Aunt Betty Brunelli DeSanctis, RIP
Aunt Betty, who passed away earlier this week at 93, received her farewells this morning at St. Mary's Church in Franklin, MA. It is the church where my parents were married, where my grandfather and Aunt Betty were baptized early in the last century, and all that generation of Brunellis (and many that followed), including 94 year old Aunt Pia who is now the last of the first generation born in this country. Not too many years ago the gals went out every Thursday for karaoke night.
Aunt Betty was named for her maternal grandmother, Elizabetta Stighezza, who never made it here from the old country. I'm not sure when Elizabetta was born, but it was probably around the time of the American Civil War. I wonder if they ever heard much about it up in those ancient Tuscan hills. Betty's mother, my great-grandmother Pia Chiapucci Brunelli, came from the hamlet of Castiglione, and her husband, Francesco P. Brunelli from the hamlet of Fornoli on the other side of the mountain in the Lunigiana region of the province of Massa-Carrara. Uncle Vinny came from Rome. On their last visit to Italy, not so many years ago, they stopped in Fornoli to look up a distant cousin and learned from a neighbor that the cousin was at the village church attending the wedding of another relative they didn't know, so Betty and Vinny took the short ride to the church just in time to see the exit of the bridal party. Here's Vinny with the map of Italy imprinted on his face, and Betty with a thousand year's worth of ancestors from that village and region running through her veins and some guy looks over at them and says (in Italian, of course), "Who are those Americans?"
Married for 62 years, Betty and Vinny never had children of their own, but had no problem playing the doting aunt and uncle to several generations of Brunelli offspring. Betty got a head start when Mom was born. She was less than six years older than our mother, so she acted more like the big sister.
Here they are at the beach around 1932 when Betty would have been 13 and her brother John 11, Mom a grown-up 7 and Aunt Jean in front looks to be about 2.
I looked around the church and saw my Godfather, Uncle Bob Brunelli, sitting a few rows in front of us. He and my mother were godparents to Nancy Geromini Rafter, who sat across the aisle with her husband, Jim. Nancy's parents, Uncle Nilo and Aunt Winnie, were godparents to my brother Tim and her Aunt Beana and Uncle George, who lived in the same house, were godparents to my sister and one of the Dupre cousins, who was also there in church. Nancy herself is godmother to my brother Sean, who sat with us, and Sean's Godfather is Uncle Tom Brunelli, who served as a pall bearer. A few rows back of Nancy sat my cousin Mark Martello, who lost his father, Uncle Harry, the morning after Betty died. He'll be buried Monday from the same church. Mark's mother (Aunt Babe) was Godmother to my brother Jay. Well, you can see this just goes on and on. We are just connected and re-connected and reconnected continuously over the last century. Aunt Pia served as Confirmation sponsor for two of our kids.
Admiral John Brunelli gave the eulogy, and it was perfect. If he didn't have so many other talents, I might suggest that he do nothing else. The warrior has the soul of a poet and moves freely among funny, poignant, thoughtful, and deeply moving. He reminded us what an incredibly special person Aunt Betty was, is.
She served as the family photographer. In her hey-day she would walk around with three cameras hanging around her neck: one for snap shots, one for slides and a Polaroid for instant gratification. The family joke has always been that no one actually ever got to see any of those pictures. There must be rooms full of them in their house.
"In a perfect world," said John, "everyone would have an Italian aunt named Betty."
I always remember her as the quintessential cheek-tweaker, always delighted to see her nephews and niece from New York. She loved kids, and at some level, I think, never wanted us to grow up. I remember being in college and still getting greeting cards from her with little duckies on the front. But, there was always another generation to entertain, and another, and another.
She golfed until she was nearly 90, and only in the last few years did she slow down, as her vision failed and she couldn't move as well as she used to. She had a hip replacement not long ago, and never really fully recovered from the stress of that. Poor Uncle Vinny, who's had problems of his own, told me a couple of years ago how worried he was that something would happen to him, worried that no one could take care of Betty. He did all the cooking and the vegetable garden.
That wonderfully joyful face of his was so sad today.
So terribly, terribly sad.
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE FOR UNDER A BUCK!
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!
Robert N. Going
Aunt Betty was named for her maternal grandmother, Elizabetta Stighezza, who never made it here from the old country. I'm not sure when Elizabetta was born, but it was probably around the time of the American Civil War. I wonder if they ever heard much about it up in those ancient Tuscan hills. Betty's mother, my great-grandmother Pia Chiapucci Brunelli, came from the hamlet of Castiglione, and her husband, Francesco P. Brunelli from the hamlet of Fornoli on the other side of the mountain in the Lunigiana region of the province of Massa-Carrara. Uncle Vinny came from Rome. On their last visit to Italy, not so many years ago, they stopped in Fornoli to look up a distant cousin and learned from a neighbor that the cousin was at the village church attending the wedding of another relative they didn't know, so Betty and Vinny took the short ride to the church just in time to see the exit of the bridal party. Here's Vinny with the map of Italy imprinted on his face, and Betty with a thousand year's worth of ancestors from that village and region running through her veins and some guy looks over at them and says (in Italian, of course), "Who are those Americans?"
Married for 62 years, Betty and Vinny never had children of their own, but had no problem playing the doting aunt and uncle to several generations of Brunelli offspring. Betty got a head start when Mom was born. She was less than six years older than our mother, so she acted more like the big sister.
Here they are at the beach around 1932 when Betty would have been 13 and her brother John 11, Mom a grown-up 7 and Aunt Jean in front looks to be about 2.
I looked around the church and saw my Godfather, Uncle Bob Brunelli, sitting a few rows in front of us. He and my mother were godparents to Nancy Geromini Rafter, who sat across the aisle with her husband, Jim. Nancy's parents, Uncle Nilo and Aunt Winnie, were godparents to my brother Tim and her Aunt Beana and Uncle George, who lived in the same house, were godparents to my sister and one of the Dupre cousins, who was also there in church. Nancy herself is godmother to my brother Sean, who sat with us, and Sean's Godfather is Uncle Tom Brunelli, who served as a pall bearer. A few rows back of Nancy sat my cousin Mark Martello, who lost his father, Uncle Harry, the morning after Betty died. He'll be buried Monday from the same church. Mark's mother (Aunt Babe) was Godmother to my brother Jay. Well, you can see this just goes on and on. We are just connected and re-connected and reconnected continuously over the last century. Aunt Pia served as Confirmation sponsor for two of our kids.
Admiral John Brunelli gave the eulogy, and it was perfect. If he didn't have so many other talents, I might suggest that he do nothing else. The warrior has the soul of a poet and moves freely among funny, poignant, thoughtful, and deeply moving. He reminded us what an incredibly special person Aunt Betty was, is.
She served as the family photographer. In her hey-day she would walk around with three cameras hanging around her neck: one for snap shots, one for slides and a Polaroid for instant gratification. The family joke has always been that no one actually ever got to see any of those pictures. There must be rooms full of them in their house.
"In a perfect world," said John, "everyone would have an Italian aunt named Betty."
I always remember her as the quintessential cheek-tweaker, always delighted to see her nephews and niece from New York. She loved kids, and at some level, I think, never wanted us to grow up. I remember being in college and still getting greeting cards from her with little duckies on the front. But, there was always another generation to entertain, and another, and another.
She golfed until she was nearly 90, and only in the last few years did she slow down, as her vision failed and she couldn't move as well as she used to. She had a hip replacement not long ago, and never really fully recovered from the stress of that. Poor Uncle Vinny, who's had problems of his own, told me a couple of years ago how worried he was that something would happen to him, worried that no one could take care of Betty. He did all the cooking and the vegetable garden.
That wonderfully joyful face of his was so sad today.
So terribly, terribly sad.
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE FOR UNDER A BUCK!
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!
Robert N. Going