Immigration & Technology_From Vulcania to Alitalia

My first memory of the word "immigration" takes me back in time, at the age of six and, in an awkward way, it is strictly connected to the word Cannella (Cinnamon).  I remember the smell of that spice trespassing a small crowd of people surrounding a big suitcase overflowing with candies and sparkling useless, but attractive things. My grandma had just arrived from her trip to a far Country called America, to  a place she named Broccolin (Brooklyn) where one of her brothers had moved a while before without telling anybody. A place where apparently it was already possible to buy some chewing gum with that lovely, spicy taste. It had been very hard for her to find him and I remember adults talking about specialised agencies helping people to find relatives all over the world. Internet, Google and Skype were just utopias even though I am not that old... those were immigrants of the late 50s, early 60s.
That generation came back to my life once again in 2008 when my husband's family,  and so I, had to bid  farewell to Nonna Titti. When a member of the family passes away  there is always a sad moment when other people's memories disclose into your hands trying to find a new place to live in. This is Heritage.

Handling those memories needs a special care because it is easy to be trapped in an odd perception that makes you feel guilty of profanation. Think about it. When we are alive some people think they know us very well (I am thinking of friends and families). So do we about them! To some other strangers or simply acquaintances we are just funny, odious, arrogant, happy and so on. Is that possible?
When we die, suddenly, our lives become like an open secret diary with the only exception that we cannot argue anymore and people cannot use our own words against us. Unless they are reading our will. :-)  Probably, this is the reason why I have a blog now, instead of a personal diary. I prefer to share my thoughts now even if some of them are not popular, amazing, conventional or just acceptable.
 Nonna Titti's farewell brought me to Canada. Among amazing yellowish pictures portraying a Palermo in black and white, there were some taken at the Harbour. A big ship in the background, Vulcania, a family picture, tears and handkerchief, love and pain for an island to leave and the uncertainty of a future that had to be better to give a sense to that farewell.
We spent nights watching those pictures and more than one time I was just crying overwhelmed with the utmost respect to those people I didn't know. There were both sorrow and pride in my heart.
In those pictures that Nonna Titti saved year after year, there was the story of an Immigration and page after page the growth of a family with wedding, new babies, their new lives, their dialect, their pride...

Finally, it was 2010. It was March 2010 and another family was taking some historical pictures. This time everything was happening at the airport. The Vulcania gave way to a plane and a mother with her 4 years old son and 14 month old daughter was being hugged by friends, crying brothers and sisters, fathers. I turned my back holding as much as I could Maia's stroller. Alessandro was waiting for us in Canada. I felt guilty for one long second. I was taking away my kids from the love of their family and the paradox was that I was doing that to guarantee them something more. It's hard to explain. Suddenly, I saw my mother's green eyes. Her strength, her discipline, her courage. Her words saying: "I am your mother and to let you go is one of the hardest thing I am asked to accept. If I were you, I would do exactly the same thing. You are doing the right thing! Remember, the RIGHT THING!"

Thank God, immigration is now different. We have Skype, What's up, Picasa, etc...Our parents travel. They come here to visit us and like a very Italian would do, they bring us food. I know it is not to feed us. That is Heritage, a treasure to pass to my kids without waiting for the last farewell, but taking advantage of what technology has donated to a 2010 Italian immigrant family to Canada.