L'angelo che corre
(The Angel That Runs)
Written by Maria Palazzolo
Some days I complain about the work I have to do, the stresses of life... complain of weight, acne, students (I’m a college professor), colleagues, lack of energy.... but I've never felt more stupid and petty as I did when my cousin died.
The privilege I have to complain. The privilege I have for the opportunity to do so. The privilege just to have the familiarity of others' experiences to join in on my conversation of complaint... how people always come together over phrases of "I know" and "I understand". I think, how ungrateful I've been: taking advantage of my privileges, having others remind me that I am not alone. But Savooch, in so many of his daily struggles, life obstacles, miracles, and complaints.... he was alone in perception. Physically he had our presence to cheer him on, but mentally NO ONE could give him the reassuring words of "I know" or "I understand".
Savooch was a victim of multiple physical handicaps – none of which effected his mentality.
Although it was easy to see his disabilities, it was easier to forget them. When asked, my first descriptions of Savooch are that he was stubborn, funny, ridiculously proud to be Sicilian, outspoken, social, and tremendously strong... but that last word is really just an understatement for lack of better words. My dad calls him resilient. I agree.
He was miraculous and broke odds, but it was easy to forget that. I knew him as my cousin that I couldn't be friends with on Facebook because he'd blow up my cell phone in disapproval of all my pictures and posts. One Sicilian father was enough.
He always reminded me that I didn’t speak Italian, and he liked to make sure I was being nice to my parents. He was the cousin that texted me every week just to say "Happy Friday" and exchange "I love you"s. Sometimes he would call me at least ten times in a row and text how it was an emergency and I needed to get back to him as soon as possible. Frantically, I would call him back and he'd explain to me how his computer wasn't working or his TV wasn't acting right. Talk about an anxiety trigger, but this was Savooch as I knew him. I would forget he had struggles. Big ones. Ones people never talk about because so few of us suffer from them. So few of us can understand and relate to his life and yet he never EVER complained about his physical ailments. NEVER. I have never heard him complain about ANYTHING that had to do with his handicap. Although, he wouldn’t hold back from complaining about his computer or TV... and not having enough parmesan on his spaghetti.
Savooch's picture is displayed on my dresser. I see it every day. It’s there because I miss him but more importantly it’s there to remind me to stop complaining about the things I'm privileged to complain about. He lived a phenomenal life, and he did it trapped, confined within a body that couldn't allow him the freedom he deserved.
I'm not sure what all of your beliefs are, but I believe that Savooch lives on. I do not think the spirit and soul of someone is ever diminished. This brings me peace and a sense of grieving selfishness because I am sad to know he's no longer physically here with me; however, my grief cannot compare to him now being free to walk without assistance, to run without fear, to stand without pain, and to LIVE the way I so ungratefully, and at most times ignorantly, take advantage. He is no longer a prisoner to his own body; he is the angel that runs.
