Little Nana

In Jewish tradition, we mark the anniversary of a loved one’s death, a yarzheit (from the word for “to remember”) by lighting a candle. Let these words be as a light, spreading some of the warmth with which Nana blessed me.

Some people knew her as “Emma,” some as “Ma,” some as “Nana.” Many people here called her “little Nana on the hill”: a tiny woman living on a steep hill in a house surrounded by carefully tended flowers and brimming with objects, food, cats and dogs, grandchildren and great-grandchildren – even great-great-grandchildren.

But to call Nana “little” tells only of her physical stature. With her four-feet and some-odd inches, Nana moved through the world with love, determination, and strength. Growing up in an era when women made few choices, she very much forged ahead, making at times tough calls. She created a wonderful life for herself of which we were each privileged to be a part.

At the age of twenty, already working in a factory and caring for her four younger siblings since her mother died, Nana was eager to start a new life. She told the story with humor, saying she called a relative in Boston to inform her that she would go to Massachusetts and get married. “At that time, I didn’t know who,” Nana laughed, “but I was going!” “Who” turned out to be Leo DeBlosi, my grandfather. They met, chaperoned of course, at a train station in Boston on a Friday. The following Sunday, they were married. Nana described her first husband as “very easygoing and very respectful,” and she recalled with a broad smile how he helped around the house and with their five children. The early days of their marriage were marred by a house fire that left them living in what Nana vividly described as a “bare” apartment that they filled slowly. She joked that, by the time she left Somerville, she had “fifteen truckloads” of things to fill her home—and she wouldn’t venture to estimate how many truckloads she amassed in Townsend with Eddie, her second husband, and their two children.

Many of us have told colorful stories about Nana’s house: the souvenir spoons displayed on wooden racks, the magnets covering the surface of the refrigerator, the collection of wooden shoes in ascending sizes, the ever-multiplying lawn ornaments, the untouched sets of crystal dishes and the table set with mismatched flea market finds. Of course, the objects Nana collected held meaning for her: they are the result of much hard work and determination on her part. And they collectively help to tell a story about the woman who collected them, her tastes and her values. But they cannot compare to the real things of value Nana contributed to the world and to our lives: the children she raised, both biological and foster; the people she nurtured at all stages of life; the strong (at times stubborn) will she modeled to each of us, undoubtedly making us each stronger in turn; even the religious conviction she was willing to follow despite the fact that her family followed another path. “Little” Nana has made an immeasurable impression on each of our lives.

Each of us knew Nana in a different way, by a different name. But each of us is thankful for having known a woman of great humor, generosity, love, compassion, and conviction. Nana lived a long and complex life. She knew hard work, deep loss, tough times, and great love. She made two homes and two families that have remained intertwined, and she taught each of us lessons large and small—from how to make bone soup to how to express our honest opinions.

I have been keenly aware, for the past couple of months, that our loved ones cannot live forever. But I do believe in the importance of sharing our stories about those who have died, passing on their memories. I intend to share what I know of Nana with my own family in the future: her affection for her grandchildren and for her animals; her honesty, witty tongue, and humor; her strength and determination in leaving her home more than once to start a new phase in her life; her generosity and warmth, extending not only from the full spread laid out on the table and the wood-burning stove but from Nana’s heart, certainly huge in proportion to her small body. In Jewish tradition, we pray that the memories of those righteous people we have loved and lost will be a blessing to future generations. For Nana, zichrona livracha, may her memory be a blessing.

When we were little, the DeBlosi and Wojcuilewicz grandchildren considered it a milestone to become finally “taller than Nana.” We would each be blessed to be even half as strong, as loving, as amazing, as big a presence as “little Nana.”



For Nana, Emma Rose Sacoccia DeBlosi Wojcuilewicz, 6 June 1913 – 24 November 2007
By granddaughter Nicole Lyn DeBlosi
November 29, 2007