale of a sister who was forced to be someone she wasn't and died in horrible conditions.
There was a lot of sadness not disclosed in the interview, but plenty of triumphant stories that won't ever be appreciated by my children, or her grandchildren. Kind of sad.
And in true Zia tradition, there was a song.
Three years ago, we took a long road trip with the children, and on our journey home, we dropped in to see Zia and Zio at their farm. It was a Sunday, and every Sunday since before I was born, there has been a game or two of bocce played with friends and relatives.
Happy to be apart of these memories.
