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But Angelo freezes, so I tell him to stay with his mother. I go into the kitchen and search through the drawers. Every Italian woman since the Tuscans sacked Rome saves bags, so I know Signora Strazza must have a stash. I look under the sink. Found them! I blow into a paper bag to inflate it.

“Qui. Soffia nel borso.” I demonstrate breathing in and out of the paper bag, inflating it, exhaling, and inflating it again. “Te.”

I give the bag to Signora Strazza. She breathes in and out of the bag, her eyes full of fear. After a few moments, her breathing settles into a rhythm.

“Better?” I sit next to her.

She nods.

“A panic attack is nothing more than letting fear get the best of you,” I explain. “Can you breathe with me?”

She nods that she can, covering her mouth with the opening of the paper bag.

“Close your eyes. Take a gentle sip of air. Breathe. That’s it. Not too much. Exhale. Keep your eyes closed. Take a sip of breath, this one a little more deeply than the first.”

Signora Strazza complies.

“Exhale. Gently. Your lungs are soft, like sponges. Your breath fills them. Slowly. Slowly. Inhale. Now exhale, slowly, blow all your anxiety out to sea. That’s right. Picture yourself standing on the mountaintop. Exhale over the treetops, all the way to the shore of the Ligurian Sea. Let your breath take you over the waves and out to sea.”

Signora Strazza’s brow relaxes as she breathes in and out.

“Close your eyes. Repeat…ripetti: Bobby Bilancia Breathe. Bobby Bilancia Breathe.” Funny how my past pierces my present through the silver arrow of Bobby Bilancia.

“Chi è Bobby Bilancia?”

“Non è importante,” I tell her. “Fidati di me.” I’m asking a woman who is nothing but suspicious of me to trust me. And my cat.

Signora Strazza furrows her brow and concentrates as she breathes in and out, filling the paper bag with the force of gale winds. Slowly her color returns. She transforms before our eyes.

Angelo stands against the wall with his hands on his hips. “Should I take her to the doctor?”

“No need for a doctor. It was just a panic attack. Plain old anxiety.” I place my hands on Signora Strazza’s hands gently. “Do you get these often?”

“Once in a while.”

“They’re frightening, aren’t they?”

She nods.

“I get them too. You’ll be all right. You need to rest now. Put your feet up.” I pat her hand and turn to Angelo. “Take yourmamma to the garden and let her rest in the sun. Before it rains again.”

It’s been raining on and off in Carrara for a few days. Maybe that’s contributed to Signora Strazza’s struggles. She’s been confined more than usual, even though I catch her walking back and forth underneath the piazza loggia for exercise. Angelo helps his mother to stand.

“Take this.” I give him the paper bag. “Just in case.”

Angelo puts his arm around his mother’s waist and accompanies her to the garden. He turns to me through the garden door. “Grazie, Giuseppina.”

I take the blanket from the sofa and bring it to Signora in the garden while I recite a silent prayer taught to me by Sister Eugenie, a nun at Saint Rose School.

Saint Dymphna,

Fill my lungs and heal my breath,

Make me calm and help me rest.

The nuns had a prayer for everything. My first panic attack gripped me in kindergarten, or maybe that’s the first episode I recall. The nuns kept a stash of paper bags handy for kids who might throw up, or for kids like me who would get so anxious, they would hold their breath until they turned as blue as the Blessed Mother’s mantle. A fretful person can usually spot a fellow anxious person in their midst, but I did not see the signs with Signora Strazza. If anything, I was afraid of her. That’s something to explore in Thera-Me. Am I afraid of people who are just like me or only those who have power over me?

I see Signora Strazza for who she really is, in her most vulnerablestate. While I empathize with her anxiety, I have my own, some of which she has triggered. I have to find another place to live, and yet, it didn’t send me looking for a paper bag. Am I evolving? Am I better? Is this the moment when my emotional grid lights up in recognition of the hard work I have done in therapy? Is this what it means to heal? I am going upstairs to make some follow-up calls on apartments in Carrara. I am not afraid of anyone anymore, not even Signora Strazza. I choose the comfort of my rescue kitten over the view of the piazza. Priorities! Thank you, Dr. Jean, wherever you are.