"Victoria Day"

February 11th, 2026

CC0 Public Domain Designation

By Yasmine Nowroozi

Fruit flies. Mold. Rotting flesh. A permeating stench that fills the room, seeps into your nose,

and risks coming back up in your throat. We commonly associate the process of decay with

produce and poultry, and even sometimes with a corpse. However, seldom do we speak of the

slow decomposition of someone we love, having to bear witness to the inevitable outcome

without any say. No cry, prayer, nor plea can halt this process. We must sit back as does

death on your porch, waiting for the perfect yet unsuspecting moment where he rings the

doorbell and, with an extended hand, says: “It’s time”.

Death made his first visit on May 17th, 2008, under the guise of ‘Amyotrophic Lateral

Sclerosis’, otherwise known as ALS. For six months, this disease ambushed my nonno’s

nervous system—stripping him of his ability to swallow, speak, breathe, and walk. A once

pleasantly plump man with a belly of which my sister had innocently asked my mother at the

age of four, “When is Nonno going to have his baby?” A lover of nature, he would spend

hours tending to his garden while the chimes of tied tinfoil plates, an invention of his to ward

off the greedy hands of squirrels, filled the air. In his makeshift cellar, slabs of cured salami,

capicola and soppressata hung from the ceiling, and barrels of homemade wine covered the

floor’s surface. He would sneak this very wine into my sister's and my glasses of 7-Up during

Sunday lunch. Beneath his grey-and-black-speckled mustache, a mischievous smile would

escape his lips as he gestured for us to drink it and not tell our mom. Excited to partake in the

shenanigans, my sister and I obliged and gladly guzzled our mixed drinks. Despite the

language barrier, the three of us enjoyed each other’s company, and we shared an interest in

the Animal Planet channel—or, as my sister would tell him, “Cinque- Due- Cinque.” Sick

days from school were spent lying on my Nonni’s living room couch, Maury or The Price is

Right blaring in the background as he and my Nonna fought over trivial things, like him

giving me ice cream while I was out of school for having a tummy ache.

***

The beauty of child innocence is assuming that all things are continuous, that life and its

characters will remain unchanged and constant. In my mind, my nonno would remain

timeless. I can’t help but pity my younger self for expecting such an outcome.

Thud. He must have missed a step. Thud, Thud. He has been a little clumsy lately, but I am

sure it isn’t anything serious. He asked my dad if he could stop by and help him shave

because his hand is trembling too much for him to hold a razor. Maybe he is just sore from all

of the garden work? Mommy has been really sad lately. Work must be really tough. She’s

been going to Nonna and Nonno’s house a lot recently. She must really like seeing them.

Nonno can’t climb the stairs anymore, so we all gather on the main floor now. I used to be

scared to come onto the mainfloor, but it’s actually really nice. There’s a lot of light here.

But, there’s something strange about Nonno. He hasn’t gardened in a while. Come to think of

it, he’s been sitting in his armchair a lot. There’s a weird machine next to him that he breathes

into sometimes. His voice is different now, too. I think he wants everyone to use their indoor

voice because he’s always whispering. I don’t think he’s very hungry anymore. Mommy

blends his food. I didn’t know he liked smoothies. His belly shrunk. He must’ve had his baby.

At least he still watches Animal Planet with us. He taps me with his cane sometimes and

smiles. I didn’t know he had one of those.

***

It was Victoria Day. School was out for the holiday, so my dad had dropped my sister and I

off at my grandparents’ house on his way to work. My mom was already there. She had been

sleeping there whenever she could after my Nonno’s diagnosis. She didn’t want my Nonna to

have to care for him on her own. Police Academy was playing on TV in the living room when

I heard my mom scream, “Pa!” I was sitting on the couch, my back turned to him. When I

turned around, I saw that my Nonno’s head was rolled back; his skin an alarming shade of

yellow. I went into a state of shock. My ears kept ringing. Except, it wasn’t actually a ringing

sound; it was my Nonna’s wailing that I was hearing. Between sobs, she kept saying, “mio

marito.” My mom was on the phone with 9-1-1. The operator assured her that help was on

the way and, in the meantime, instructed her to apply cold compress to my Nonno’s face to

see if he could regain consciousness. The ambulance eventually arrived. My mom and Nonna

rode with him in the ambulance. My aunt stayed behind with my sister and I. That was the

last time I ever saw my Nonno.

In the early hours of the morning of May 17th, my mom phoned my dad. We were all

sleeping in my parents’ room, shaken from the previous day’s events. I was semi-awake

when I heard the phone ring and my dad say, “Oh my god, I’m sorry, khashkhanoum.” I

knew what the call meant. I fell back asleep.