Once her mom passed, Ivana refused to go back to Wawa. I never completely understood why.
I had wanted to return for some time. My wife, Ivana and I had been close, as far north as Sault Saint Marie, but had not been back to Wawa, Ontario. Her father, Eugenio, had passed in 2005. After her mother, Italia, was laid to rest in April 2008, Ivana never returned to her hometown.
Ivana had flat-out refused to go. I never completely understood why Ivana had no interest in going back to her hometown.
I tried to convince Ivana to go back several times. But she’s my wife, what am I going to do, argue with her over returning to her hometown? Well, yes, actually. More than once. But I never won. The eventual outcome was never in doubt.
I believed that some occasions warranted the trip, whatever demons the past had held.
I couldn’t get her there any faster
Ivana last spoke to her mother on the phone while we were driving to see Italia in the hospital. Her end was near. I remember Ivana telling her mom that we were coming, to hold on, and seeing the tears roll down her cheeks.
I was driving way over the speed limit west of Blind River, over halfway between Sudbury and the Sault, during that call. If I was pulled over, I was going to ask the cop for an escort to Wawa. I wasn’t reckless, but when the opportunity presented itself, the accelerator was floored.
We received the call while Ivana and I were at work. We better get up there. Ivana’s sister, Adda, had been staying with Italia. She and Ivana were taking turns, Ivana was headed up at Easter, the next weekend, to stay with her mom. I didn’t want Ivana driving and crying, so I picked her up at work, we packed real quick, and started on our way.
We didn’t make it in time.
I remember a group of Ivana’s relatives standing outside the hospital when we pulled up. It was dark, but when we got out of the car, we saw shaking heads. Understanding immediately, Ivana burst into tears, pushed away those trying to hug and console her, and ran to a corner of the building. She sat down with her arms wrapped around her legs and cried. I tried to console her, but Ivana was having none of it.
By less than two hours. I looked up and cursed the few stars in the dark sky. I knew this was going to be tough. And it was. Ivana never forgave herself for not being by her mother’s side when she passed away.
I believe that was a big part of Ivana never wanting to return to Wawa.
Big life events change things
Another consideration was her teenage years. While she had a happy childhood and lots of friends and cousins, her house dynamic changed.
Without the details, her sister, Adda, was much older, a nine-year difference. She became pregnant unexpectedly, married Romeo, and soon after moved to St. Catherines. As far away as possible without leaving the province. That must have been tough on Ivana’s mom and dad.
Ivana dealt with her parent’s fear that the same would happen to her. As a result, she could not wait to move away and did so to attend Georgian College, never moving back to Wawa.
Ivana told me many times how her relationship with her mother was so much better once she was an adult, and how much closer they became.
Her nephew (and Godson), Elliott, was married a couple of years after Italia’s passing. The celebration was held in Wawa. Ivana and I had a spirited discussion about whether to attend or not.
Which means I eventually caved and we stayed home. It was her family, my spouse had the final say. But I also knew that if this big family life event was not going to get Ivana back to Wawa, then nothing would.
Ivana had closed that chapter of her life, and nailed it shut.
I always thought it was a shame. Her uncles, aunts, and cousins are all quality people with wonderful families. We always had a great time visiting with them, once or twice a year. There were weddings, including our own, and anniversaries that we always attended. We all grieved the death of her dad and mom. And then it stopped.
Ivana passed away in March 2023. When her aunt Stella passed away recently, I decided to go to the visitation and funeral. I gave the nine-hour drive zero consideration. It was a non-issue for me, even though I had just driven to Sault Saint Marie three days prior.
Ivana’s columbarium was finally ready. I had to wait for it to be built, so she could rest near everyone in her family. She would be within eyesight of her mom and dad. Ivana would have liked that.
An emotional return to Ivana’s hometown of Wawa
I am fortunate that I have the freedom of schedule that comes with my writing career change. The fact that the visitation and funeral were on a Thursday and Friday was irrelevant to me. I packed what I needed and made the drive. The sun was shining bright, and traffic was thin.
Over the last 15 years, many highway improvements have been made. Almost the entire way to Sudbury is now a four-lane divided highway, and the bypass around the Garden River Reservation saves a lot of time.
I couldn’t help but think that if those highway improvements existed 16 years ago, I would have had Ivana in Wawa in time to talk to her mother. Deep sigh.
It is now April 2024, a full 16 years since I had been to Wawa.
I drove around a bit before I ventured into the funeral hall for the visitation. I wasn’t certain of the reception I would get, 16 years is a long time, although I figured it would be very positive. Through Facebook and such we have sort of kept in touch. I communicate regularly with some members of Ivana’s family.
I ran through names as I drove through town. It was important to me to remember as many as I could. Stella’s family; Luciano, Luigi, and Silvana. Their spouses are Barb (divorced but still a close friend), Darlene, and Marc. Their children; Philip and Amy; Elliot and Elsa; Victoria and Mathieu. We had attended Philip’s wedding to Kelsey in Orillia, and Amy’s wedding to Jeff in Wawa, I think in 2007.
I still laugh remembering newly married Philip getting a dancing Ivana off a table using the fireman’s carry. Perhaps too much red wine.
Faces would help, I knew that. I was aware of children through Facebook, but could not remember any names. I did remember many of Ivana’s other cousins, such as Rose; Gino and Anita, and their son, Armando.
Urbano is the youngest of the four Trovarello brothers. Ivana and I saw him and his wife Ginetta a few years ago while they were visiting Ivana’s cousin Claudia and her family in Barrie.
One day I need to write that story, of how four Italian brothers immigrated to Canada in the 1950’s. They worked in the gold mine, made new lives for their families, dealt with the harsh Canadian winter, and prospered. The story of achieving the Canadian dream, now beginning a fourth generation.
A drive down memory lane
I passed by several places I recognized. Michipicoten High School, where Ivana attended. The long-abandoned bus station, where Ivana had her first job. The Polish hall, where many in her family, including Ivana and I, had their wedding reception. The now-empty Embassy Restaurant, where Ivana’s dad and I had several coffees.
I remember one time Eugenio kept forgetting that he could not smoke in there anymore, and lit his cigarette three times, before being reminded to put it out. I honestly think it was a force of habit developed over decades. He wasn’t being ignorant, he was getting old, and his memory was failing.
I stopped in front of 13 First Avenue. Ivana’s childhood home. Lots of memories there. Meeting her parents, Eugenio and Italia. Ivana was so nervous! (Another story, partly written.) After Italia passed away, the house was bought by Ivana’s cousin Guerino.
Ivana was very happy that it stayed in the family. She had no interest in keeping the house, and neither did I. It was kind of comforting to see it in good shape, with the same yellow paint, brown trim, and white garage. The trim and garage must have been repainted in the last couple of years.
I noticed that the small store by her house was closed. Her cousin Luigi and his wife operated it last time I was up here. They sold plenty of ice cream in the summer, but Covid took its toll.
I drove by Lady Dunn Health Center. A heavy heart. I remembered the night I mentioned earlier. Sigh. Not making it in time still weighs heavy. That somehow seems a failure on my part, even though we don’t have a crystal ball.
I drove down Mission Street and was glad that the hotels and motels were all operating. The Big Bird Inn, which had been boarded up the last time I was here, had been refurbished and I stayed there.
I sat at the waterfront for a bit. The ice had not completely melted. I remembered walking down there when we were in town for the July First Canada Day Fireworks. For a small town, they always put on a great show.
I checked my watch. 7:20. Okay, time to see the Trovarello family.
I drove across town, which only took 60 seconds. A check in the mirror, a delay tactic. I did not wear a suit, but wore a dress shirt under a nice knit sweater. I saved the suit for the funeral.
The door was opened as I approached. I was immediately greeted by Darlene and Luigi, then Silvana and Marc. Big hugs and those handshake hugs we men do. As I thought I would be, I was greeted warmly as a member of the family. It had been 16 years, but that seemed irrelevant. The bit of anxiety I felt disappeared very quickly.
Luciano was sitting by his mom, gazing into her casket in a sort of daze.
I knew him the most, he often travelled to Barrie as his children and their families lived in southern Ontario. A big Springsteen fan, like Ivana, we saw the reunion tour with the E Street Band together. He rose and we had a long hug. He sure looked a lot like his dad! Even the exact same haircut.
I had a little chat with Stella. She looked peaceful, at rest. Content. Her rosary was clutched in her left hand, her right hand on top of the left. A picture of her late husband, Venturino (Victor), lay beside her on the soft white silk. They were together again.
I asked Stella to say hello to Ivana, and that I missed her every day.
I recognized Stella’s grandchildren immediately, and was introduced to Elliot’s wife Jessica, and Victoria’s boyfriend Michael. Elsa’s husband Ray was not there, he was with their young son Ezra.
As the evening continued, it was wonderful to see and meet so many people. I had communicated with some of them over the years, who Ivana was closer with.
There were many pictures, displayed on boards set up around the room. I noticed that Stella had cut a lot of cakes! Well, she had a lot of birthdays and anniversaries to celebrate.
Many of the cousins commented on how much they enjoyed reading my stories about Ivana and our life together, and my travels. I did not know that so many had read them. It was mentioned how I write honestly, from the heart, and I hope this story captures that as well.
Back at Stella’s house, I meet the next generation
At the house after the visitation, there were young children I did not know. The girls I knew before were now married women with careers and children. Some of the young adults in the family were married when I last saw them, but now they had sons and daughters playing hockey and growing up. The youngest children then are now young adults.
The house was loud with the voices of young children and their toys. Older kids talked about their hockey and other sports. One of the girls had ‘jerseyed’ a boy in a hockey fight. There’s a proud dad moment, and more importantly, it speaks to the confidence she has.
An entire generation had been born between my visits.
Somewhere, Ivana must regret not seeing her nieces and nephews grow up and become fine Trovarellos. At least she can rest easy knowing that her extended family is doing very well.
The gathering moved downstairs. I had been in that room before, and noticed that it still looked the same. It had the same 70’s wood paneling as in many of the pictures at the visitation, and the same wood pattern on the opposite wall. Sometimes it’s good not to change much. Comfort counts.
Retirement news and ‘Angel’s Envy’
The mood had lightened considerably. Marc had a big piece of news. Retirement! Amy and Jeff had bought him a nice bottle of scotch, ‘Angel’s Envy’. Many cheers. To Nona, to Ivana, and to Marc. I appreciated the cheers to Ivana. Distance and bad weather had prevented those living in the north from attending Ivana’s funeral.
The night progressed with stories, anecdotes, and much laughter. Marc was particularly happy, generously pouring shots of his scotch. The bronze liquor was smooth, and easy to drink. The bottle was empty before the night was done.
As should be on these nights, there was grief and memories, celebration and sorrow. Sadness for the great woman who had passed, but with the knowledge that she lived a long, happy life. She died knowing that the family she and Victor raised was united and strong. The next generations were already proving to be worthy successors to the Trovarello name.
I walked back to my hotel in a light rain, too drunk to bother getting my windbreaker out of my SUV. I sat down at my laptop and began writing this story. My spelling was atrocious.
My return to Wawa could not have gone any better. It was a shame that it took Stella’s passing to get me there. I’d have preferred to make the trip before she left us, but then I would not have met so much of the family.
With the possible exception of a wedding, nothing brings a family together like a funeral. I’ll make the trip under better circumstances next time.
