I dreamt of you tonight, mamma, 
and you were more beautiful than ever, 
but you were pale, mamma
and so were your hands that I so often kissed.
A shiver went through my body, 
the dreams seems to be sweeter 
and it appeared as if in your mortal state 
you didn’t suffer at all.
A very light scent of rose 
carried away that strange world 
that once was happy and faraway
the remembrance that fills my heart.
Your beautiful eyes were sparkling 
and your mouth looked like it was speaking 
and it was saying the most dear things 
and on your lips a smile appeared. 
But my mind couldn’t 
capture your words
and I only understood two words: 
you were talking about death and love.
You kissed me and the sweet smiles
changed into tears 
and the cruel night took you 
in your calling, and that was the end. 
I reached my hand out to find you
but you were going away, very far... very far. 
I wanted to call you but it was in vein, 
my voice remained in my throat.
Everything was dark in front of my eyes 
and there was a voice in the air 
that was calling pointing to a cross 
on the tomb that was covered with flowers. 
I was calling again 
thinking that you were close to me
but I was alone, I was more alone than ever
with two tears on the top of my pillow. 

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

Grief is an unpredictable thing. We can feel it all at once, or in waves over time. Antonio grieved his mother greatly as a boy, and the beauty of his various poems about his mothers can really make us understand the journey of grief.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.