Linda Therese Paino 

 
Name at birth:    Linda Therese Laurenti 
Date of birth:    7/7/1917 
Place of birth:   Cleveland, Ohio USA 
Date of death:    14/01/2003 
Place of death:   Cleveland, Ohio USA 
Place of burial:  Ashes scattered at her request  (Cleveland, Ohio USA)

Linda Therese Paino, 1917-2003 Many people walk this earth with lives that seem, at first glance, unremarkable, and thus, by some estimations, worth little. This, of course, only applies if the template one uses happens to measure success and meaning in terms of such things as monetary gain or accolades. If this were the only method of reckoning a life’s worth, one would conclude Linda Paino’s presence on this blue planet amounted to very little. Fortunately, there is a far grander scale with which to determine a life’s worth, and that is the scale of love itself. Using this measure, we, Linda Paino’s children, see the scale of our mother’s worth tipped to its fullest extent in the direction of meaning, merit and ultimate value.

Linda Laurenti was born on 7 July, 1917 in Cleveland, Ohio. Her Italian immigrant parents were new to the United States of America and, being simple people, realized their particular American Dream in raising a family of seven in a cozy and harmonious household where the aroma of good cooking wafted daily from their small kitchen on Cleveland’s east side.

Linda attended grade school at Miles Avenue Elementary School where she graduated in 1930. She received her high school diploma in 1934 from South High and subsequently took a number of jobs, including a position as a waitress at the Trianon Ballroom (where she listened to Duke Ellington and his jazz ensemble and spent her break time dancing to her heart’s content) and, later, as a seamstress helping the war efforts. But Linda always dreamed of working in the medical field and in 1952 she finally secured a position as a surgical assistant at Deaconess Hospital in Parma, Ohio. She was fascinated by medical procedures and enjoyed her duties as one of the women in charge of insuring all surgical instruments were ready for the surgeon during each operation. It was during her tenure at Deaconess that she met and immediately fell in love with a brilliant and handsome young Italian resident in the Department of Anesthesiology. His name was Frank Paino. In May of 1953, Linda Laurenti married Dr. Frank Paino and the two went on to see the birth of their son, Angelo Frank, in December of 1954 and (twins) Frank & Gerrie in the fall of 1960.

Devoted to her husband and children, Linda spent her married years engaged in household duties which, while hardly lofty or capable of inspiring envy in others, were executed with deep love and attention to detail. Her family always came home to an immaculate house, delicious homemade meals, and the love of a woman who unfailingly put her husband’s and children’s needs before her own.

Unfortunately, life seldom plays out like a fairy tale and, in Linda’s case, her dream ended in divorce in 1973. Facing a world which no longer recognized a high school diploma as sufficient educational background for the work of a surgical assistant, Linda turned her compassionate nature to the care of the elderly. She worked for over 15 years at various nursing homes where the aged residents always came to call her their “favorite.” She brought them laughter, games to pass the time and a steadfast love that kept her at countless deathbeds when her beloved residents were ready to cross over into the next life.

Disfigured by a horribly botched surgical procedure in 1995, Linda was left almost completely crippled. Her heart, overtaxed by long months in the hospital and countless surgeries, began to fail. The last years of her life were marked by unimaginably painful interludes where numerous operations, long hospital stays and uncounted tests were commonplace. In spite of that, she kept her sense of humour and faced each setback with the kind of bravery even the most stalwart soldier would admire. During these years, she was cared for by us—her children. It was an honour and a privilege to be able to watch over her with the same care and love which she had shown us when we were growing up and, indeed, throughout our lives.

In the days preceding her death, Linda was blessed with comforting visits from relatives who had gone before her through Death’s door. We believe these were genuine communications and they gave her great comfort. Most everyone hopes for a peaceful death. Linda was blessed with precisely that. We couldn’t be more grateful for such a special blessing. On the 14th of January, 2003 Linda departed this world in complete peace, merely falling asleep after having a day she’d described as “perfect.”

We believe there were countless people who met our mother in the next world—people who remembered her kindness to them, who recalled she'd held their hands as they themselves got ready to cross over. Doubtless, her parents, brothers and sisters greeted her, too. It must have been a joyful reunion. We establish this memorial as witness to Linda Paino's motherly love and as a means of letting others know that she was here on this earth , that she mattered to many of the people whose lives she touched and, most of all, because she mattered very much to us.

We love you, Mama.

COSMOLOGY
(for our mother)

Once you were a star, so the scientists say—
as were we all, though tonight I only want
to consider you—a former orb of light &

flame & great draughts of luminous gas
consumed & all consuming. A sphere
that winked its story across the almost

interminable, airless dark to be read by
those who came before as a hundred tales
of earthly genesis. Life from light.

Let’s say that star, your star,
went supernova & you came to settle
here, on this watery planet, nothing more

than a speck of dust which,
for the sake of this poem’s deduction,
was swallowed in a glass of wine shared

by your parents years before they became
your parents, leaving you a thing divided.
Half sperm. Half ovum. The exact riddle

that eventually solved to you.
Born. Named. You grew & later gave birth
to other stars incarnate, before your own light

began to dampen: faltering heart, breath-
starved flesh & bone the doctors began to cut
like spent blossoms—a wedge of calf gone

black, one toe…another, & next would have
come the spreading metatarsal wound. Instead,
one winter evening, you left as softly

as you’d come. What remained in that narrow
bed with the silver rails was not you. Only
the husk of a star, its bright wick extinguished.

What they slid in to the retort’s brick gape
also was not you. That quiet, uncomplaining
shape could not hear the serpent-hiss of gas,

or the muffled gasp of ignition, everything
charred, I’m certain, in an instant…
the sweater we chose with the brilliant yellow

smiling face you’d ironed on, & the simple
brown pants with their tired, elastic waist.
Forgive us. We forgot your shoes.

Though you could fly, of course, & had no
need of shoes. Nor of the body itself
which we gave back to the vault of heaven

in a baptism of fire, a rush of cinders
that climbed the stack & glowed a moment.
A fistful of stars against the darkening sky.

~ Frank & Gerrie
Click here to visit the memorial to Frank Paino, M.D.
We would like to thank those visitors who have left flowers.