As soon as my sister was born, she forgot my name, but I was still her girl. Fancy lunches at the town line house, rides on the duck boats, a trip to Clinique so that I could learn to apply makeup without looking like a floozy– these are some of my favorite memories with my nana. She was not perfect– she was stubborn, impatient, feisty and she walked too fast, but it didn’t matter. She was my nana and I loved her. She was a huge part of my childhood.
What my papa died she moved to an apartment by herself with her little dog. I tried to visit her as often as I could, but I lived first in Maine and then in Maryland, so it was tricky. Many hours were spent on her couch or at the china moon where we would have deep discussions about my future. Although she met my husband and held my children, I am not sure if she ever knew her predictions came true, that I found love and a family of my own. She was instrumental in keeping me positive in my darkest day.
I have missed her these last few years, as dementia took over. I tried to visit whenever I could, but it was difficult. It has been very sad to watch her disappear into herself, to watch her become a shell of her former self. She died a week ago and her funeral was yesterday. I am relieved that her suffering is over, but I will continue to miss her, and to be sad that my children do not know her.