Mondiale (Worldwide in Italian) is the term which my grandmother uses to describe something unique or amazing: Mondiale is the home-baked pizza, the mozzarella freshly delivered from the dairy, the ripe oranges harvested from the tree outside the country house and her grandson's smile in his new suit.
I have never associated this word with anything else, except to my grandmother, who now – at the age of ninety – is also Mondiale.
At ninety years, it takes a moment to lose yourself and wake up in the past; a fall or a mild stroke can be the beginning of the illness, a backward journey of confused visions, voices, memories, alternating with moments of extreme lucidity and strength.
Ambulances, weeping and sleepless nights.
Here comes the ghost of a past life that suddenly blends with the affections of the present life; daughters become mothers, but also grandmothers and sisters and rarely come back to being daughters.
The home, the setting of an entire life, vanishes suddenly to give way to the desire of finding the childhood house.
I spent the last two and a half years to portray my grandmother and her illness: Alzheimer; my mother and her sister follow and protect her like two angels.
Mondiale is my mother who is devoting her life to her mother.
Nearly 50 million people in the world are afflicted with Alzheimer. One million in Italy only with 9 million Italians taking care of an affected family member up to 18 hours a day. Of these 25% of families have given up work.
Currently there are high hopes to find a cure by 2025.