Fabio Gratton: The Principles of Pia Physics

It’s hardly been a month since the day my dad called me and told me my mom had been murdered. Since the day, every moment, awake or sleeping, has been filled with her presence. She was the single-most powerful inspiration of my life.
Now it’s ironic that I am addressing a room full of students, most of whom study chemistry or physics. I say it’s ironic because many of you could probably reduce my mom’s existence to a series of formulas. Chemical reactions. Rules which govern the universe. Rules which would mean my mom is dead, forever. I thought about coming up here and arguing that you’re all wrong in order to prove that she’s not dead and that she’s still here, in some other form, listening to me right now. She raised me to think that way. I learned, by her example, that logic and rationale are not necessarily the most important qualities a person can possess. Instinct. Impulse. Passion. These are words that describe my mom. But I have thought long and hard to about physics and chemistry, and about my mom and the tragedy that has occurred, and I think in this case the laws of the universe, the formulas and theorems of science do indeed apply. So here I present what I call the 3 PPPs:

The Principles of Pia Physics
First, force is equal to mass times the acceleration of an object. My mom was a very small person. “Pia Pietta Piccola” we all called her in my family. Meaning, our “little, littlest Pia”. In my 23 years of life, I never saw her without high heels. She was about as tall as my 10 year-old sister, and weighed no more than a suitcase. Those who knew my mom, know that she had the energy of Wonderwoman. She was never too tired to do anything. She worked long hours, long into the night. Trying to solve whatever problem her workday had thrown her way. She dedicated countless hours to mys sister, Valentina. Reading, drawing and working through the multiplication tables. She loved to dance, so she did. She loved studying languages, so she did. Vacations, windsurfing, hiking... you name it, she loved it and did it. And if any of you have ever walked next to her as she went on an errand or went to buy a coffee. You would have been surprised at how fast she moved. Despite her short legs and the high-heels, she zipped around with the fervor of an over-cranked wind-up toy and the grace of a ballerina. And look at the impact she had on life, on those who she met. This little 4-foot something girl--whom most people thought was in her 20s-- could just change your whole day. She had this incredible strength and force and vibrant life, all compacted in her tiny little being. I think that explains why her love and warmth came in such abundance--it was so dense. She was an eternal fountain of beauty and love and we all rushed to be showered in her mist.

Second principle: every action has an equal but opposite reaction. My mom’s death should not inspire sorrow, loneliness, and desperation. It should inspire life. When my mom was tired, she didn’t lie down. She went dancing. When she was sad, she didn’t cry, she would find reason to be happy. The world is composed of equal but opposite reactions. We choose our paths, and every choice matters. Ever since my mom died, campus safety has been a front-page issue. People are terrified of walking alone at night. They are suspicious. This is appropriate, but, as my father would say, let us not lose sight of the facts. My mom lived a fearless life. This was a choice. She said on many occasion, I would rather live 50 happy years, trusting people and smiling when I want to, then darting from safety-house to safety-house, looking paranoically behind my back, and living 100 years. If she had lived the latter life, I don’t think all of us would be here today. We wouldn’t know her the way we do. We probably would never have met her. She would have been miserable, and we would have been denied this beautiful drop of sun. In my opinion, this would be a worse tragedy than the one that has befallen her. If we begin to live in fear because of this, if we stop giving and trusting, then the 47 years she lived in splendor will be in vain. Let’s not build a monument to the brief seconds she lived in pain.