My beloved uncle was a night person, and he died during the night.
   I’ll always remember him as one of my surrogate fathers, who instilled in me a love of stories and books. During my Italian childhood, Alberto would come to my room every night holding Il Tesoro, the magical volume of an encyclopaedia with a bright red cover, and a whole section dedicated to fairy tales. He would sit by my bed and read me these stories over and over, night after night, until I had them all memorized and recited them with him. When I think of it now, I marvel that he was in his early 20s, yet he took the time to read to me. 
   A quiet, gentle man, Alberto was not one to easily share his feelings. Yet he had an understated sense of humour. He was our link to our Italian past, arriving at family dinners laden with prosciutto, cheese and baguettes as well as Italian delicacies he had cooked – fried artichoke hearts, squid in tomato sauce, sautéed rapini. 
   Alberto was barely seven when war broke out in Italy. The sanctions created famine, and Alberto’s father would travel by train for hours to purchase black-market hard, unmilled grain his mother would bake into bread. His father told him that things would be different after the war.  And Alberto recalls asking him, “Do you mean that someday I'll be able to eat a whole loaf of bread by myself?” Yes, when the war is over, his father would say.  They had so little,  even their dreams were small.
   Immigrating to Canada in 1961, Alberto lived first in Kitimat, then moved to Vancouver where for many years, he was the Italian Assistant Trade Commissioner. 
   In his later years, Alberto had an air of sadness about him, as if life hadn’t panned out as he’d hoped, yet even  when he became bedridden, he was generous and kind. I sat by his bed and read him stories of his past told to me by his older sister. We had come full circle. I wish I had asked him more questions about his life. 
   He will always hold a special place in my heart.

My beloved uncle was a night person, and he died during the night of December 2, 2023.
I’ll always remember him as a surrogate father, who instilled in me a love of stories and books. During my Italian childhood, Alberto would come to my room every night holding Il Tesoro, the magical volume of an encyclopaedia with a bright red cover, and a whole section dedicated to fairy tales. He would sit by my bed and read me these stories over and over, night after night, until I had them all memorized and recited them with him. He was in his early 20s, yet he took the time to read to me.
A quiet, gentle man, with an understated sense of humour, Alberto was not one to easily share his feelings. Later, he became our link to the past, arriving to our family dinners laden with prosciutto, cheese and baguettes as well as Italian delicacies he had cooked – fried artichoke hearts, squid in tomato sauce, sautéed rapini. We’ve all been here for decades, yet Alberto was the one who maintained customs we no longer observed, reminding us of the tastes of our Italian childhoods.
The fourth of seven children, Alberto’s childhood was joyous until war brought famine in the south of Italy. His father told him things would be different after the war.  And Alberto asked, “Do you mean that someday I'll be able to eat a whole loaf of bread by myself?” Yes, when the war is over, his father would say.  They had so little, Alberto told me, even their dreams were small.
In his later years, Alberto had an air of sadness about him, as if life hadn’t panned out as he’d hoped, or perhaps resignation, brought on, possibly by health issues that emerged every few years. Yet even in these last months when he had become bedridden, he was generous and kind. I sat by his bed and read him stories of his past told to me by his older sister. We had come full circle. I wish I had asked him more questions about his life. 
He will always hold a special place in my heart.

VOKRA (Vancouver Orphan Kitten Rescue Association)

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Alberto Catamo

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Alberto Catamo

23 March, 1933 – 2 December, 2023

Ocean View Funeral Home & Burial Park

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