Life is fragile and from the moment we enter this world, it is a given that we must also exit.

Death is inevitable and inescapable.

One moment her eyes are filled with joy, the next moment, she takes her last breathe.

*20 years earlier*

I place the baby bottle full of warm milk into the crying babies mouth. He drinks it hungrily, his little chest rising and falling fast. His small hands open and close at the sides of his body.

Maria slowly sits up from the hospital bed and shoots me a small smile."Mateo, his name will be Mateo."

My son sits in the corner, arms crossed, fast asleep.

A tear escapes my eye when I hearing my dead husbands name.

I whisper a promise to my eldest grandson. "Ti amo sempre. Non importa cosa." (I love you always. No matter what.)

Five years pass. My grandson grows strong, healthy and chubby. The whole Mafia welcomed Mateo. They would all play with him and eventually when he was able to stand and walk by himself, they began training him. Training him so that one day he could take over the Mafia. Every night I would hear a small knock on my door. Mateo would come to my room and stay with me. Then he would kiss my cheek and say in his best Italian, " buona note."

"Buon conpleanno," men and woman sing, all feathered around the table. I walk towards my grandson and place the cake in front of him.

I dip my finger into the frosting and cover Mateo's nose with it.

A couple more years pass and my second grandson is born. Most of my time is taken away from the Mafia and is focused on the two young boys.

"Nonna," the boys yell as they run towards me.

"What happend my boys?" I ask wrapping my arms around all of them at once.

Giovanni runs in after Mateo and Mark and crosses his arms in front off his chest. "Come on," he stops his little foot, " You cheated."

"Nuh uh," Mark says sticking out his tongue.

"Stop arguing. Go call Stefano. I made lunch," I tell the boys as I walk into the kitchen to set up the table for the boys.

I finish setting everything up and four bowls of pesto pasta are placed on the table. I grab four glasses and a bottle of sprite.

"Come on boys," I yell.

After a moment of silence, four pairs of small feet run towards me.

"Thank you Nonna," they all say, jumping up into the chair, and beginning to dig into the hot pasta.

*Present time*

Life is war.

——————————————————————

-I hope this helps ur hearts...

-please don't be mad at me. I cried writing Nonna dying too.