By Carol Faenzi
Just before Christmas, I went to New York City with my Italian cousins, Monica and Carlotta. They live in Rome and we are related through grandfathers who were brothers: Ottavio (mine) and Francesco (theirs).

Ottavio followed his sister to America in 1913 to pursue a life out of poverty. Francesco took his family to Rome for the same reason-as both were born on a remote farm in southern Tuscany-their mother who was either widowed or abandoned (family mystery) with a brood of eleven children. Desperately poor, like so many in Italy at that time.

The link between Ottavio and Francesco was never completely broken, despite world war and raising families-but it wasn’t until the 1960s, when Ottavio retired his career as a chef and my grandmother Olga prodded him, the surviving family members met in Italy-some were still on the old farm, but Francesco’s family was growing in Rome.

That reunion cemented the link, after that, gifts, letters and visits flowed back and forth between Rome and Indianapolis through the decades, making the same journey over the Atlantic Ocean as our immigrant family had-only by plane instead of ship.

My first encounter with my Roman cousins was in 1978 when my wise grandparents took me with them to Italy. A big door opened very wide form, setting the stage to continue the bonds.

And we have.

Francesco granddaughters, Monica and Carlotta have been more like sisters in me than my own. Rossella’s daughter, Carlotta made her first trip here just this past December and met her cousins for the first time.

And so, it continues with the generation after mine. This makes me extraordinarily happy.

You can imagine how much it meant for us to board a ferry from Battery Park, NY, take it to the Statue of Liberty, the first sighting Ottavio would have had of America and then on to Ellis Island where a big door opened for him.