7 Unexpected Weeks Of Life
The Past Month And A Half Was One Of The Most Surprising, Heartbreaking & Beautiful Of My Life - It Included A Death, A Life Saved, Birthdays, Roadtrips, And An Unplanned Time Of Healing With Family & Friends
- Nathan Heinrich
- March, 2025
At the end of January, I left Italy for what was supposed to be a week-long work trip to New York and the East Coast. Following the Italian holidays, I had a lot on my plate, and I was eager to return to Italy after a few days of travel.
Little did I know that a Higher power had other plans for the next 7 weeks of my life.
(*Disclaimer: this will be a longer post than normal)
On the evening of the 5th day of my trip, I got a call from my sister saying that my beloved Gram, in California, who had suffered a stroke 15 months earlier, had taken an unexpected turn for the worse and was not expected to make it through the night – my heart stopped.
My sister held the phone up to my Gram’s ear so I could tell her I loved her and that I was coming to be with her.
Within the hour, I had booked the last seat on the earliest possible flight to California for the following morning.
At the time, I was in Pennsylvania with my dear Italian-American friend Carmela, who’s like family. She was such a comfort, and I was grateful not to be alone when I got that call.
We quickly drove back to her farm on the Delaware River in New Jersey and waited together for news about my grandmother.
The hours dragged by.
At 1 am on February 5th, my mom called to say that Gram (her mother) had “Gone to heaven”.
She had passed away peacefully, at home, surrounded by my parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. It was just how she had always wanted it to be.
She had intentionally designed and built her home to be the place where she could practically and comfortably spend the last years of her life, and that’s exactly how it had been.
I stayed on the phone with my mom for the next hour while she waited, at Gram’s house, for the funeral home folks to arrive.
When we got off the phone, I sat in silence for a long time.
There was no way I could sleep, so I started to look through photos of Gram on my phone. Hardly aware of what I was doing, I stitched the photos together and made a little farewell video for her.
When I set the photos to her favorite song, “I Have A Dream” by Abba (performed by her beloved André Rieu orchestra), which she’d always sung along to while we played canasta, and said, “Play this at my funeral” – that’s when the tears, that had been bottled up for the past 15 months, began to flow.
At some point, after 5 am, I drifted into a fitful sleep on the sofa.
I woke up with a start a few hours later, bleary-eyed and disoriented.
I realized that my flight to Sacramento was scheduled to leave in 3 hours, and I had a 2-hour drive to JFK, I had to drop Carmela off at her sister’s house, and drop off my rental at the airport.
Feeling a sense of panic, I pulled myself together and jumped into my rented SUV with Carmela.
I broke every speed limit on my way to drop Carmela off and fortunately didn’t get a ticket.
“You’re going to make it, Nathan. Don’t worry, I know you won’t miss your flight,” Carmela assured me.
I wasn’t so sure, as I knew how bad New York morning traffic could be.
By the time I dropped off the rental and made it to my terminal, I began to think that the 35 minutes I had, before the gate to my flight would close, might just be enough time. Fortunately, I had no luggage to check.
But that was before I hit the very long, slow-moving security line. Never before have I seen fewer security lanes open at JFK.
I watched the minutes tick by as the line inched forward. Just before it was my turn to have my passport checked, a well-dressed woman and her son cut in front of me.
“Has bathroom, need has bathroom” she said in broken English gesturing to her son who who looked as unagitated as he could be, playing a game on his iPad.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m going to miss my flight,” I said.
“Has bathroom,” she repeated as her son laughed at his iPad screen, blithely unaware he was being used as an excuse for his mother to cut the line.
She then turned her back and tried to pretend I wasn’t there. Then the line completely stopped again for the next 10 minutes.
When the line started moving again, the woman who had cut in front of me began having problems with her passport. Another agent had to be called over to clear her and her son.
I breathed a silent prayer to quell the murderous rage I felt boiling up inside me at the thought that this lying, entitled woman might be the reason I missed my flight. “Please, don’t let me miss this flight”, I implored.
At last, the woman and her son were waved through and seconds later, I was cleared as well. I saw that the woman with her son had turned to the right side security lane and was now causing further delays with her many bags.
I turned to the left and was through security in minutes.
With my roller bag skidding across the granite floors of Terminal 4, I ran at a speed only possible from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Was it possible to make it to Gate 29 before it was too late?
I rounded a corner to see my gate totally deserted, except for a single gate agent who was walking toward the doors, preparing to close them.
“Is the gate closed?” I called out, gasping for breath.
Maybe the agent pitied me because I looked like such a pathetic mess or maybe he was an angel in disguise, but whatever the reason, he smiled and said, “I’m going to sign back into the system and let you on, but since you’re the last one, you will have to run, they’re waiting for you.”
Not even the annoyed looks on the faces of the flight crew and passengers, at the sight of one last passenger, sweaty and frazzled, stumbling down the aisle of the plane, was enough to dampen my sense of relief for making it on that flight.
I took a moment to whisper a grateful prayer before checking my phone.
After letting Carmela know I had made my flight, I got a text from my dad, which rarely happens.
“I heard you have a rental car reserved, but your mom and I would like to drive up to Sacramento and pick you up at the airport”, his message read.
I can not recall a time when my parents ever picked me up or dropped me off at the airport together. My mom usually comes by herself when I’m not renting a car.
“That’s very kind, but there’s no need to do that”, I replied.
“We want to, we’ll be there when your flight gets in”, he insisted.
“That would be really nice, Dad. Thanks, I look forward to seeing you and Mom this evening after my layover in LA”.
And that’s how the next 7 weeks began.
My Answer To Everything Is "Yes!"
When I came down the escalator at Sacramento Airport that evening, the first face I saw was the face I most wanted to see. My Mom was smiling up at me from the baggage claim area.
Our embrace communicated what our broken hearts could not yet express.
Meanwhile, my dad was circling Terminal A in his GMC ranch truck, waiting for my Mom and me to come out to the arrivals area.
It was so great to see my dad, as well, and to visit with both of them on the hour-long drive back to my parents’ ranch, in the farming community of Wood Colony, where my dad’s family has been farming for 6 generations.
I assumed I would be in California for a week or so while my mom and uncle made the funeral arrangements and the family gathered to say a final farewell to Gram.
My assumptions turned out to be way off.
I soon found out that the funeral and memorial service were not happening until March.
What on earth was I going to do in California for the next month? Should I go back to Italy?
I had to take a moment to recalibrate. All the projects and work I was in the middle of in Italy would simply have to wait.
Fortunately, I had my laptop with me, so I would be able to do some of my work on that. The rest would just have to go on the back burner.
“What can I help you with around here, Mom?” I asked.
If I was going to be there for more than a month, I wanted to be useful.
“Well, my walk-in closet is a bit of a mess, and I have a bunch of other closets I need to organize. And I need to declutter the barn. But I don’t want you to do any of that, it’s miserable work,” she said.
“Let’s do it! It will be fun and we’ll have it done in no time!” I said as I opened the door to her closet.
Wow! She wasn’t kidding. It was in desperate need of a total overhaul.
That walk-in closet, which I ambitiously thought we could finish organizing in a day, took us 5 days!
But when we were finished, not only was her closet transformed into a functional “dressing room” (as we renamed it), but her extensive library on her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, inside the closet, was also totally reorganized and categorized.
Over the next few weeks, we made many trips to the local women and children’s shelter, my mom donated enough clothes and shoes to fill the wardrobes of 20 women.
By the time we were completely burnt out on cleaning and organizing closets, it was my birthday, and my Mom asked me where I would like to go for a quick birthday trip.
That was an easy answer. “Let’s go to Monterey and Pacific Grove”, I said. So I booked us a hotel within walking distance of Asilomar Beach, and we hit the road.
My parents took my siblings and me to Pacific Grove when we were growing up, and that, particularly beautiful, part of the California Coast is imprinted onto my heart.
Although the coastline was lashed with a powerful storm during our three-day trip, we still did all of our favorite things.
We were able to shop for art, go to vintage shops, eat brunch at First Awakenings, drive along the shoreline and look at all the houses, eat sushi, drive down 17-mile drive, go rock hopping in the tide pools, have dinner at the ‘Flying Fish’ in Carmel, play many games of canasta, walk to the beach through historic Asolomar, and even stop for artichokes at Pezzini Farms.
On our way home, my dad called and asked us if we would like to meet him, my brother Levi and his wife Jade and their darling kids at our family’s favorite Basque restaurant – of course, our answer was, “Yes!”.
In fact, I decided that while in California, my response to anything and everything my family or friends suggested would be “Yes”.
That turned out to be a very rewarding motto for the next several weeks.
One morning, my dad asked me, “Nathan, do you want to fly over to Watsonville and have lunch out on the wharf?” My answer was, “Yes!”
(And it turned out to be the perfect day to fly over the coastal mountains and down the shore.)
When my brother Jerad asked me to drive out to the 300-acre almond and fruit tree ranch he’d recently planted, then go to his favorite taco truck for lunch, and finally stop by the livestock auction on our way home, the answer was “Yes!”.
(What a great day that was)
When my brother Jason asked me if I wanted to taste a bag of his homegrown and home-dried persimmons, the answer was “Yes!”.
(They were SO GOOD)
When my sister Hilary asked if I would go with her and her fiancé (who happens to be one of my best friends) to the Bay Area to help them pick out some furniture for their new place, the answer was “Yes!”.
(We found some beautiful sofas)
When my brother Levi asked me to come over to his barn for a poker and cigar night with my dad and brothers, my answer was, “Yes!”
(A great night, although I lost miserably)
When my sister-in-law Kristi invited me over for some of her homemade sourdough bread and a visit, my answer was “Yes!”.
(She baked me a whole loaf for my birthday! The best bread I’ve ever had!)
When my brother Eric and his daughter Felicity, who were flying in for the funeral, asked if I could pick them up from the airport, my answer was “Yes!”.
(We had the best time laughing and catching up)
When my sister Rachel asked me to help her hang the black curtains in the walnut building, where we were going to have the family dinner after the funeral, my answer was, “Yes”.
(It turned out beautiful)
When my dear friends at Park Winters invited me up for dinner and brunch at their fabulous Flower Farm, Restaurant, and Luxury Country Resort, my answer was, of course, “Yes!”
(It’s truly the most beautiful boutique inn and event venue in Northern California! A MUST-VISIT location!)
When my Great Aunt Gail, my Gram’s older sister, was having her 90th birthday party up in Portland, Oregon, and I was invited by my cousins to join them, my answer was, “Yes!”.
When my aunt and cousins asked me to stay at the same hotel with them in Portland and my sisters invited me to drive out to see the waterfalls, my answer was, “Yes!”.
(What a beautiful experience that was!)
When my dad asked if he could join me on my 2-day road trip home down the Oregon Coast after the party, my answer was, “Yes!”.
(What a great time we had together and what a special trip it was – we even stopped at the Aerospace museum and saw the “Spruce Goose”)
When my mom asked me if I would speak at my Gram’s memorial service, my answer was, “Yes”.
(I chose to read a letter I had written to her after she had a stroke, but never mailed to her.)
When my friend Gina asked me to go see her famous artist mom’s gorgeous new home and then have lunch with them, I said “Yes!”.
(What a spectacular day with some of my favorite people!)
When my friend Liz asked me if I would take some of her late husband’s beautiful clothes, my answer was, “Yes!”.
(I will forever treasure Royal Robbins’ jackets and sweaters)
Before I knew it, all the free time I thought I would have ended up getting filled with the most wonderful adventures.
Since moving away from California over a decade ago, a slow but steady rift had opened up with some members of my family.
While many reasons contributed to the painful division, it became clear that time really does have a way of healing wounds, and that sometimes the best cure for these things is a nice, long visit to rebuild connections and spend quality time together, reminiscing on shared history and similarities rather than differences.
The slow, uninterrupted time I was able to share with my whole family was dearly treasured.
It turned out that this unexpected trip, with its restorative, healing time, was the greatest final gift my Gram could have ever given me.
"Nathan, Help Me Save This Baby!"
One morning at my parents’ ranch, while still in my pjs and bathrobe, working on my computer at the dining room table, the back door burst open, and my mom yelled, “Nathan, I need your help!”.
I almost dropped my computer as I jumped up to see what in the world was happening.
I ran into the mud room to find my mom vigorously massaging something in her arms that was bundled in a big towel.
“What on earth is that?!” I exclaimed.
“This baby goat has drowned. Its silly mother gave birth to it in a water bucket”, she said, her hands working frantically to revive the wet, limp creature.
“I’ll be right back!” I said.
I ran to the bathroom and got a hairdryer.
After plugging it in, I cranked it up to the highest setting and began drying the lifeless little goat that my mom had laid on the tile floor on a towel.
The little goat’s eyes were closed, and its wet coat was ice cold.
“I don’t know how long it was in the water. I just found her like that,” my mom hollered over the sound of the hairdryer.
“How the heck did it happen in the first place?” I yelled back.
“I have no idea, somehow she moved the cover to her water bucket and backed up to it when the baby was born.”
I had never heard of anything so insane, “but goats are notoriously crazy”, I thought as I continued drying and massaging the comatose, frozen goat.
“See what you can do, I doubt it will live,” my mom said, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” I yelled.
“I’ve got to go finish my chores and find the other baby goat; there were twins,” she said over her shoulder.
“What?!” I asked, in shock.
But she was gone.
For the next few hours, I attempted to revive the little goat. I warmed her up and massaged her until she opened her eyes halfway.
Eventually, I took the fully fluffed and dried little white bundle out into the warm spring sunshine.
My mom called across the yard, “You’ve got to get it to drink some colostrum milk or it’s going to die. I found the little twin sister; she’s fine.”
Although it had been almost 25 years since the last time I’d helped a baby goat come into the world, I thought I’d see if I could convince the little girl, who was too weak to even hold her head up, to drink a bit of milk.
“You can’t force it to drink or it will aspirate!” came my mother’s latest words of wisdom as she sailed past me on her golf cart loaded with ranch supplies.
“How exactly do I do that?” I called after her.
“Try using a dropper,” and she was gone again.
After locating a little brown glass water dropper from my mom’s collection of animal paraphernalia, I wrangled the screaming mother goat, who wasn’t yet aware that her attempted infanticide was unsuccessful, onto the milking stand.
After securing her so she couldn’t escape, I managed to fill the little glass bottle with milk despite the screaming mother’s frantic kicks, which caused me to drop the bottle multiple times.
At last, with my hands and arms scraped, muddy, and sticky with half-dried milk, I was able to hold the baby’s head up and squeeze a few drops of the warm milk down her throat after prying her mouth open.
Nothing happened. So I waited a few moments and tried again.
This time, I thought I might have seen a swallow reflex. Or was that a gag? I was probably slowly filling this poor baby’s lungs with milk, one drop at a time – perhaps her lungs were already full of water, and this whole endeavor was a waste of time.
As I continued with the milk dropper, the mother goat looked on from her perch on the milking stand, chewing on the alfalfa hay I had distracted her with while getting some of her milk.
Her expression seemed to say, “Where did you find that thing? I thought for sure I’d gotten rid of it”.
Five hours into my efforts, sitting cross-legged in the sun by the goat enclosure, still in my pajamas and bathrobe, which were now thoroughly filthy, the little white goat was starting to show signs of life.
She was drinking the milk, a dropper full at a time, and finally holding her head up on her own.
An hour later, she was trying to stand up on very wobbly legs, with her curious little grey and white sister nuzzling in to meet her.
By the afternoon, with an aching back, I got up off the ground and put the two baby goats in the pen with their mother after fixing the water bucket and making certain she wasn’t going to try to murder them again.
With a wild case of bedhead and a sense of mild satisfaction, I padded back into the house in my clogs and took a nice, long bath.
That evening, after watching my little rescue goat drinking from her reluctant mother, my mom told me that it would be my job to name the goat.
“It’s a ‘T year’ for goat names, so you need to choose a name that starts with ‘T,'” she said.
“What do you mean it’s a ‘T year’? I asked.
“Every year, the Goat Association announces the letter for all registered goats born that year, so you can tell how old they are by what letter their name starts with; they go through the whole alphabet every 26 years.
Something like ‘Tabatha’ would be good,” she explained.
“Ok then, Tabitha it is,” I said.
“That’s a great name,” she said.
“Like Tabitha from ‘Bewitched’?” I asked.
“No! I don’t believe in witchcraft! I mean ‘Tabitha’ from the bible, who was raised from the dead,” she corrected.
Over the next few weeks, I watched little Tabitha grow stronger each day.
But I couldn’t help but hear that little tingling bell sound and the theme song to ‘Bewitched’ in my head every time I heard someone say her name ; )
My First California Spring In Over A Decade
When I moved to New York from Northern California, I had no idea it would be more than 10 years before I would be back for a visit during my favorite month.
Spring starts in California in mid-February, that’s when the fruit and nut trees start to bloom.
But nothing is more magical or nostalgic than the blooming of the almond trees, which just happen to be in full bloom on my birthday each year.
While out for a walk with my dad in one of his almond orchards in mid-February, with the pollinator bees buzzing around their hive boxes, he told me that this particular year was a “near 50-year record bloom,” meaning that the trees were more loaded with blooms than for as long as he could remember.
This would likely lead to a bumper crop so long as the weather cooperated and there wasn’t too much rain to keep the bees from their magical job transforming flowers into almonds.
Fortunately, the weather was perfect while the trees were blooming and the bees were able to work without interruption.
Another reason I love to be in California during February and March is that those are some of the few rainy months, when the state turns green for a short time.
There’s nothing more beautiful than those velvety green foothills, and clean blue February skies with puffy white clouds, accented by almond blossoms.
Interestingly, the Mediterranean springs in Italy have almost the same weather pattern as those in Northern California, which makes Italy feel very much like home.
The Weeks Flew By
With so much packed into each day, before I knew it, a month had passed. I spent the week before my Gram’s services sorting through thousands of family photos with my sister, searching for photos of her to use in the slideshow at the memorial service.
What a beautiful woman she was. I could see why people used to regularly mistake her for Elizabeth Taylor when she was young.
Another treasured experience this trip gave me was a new friendship with my Gram’s oldest friend, the incomparable Liz Robbins, whom she met in 2nd grade. The two of them grew up like sisters.
Liz is a truly remarkable woman who, along with her famous, pioneer mountain climber husband, Royal Robbins, built one of the earliest companies selling hiking gear and outdoor clothing in the United States.
Together, they built the Royal Robbins brand at the same time their friends, the Chouinard family, were building the Patagonia brand.
One particular garment, among thousands, which Liz designed over the years, is the tactical pants known as the “5.11 pants”, which are used worldwide in military operations and by law enforcement, such as police and the FBI.
The stories Liz shared with me about her lifelong friend Patricia Lois Storer (my grandmother) were heartwarming and helped me to understand my “Gram” in a way I never had before.
Liz was my date to both the private family service and the memorial service. What a source of joy and comfort she was.
The time I was fortunate enough to spend with Liz and the friendship we developed was yet another gift I attribute to my dear Gram.
Those 7 Unexpected Weeks In California Were Possibly The Best I've Ever Spent There
The funeral services, the many loved ones who attended, and the family meals that followed were overwhelmingly positive.
Since moving to Italy, I have learned to live a life that’s rather quiet, with very few opportunities to speak English.
Being surrounded by so many family members and loved ones, many of whom I hadn’t seen in years, forced me to exercise emotional, conversational, and relational muscles I hadn’t used in quite some time.
It was a feeling difficult to describe, almost as if a balloon had been pumped full of air in my chest. A sensation of emotional fullness and overflowing, unlike anything I have ever experienced.
I wanted to share this with you, as I have been rather quiet in the past couple of months.
I will soon be back to my regular routine of sharing updates about life in Italy, and I have many exciting things to share with you this year.
Thank you for letting me share a bit about what’s been happening in my life recently, even though it is a diversion from my usual Italian subject matter.
Sharing with you allows me a way to express myself in a therapeutic and liberating way, and for that, I am most grateful.
What I've Been Reading...
Somehow, I stumbled upon this book a few months ago.
No one recommended it to me, and I have no idea how I discovered it. But I downloaded it, and there it sat ignored on my phone – until my Gram passed away.
I started listening to the audio version of the book on the flight from New York to California, the day after she died.
Never before have I read a book like this.
It’s compelling, perplexing, and utterly fascinating.
I’m still not sure what to think about it, but I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
I’ve never read anything that so profoundly changed my thoughts of heaven, the afterlife, and what happens to our souls when we die.
If you believe in God and heaven, I think you will find this book to be enormously comforting.
If you believe that life on earth is due to a cosmic accident, you may find the accounts of the many near-death experiences recounted in this book surprising and thought-provoking.
Anyway, if you read it, please let me know your thoughts.
Grazie.
Nathan@AllRoadsLeadToItay.com
Spend 8 Days In Italy With Me
A Few Rooms Left At Our Fabulous Seaside & Tuscan Villas!
Seaside Villa on the Cilento Coast
September 6th - September 14th, 2025
(flexibility on dates for private groups)
With views of the Amalfi Coast and Capri, this gorgeous seaside village has some of Italy’s most stunning emerald waters, fabulous restaurants, and Roman ruins, but without the overcrowded chaos of Amalfi.
Our villa has a path to the sea, is within walking distance of the village, has a beautiful pool, lovely guest suites, and some of the best views in Southern Italy!
If you join us at this location in September, you will find that the water in the Mediterranean Sea is still warm enough to swim in.
Our local guides Alessandro and Simonetta have lived in this region most of their lives and they have some very special secret spots to share with us.
Nathan will share his favorite cliffside restaurant with you – it’s to die for.
This is an experience not to be missed!
Included Optional Day Trips:
• A Boat Ride To The Amalfi Coast & Sunset Dinner At Salvatore’s In Ravello.
• A Visit To A Local Buffalo Mozzarella Dairy – Yes Cheese Made From Buffalo Milk!
• A Trip To The Ancient Greek Ruins Of Paestum
• A Boat Trip Down The Cilento Coast
• Sunbathing And Swimming On Secret Local Beaches
Grand Villa in the Vineyards Of The Tuscan Hills
October 13th - October 21st, 2025
(flexibility on dates for private groups)
Have you always dreamed of going to Tuscany?
Maybe you’ve visited Tuscany, but you’re ready to experience a version of this incredible region that only locals know about.
Either way, you will never experience a more incredible version of the Tuscan countryside than at this spectacular villa overlooking vineyards and olive groves in the hills above Lucca.
Our local Italian friends, Vera and her husband Luca live here and they know this region better than anyone.
Vera is friends with many of the local winemakers including Italy’s oldest winery.
For a version of Tuscany that will charm and transform you with its stunning views, fabulous wine, and divine local cuisine – join us in Tuscany in October of 2025.
We can’t wait to share this remarkable place with you!
Included Optional Day Trips:
• A Day Trip & Dinner In Pisa
• Winetasting At Italy’s Oldest Wineries
• Olive Oil Tasting
• Cooking Classes From Local Italians
• A Day In Chianti / Dinner At A Fabulous Local Ristorante In Lucca
How To Book
Email Nathan Heinrich At:
Nathan@AllRoadsLeadToItaly.com
Nathan will email or text you a secure payment link.
Nathan will also be available to speak to guests who have additional questions or special requests.
Or click the link below
↓
Pre-Scheduled Small Group Retreats Are On A First Come First Serve Basis For Room Selection and Availability – Elegant Spacious Rooms For Up To 10 guests (5 couples).
Private Retreats: We Have Villas, Palaces, And Castles Locations For Up To 40 Guests.
Email Nathan At: Nathan@AllRoadsLeadToItaly.com
Share This Post
Author Info:
Nathan Heinrich
Nathan is a writer, designer & horticulturist. He is the founder and Editor-in-Chief of "All Roads Lead to Italy" Magazine & host of the Top-10 Travel Podcast, "I'm Moving To Italy!". Nathan was born and raised in a 6th generation farming family in Northern California, he is currently, a dual Italian citizen, living in the Prosecco Valley of Northern Italy, near Venice.