Obituary of Alma DiFabio

Alma Marie DiFabio, a retired St. Malachy Church secretary passed away after a long illness on Saturday afternoon, January 17, 2015. She was 88 years old. Alma was born in Somerville, the daughter of Italian immigrants, the late Achille and Sylvia Polli. She grew up in Somerville and was a 1944 graduate of Somerville High School. In her youth her parents bought a summer cottage in Burlington, and she spent many summers there. She married Albert DiFabio in 1948, and in 1958 they became year round residents of Burlington, where they raised their four children. Alma was part of Burlington history and shared her memories and helped preserve the town’s history as a member of the Burlington Historical Society. Alma had a strong Catholic faith and shared her faith first at St. Margaret’s Church where she was a member of the Catholic Daughters and as a member of St. Malachy’s. Alma worked as a church secretary at St. Malachy’s for over 20 years and she prepared the weekly bulletin which made the parishioners aware of the upcoming events and news within the church. She held her position until she was over 80 years old. The parishioners at St. Malachy Church were her second family. Alma had a number of interests and activities. She loved to quilt and needle point. She was an avid reader with American history being one of her favorite genres. She was very proud of her Italian heritage and the ability to speak Italian. She was a member of the Trentino Club of New England, a civic organization for families whose origins were in the Italian Alps. She loved to travel. Alma returned to her family’s hometown in Northern Italy numerous times and also visited much of Europe. Alma was the loving wife of late Albert J. DiFabio, who passed away in 1986. She was the loving mother of Carole DiFabio & her husband William Litchman of Rumford, RI, Barbara Peduto & her husband Paul of Stoneham, David DiFabio & his wife Janice of Billerica, and the late Paul DiFabio & his late wife Karen. She was the sister of Olga Beltram-Rowan of FL, Herman Polli of Belmont, the late Anne Harrington, Arthur & Remo Polli. Alma was the very proud grandmother of Joanna Peduto Leary, Christopher Peduto, Bryan, Robert, Stephen and Sam DiFabio and blessed great grandmother of Mia & Hope Leary and Rosali DiFabio. Funeral from the Edward V. Sullivan Funeral Home, 43 Winn St., BURLINGTON (exit 34 off Rt. 128/95, Woburn side) on Wednesday, Jan. 21 at 10 a.m. Followed by a Mass of Christian Burial in St. Malachy Church, Burlington at 11 a.m. Visiting hours Tuesday from 4-8 p.m. Interment in Chestnut Hill Cemetery, Burlington. In lieu of flowers, memorials in Alma’s name may be made to the St. Malachy Church Memorial Fund, 99 Bedford St., Burlington, MA 01803. Family Remembrance by Joanna Leary My grandmother was definitely the type of person who wondered about who would come to her funeral, so I’m sure she would have been very pleased to see all of you here today. We all knew my grandmother in different ways. To many of you, she was a fellow St. Malachy’s parishioner, an old friend, someone you played cards with, someone you knew from the senior center or the historical society. She was a sister with a shared past, a thoughtful aunt, and a mother who raised four incredibly good people. And, of course, she was a grandmother and a great-grandmother, whom we called Ma. Family lore has it that, as the first grandchild, I was able to say only “Ma” for “grandma.” Not sure whether that’s true, but either way, the name stuck, and I think it suited her pretty well. No-nonsense, like Ma herself. Ma was a fixture in our childhood. It wasn’t unusual to come home from school and find her having a cup of coffee at our kitchen counter. My brother and I spent many nights at her house, eating the junk food she let us pick out and watching TV or movies while she put curlers in her hair. Golden Girls and I Love Lucy, The Sound of Music and Meet Me in St. Louis were all in regular rotation. We went for rides—just for the sake of taking a drive—in my mom’s car, with Ma passing back cherry Lifesavers or Mentos to soothe my carsick belly. She humored me by playing hangman while we waited for our food at Friendly’s, and supported my love of reading by taking me to Louisa May Alcott’s house. When I moved away after college, I saw Ma much less, but we talked on the phone often. Whenever I had to make a day trip for work, I’d call her from the car, knowing we’d have a chunk of time to chat. She loved to hear funny stories about my kids, and to talk about the old days, when she was a young mother and a wife. She would say those were some of her happiest times. Ma could never believe it when I’d tell her 45 minutes had passed, and that I had just pulled into my driveway. Every time we hung up, she’d tell me “I’m so glad you called.” Ma had many interests in life—quilting, sewing, travel, history and reading. She loved old movies and music and was quite the dancer back in her heyday. Ma was proud of her Trentino heritage, and I was lucky enough to be able to travel to Pinzolo with her to meet all of the relatives I’d heard about, including Zia Alma, the aunt for whom she was named. While Ma definitely had strong opinions about things, she also had a good sense of humor and the gift of gab. This is probably what won her so many wonderful friends from all parts of her life. Above all, Ma was a woman of deep faith. She loved her church, and believed in life after death. Even though it’s hard to grasp that I’ll never walk in her front door and see her come out of her den in her housecoat, or that I will never call her number and hear her voice, I know Ma was ready to go home to God, to see my grandfather, my uncle, and all of the other people she’d missed for so long. I will think of Ma whenever I get a good deal—especially on a handbag or a coat; when I hear big band music, or solve a crossword puzzle, when I fry up chicken cutlets in her old cutlet pan or when I eat a good salami sandwich. I’ll think of her when I tuck my younger daughter under the quilt she made for me, or when I sit in her old rocking chair. And when I think of Ma, I’ll think of the way she looked when I was little—dressed in a collared shirt or a blazer, with blue pants and penny loafers, hair curled, wearing her gold hoop earrings and always happy to see me. When I see her again, as I hope I someday do, I know I’ll be happy to see her, too.