Skip to main content

Nana

Nana was my father's mother. She lived for 101 years and breathed her last yesterday. 

My best memories of her are from my childhood. We would visit every summer, at the height of the heat. The house had no air conditioning, only a few fans that tried their best to provide a little breeze. The days were lazy for us, fishing in the creek, climbing into the treehouse, swinging on the front porch, listening to the adults tell stories after dinner while playing poker. She was always busy, shelling beans, cooking, taking care of the chickens and the garden. She was very frugal and lived very simply. I think some of that frugalness made its way to me. At least I would like to think so.

Last night, after receiving the news, I wandered into my bedroom, where I have a collage of pictures of her and my grandfather and my dad. There is one where my grandparents are on the verge of a kiss. As I lingered over that picture, tears welled up, for I could picture Papa, greeting her in Heaven, just that way. He was a romantic, she was more serious and down-to-earth. They loved to go square dancing. I loved seeing her all decked out in the fancy dresses and him looking dapper in his nice suit. In my mind, I can see them on the dance floor, together again. I wish with all my heart that I could join my family to say good-bye, but that does not seem to be in the cards for me. This little post is my way of saying how much I loved her, admired her, and will miss her.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord.


Nana and my father, probably 1945.

Comments

  1. I'm so sorry for your loss, Jenny. I know how special she was to you. What a long and rich life she had! I love the photo of her and your grandpa - so sweet!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Door Table

Once there was a store in Georgia. It is no more, but how I wish it was. I likened going in there to treasure hunting. One never knew what was going to be in there, and you had to dig through and wade through all the "other people's treasures" to find your own. I once found a set of blue and white teacups and saucers from England. I found lace handkerchiefs, a rocking chair, and an end table. But by far the best find was my kitchen table. I had stopped by one day while the kids were taking horseback lessons and the then little ones were asleep. The store was not open, but I went up to the window to see if anything new was there. And it was there. The table. And six chairs too! We were in need of a bigger table with Jack on the way. My mom had offered to give us her old one, which I was going to accept if I didn't find something I liked better. I didn't want anyone else to even see the table because I knew it was supposed to be ours, but one can never tell abo...

Walking a New Path

 Well now. It has been quite a while, hasn't it?  I have kept silent about my struggles for the past four years, mainly because I was in the midst of something that I never imagined could happen to our family. And it wasn't just my story. It still is not.  A friend once told me I am an external processor, and I suppose she is right. I find that saying things out loud help me find the answer, if there is one. There was no good answer, as it turns out. And so, I am sad to say, that I am now divorced. A single mother, navigating a life I never imagined.  But there are some things that haven't changed. My faith, for one. I know that God is with me on this journey and that He is way smarter and wiser than I could ever be. He has held me close as I wept and grieved the end of my marriage. He held my hand as I packed up what would fit in a moving truck and drove our belongings to a new home. He has led me to new jobs and I can only trust that all will be well if only I cont...

Fog and faith

 I stepped out into the coolness of the November morning to start the car and defog the windows, preparing to take Jack to school. Daylight had yet to appear. As we drove the many miles, the sky lightened, and we could see the mist hanging out just above the grass. We usually listen to a story together on our drive, adding commentary, exchanging a knowing glance or a shocked expression as the twists and turns unfold. I relish this time with Jack. I know that all too soon he will be preparing to leave the nest, like his sisters before him.  On the drive back, I pull my rosary from my purse and pray. By this time, the sun is just about to appear, making the sky a beautiful orange-pink on the horizon. I am pondering much as I pray, for the path I am on is once again rocky and uncertain. Such is life, whether we have faith or not. Faith makes it bearable. For the most part, the road home is a straight shot and I can see the ribbon of road laid out before me, narrowing in the dista...