When I was
little, my grandparents used to watch me while my mom and dad were at work. I have letters that I used to write my Nana and practically have her signature memorized from all the cards I've saved over the years. There are countless pictures of me sitting in my Nana’s laundry basket and
smiling, and if I close my eyes, I can almost hear her say “how can a little
girl sleep so much?” and then bring me pancakes while I watch cartoons in her
bed.
Baby Stephanie and her Nana |
When I think of her, I think of hot chocolate and freshly
made cookies, clip on earrings and big, beaded necklaces, and the way her hands
used to hold mine in the hospital room when she was scared. I think of her
trying to teach me how to cook and then giving me a plate of meatballs and
telling me to go watch the news with my pap because I was measuring everything wrong,
and I remember the first time I baked cookies with her—early on when she was
first diagnosed with dementia—and how her cookies were triple the size she used
to make them. She’d get angry but then laugh really hard at the baking sheet,
and god, her laugh was magical. A big, full body laugh that just lit up the
room.
I remember playing bingo with her in the kitchen while we
watched The Price is Right and she’d
make me a bologna sandwich for lunch, and I remember asking her how to speak
Polish and then her trying to teach me a few words here and there while we sat
together on the porch swing outside. My love of flowers stems from my
grandparents and the beautiful garden they had together, so when I see
hydrangeas, I will forever think of her, just like how when I see roses, my
granfather is the first face in my mind.
We used to spend every Christmas day at my Nana’s, so when it
snows, I’ll think of her then, too, along with all the polish food she’d make next to my pap’s
freshly grown beets and my demands for her potato salad.
At dessert, she’d fill
the entire dining room with her cookies, and it was always a hard decision
trying to figure out which one’s were worth the calories that night—but it was
never really a problem because she’d send all of us home with a box of cookies
and a few nut rolls for good measure.
I don’t have to tell you, but I’m really going to miss her
baking.
There is a love and a comfort in your grandmother’s cooking
that can’t quite be measured my anyone else.
Like Mother like Daughter like Granddaughter |
I could go
on and on for hours, but what I’m getting at here is that I think I’ve been
really blessed in life to have the relationship I did with my grandmother. We would go Christmas shopping together every year and when I got Edgar, I immediately got in my car and drove the hour it took to get to her house just so she could see all his puppy wrinkles. She
was an extraordinary woman who loved her family and traveled the world and the
memories we share are endless. In fact, I can’t think of a single event that
she missed, whether it was my softball games (rain or shine), or my graduation
days (high school-graduate school). I don’t know if she ever understood what I do
or write exactly, but that didn’t stop her from coming to my poetry readings
and meeting my friends and colleagues while I got my horror on. Every time that
I went to see her, she’d ask me if I was still writing, if I was teaching. I
would always tell her yes, and she would just brusquely say “good,” as if that was
the only thing that mattered.
But my Nana
had been sick for a long time and the past two years have been heart-breakingly
difficult for all of us. In a lot of ways as I get ready for her funeral this
afternoon, it’s like I’m mourning the loss of her for a second time. I’ve sewn
imaginary curtains with her in the hospital room and whispered names under my
breath so she could remember them and not be embarrassed. I’ve gone and sat
with her and laughed while she told me about how handsome Eric Dance is and then
proceeded to blush when he came on the screen, and I remember bringing her a huge
bouquet of blue and gray flowers and then her yelling at me for spending money
and shoving a ten back in my pocket.
Whether
it was at the hospital, the house, the nursing home, or the hospice, I always
tried to tell her how beautiful she was and how much I loved her because I
never knew when the last time I would see her would be. She would blow me
kisses and then kick my ass in rummy, because no matter what stage of Alzheimer’s
she had, that woman could play cards and she was fierce.
We did
have one conversation that I’ll never forget though, and it was in the hospital
after her first fall. I was holding her hand while they were putting a catheter
in and she looked at me and said “Stephanie, I’m so sorry you have to watch
your grandmother die,” and my heart just broke in half.
I tried my
best not to openly weep, and I held her hand and told her that I loved her and
that there was no place I would rather be than next to her, that she spent her
whole life taking care of me and now it was my turn to hold her when she was
scared and love her like she’s always loved me.
And then
she smiled with tears in her eyes.
Me and Nana, Christmas, 2014 |
Nana,
I will never, ever forget that
moment, and I wouldn’t trade a single moment that we spent together, good or
bad, sick or healthy. I know that you’re going to look beautiful today and mass
is going to be gorgeous tomorrow. Dennis is going to cantor, and I know you
only met him twice, but he’s that handsome guy who gave me the ring you thought
was pretty, yeah? Well, he has a beautiful voice so I’m happy you’ll finally
get to hear him sing.
Mom and I are going to do the
readings and then I have something special planned for you at the cemetery. I think
it will make you smile.
Oh, and try not to clean everything
in Heaven, okay? I’m sure God has everything under control. Oh, and say hi to
great-grandma for me. I saw a picture of her yesterday and you look just like
her.
I love you so much.
See you soon.
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