- 31 -

La Rosa
Julieanna Childs

 He still sneaks away from the women in his family to take 
his smoke breaks; it’s as much of a tradition in their Italian 
home as Mass and lasagna on Sundays. Sofia knew about 
his smoking, of course, just like she knew about the whiskey 
breaks he took in their early years together before the children 
came along. Grumbling his frustrations whenever she caught 
him escaping, he’d argue, “A hard-working man should be able 
to sit in his own home and enjoy a stiff one at the end of a 
hard day’s work without shame.” He stood up to her on those 
nights when he was this side of a three-fingered pour, and she 
had a way of letting him know where he’d sleep that night if 
he finished it. After 49 years of marriage, he’d never known 
her to pick a battle she couldn’t win. Sofia held everyone 
under their roof to the same Catholic standards she was raised 
with by her parents. He’d seen Jameson take down more than 
its fair share of tough guys in the neighborhood, but he’d 
never met a whiskey that could go toe-to-toe with his beautiful 
wife. He’d talk a big game to her, but he was more afraid of 
her than anyone he’d ever met. Along the way, she’d figured 
that out. 
 Today, he sits at their youngest granddaughter’s wedding 
reception, his heart overflowing with pride and joy. He begins 
to sneak away before anyone notices, but Sofia’s loving gaze 
catches him. The young man inside him still yearns to wrap 
her inside his embrace. But his old bones take longer to move 
these days. He looks over his shoulder at her. Weightlessly, 
she makes her way around the room, briefly pausing to 
acknowledge his exit with a smile. They speak their own 
language, seen and heard by no one else.
 His nerves remind him that he’ll give his speech shortly. 
He slips out the back door and into the fresh air. Beyond 
the beams of sunlight, he finds a group of well-dressed men 
forging a wall against the brick corner of the building. Their 
smoke billows up overhead, dismissing them as it rolls away 
and down the Garden State Parkway. One of the younger 



- 32 -

La Rosa

men lights his cigar and congratulations are all around. He 
pats a tired hand to his breast pocket making sure Sofia’s 
handkerchief is there.
 As the group makes their way back inside, he excuses 
himself to the men’s room. Shaking any remaining smoke 
from his tuxedo jacket, he washes his hands and attends to 
the image reflected at him. He thinks back to those years of 
hard work, building the family’s construction business from 
nothing. And it was worth every minute just to see the joy 
and laughter of his family today. A smile nudges the wrinkles 
towards his ears. He straightens himself in the full-length 
mirror, remembering the day he gave their daughter Teresa 
away at her own wedding. Never without her handkerchief, 
Sofia wiping the tears throughout the day.   
 Their daughter has done a great job raising all four of 
her girls. Adriana turned out especially well, finishing school 
early and now applying for legal jobs in New York. The last 
few years have been hard on Teresa, her husband traveling for 
work most of the time. She’s a tough Italian woman though, 
raised by an even tougher Italian mother.
 The night before Teresa’s wedding, Sofia gave her an 
antique trousseau. The hope chest included recipes handed 
down through the generations, linens, art pieces, and clothing 
items from Italy they’d brought over when they migrated to the 
states in the 1960s. The handkerchief in his pocket was Sofia’s 
favorite linen they’d saved from the old country; delicate, 
beautiful, and strong—just like his girls. Last night Teresa gave 
Adriana a trousseau of her own, including some of the original 
items from the trunk that sailed with them when they began 
their new life in America.
 Cleaning his glasses, he remembers when Adriana’s 
boyfriend came to him a year ago to ask for her hand in 
marriage. He was honored to support Adriana marrying her 
high-school sweetheart, just like he and Sofia had been. 
 While he makes his way past the head table where his 
family sits, Sofia continues to float around, fussing over the 
arrangements. He pauses to finish his glass of chianti. Adriana 
joins him, holding his arm as they step up onto the stage. 



- 33 -

Julieanna Childs

Unsteady on his feet, he reaches the microphone. With his 
speech in one hand, he feels for the handkerchief with the 
other. The linen rests in his pocket, always paying tribute to la 
Rosa (The Rose). He knows he isn’t strong enough to hold his 
own. From somewhere inside the ballroom a guest taps their 
glass, gathering the attention of the room. He squints into the 
crowd, questioning his courage, struggling to adjust his glasses 
onto the bridge of his nose. He needs Sofia to hold his hand 
in these moments when his strength fades. His eyes scan the 
mass of familiar and unknown faces. He wonders if she has 
gone.  
 Standing beside her grandfather, Adriana takes his hand. 
She’s as graceful as any bride he’s ever seen. Squeezing his 
hand, she whispers “Nonna is here, papa. I can feel her.” Her 
presence calms his concerns.  He kisses her forehead. “She’d 
be so proud of you today, sweetheart,” he whispers into the 
lace cascading around her face.
 And then Sofia’s spirit finds him again. Sometimes she’s 
standing near their children, other times she sits beside 
them. Freeing her handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes his 
eye. After all these years, it still holds the aroma of her rose 
perfume.