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“Il traghettatore” which is not proper to translate simply with the ferryman, initially made me think of something else, I don’t really mean Charon, even if in fact my mind inevitably associates the idea, but I would not have guessed who or what would be the object of the transfer despite the clue suggested to me from Monica: once again this reading is thanks to her.

Annalisa Menin, branding and communication expert, moved to New York realizing a dream common to many.

But life teaches each of us that if on the one hand it gives, on the other it takes away… sometimes in a ruthless and cruel way.
The appointment with Annalisa’s destiny is for the day after her thirtieth birthday: the day her husband Marco dies.

Among the pains to be faced, there is also a decision to make: stay in New York or return to Italy?

A real survey was born, which evolved into a blog: My last year in New York

And the blog became a book but also a charity initiative in favor of young Italian students eager to live the same American dream: Remembering Marco

Then?
And then five years passed and the need to tell stories, not to forget, became the need to be reborn.
The transition had to take place.

 

Heart in transit.

And Il traghettatore was born.

Very often Monica and I discuss how to face mourning, how to live as survivors.

Everyone has their own story, but those who have known the pain of loss can see the shell hyding the suffering of those who have experienced similar pain, which is not the same for anyone.

But with this book Monica also gave me another trip: I often repeat that if I had a time machine I would like to go to New York in the 80s

And although this reading did not teleport me into the past, I still had the opportunity to “see” through the words of the author places, roads, details, I could “feel tastes,” imagine “perfumes” and I breathed the air of New York.

Curious coincidence on page 405: even my grandmother said exactly the same words to me: the beautiful silence was never written. And this is a quote that will remain with me forever.

I conclude with another sentence from the book which I feel as absolutely “mine:”
The sense of guilt is that gift that you never stop receiving.

This time I strongly hope that it is not the same for you.

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