I think it’s best to begin this blog with an end…
My Grandmother, my Nanny, left this earth on angel’s wings around 10pm on New Years Eve. She was a glorious 91 years old. The world lost a lady, a true lady full of Irish spirit, dry humor, and wisdom unimaginable – and my Grandfather got to see his wife again just in time to share that precious New Years kiss we all treasure at midnight.
There is so much I remember about her, but each individual memory has inside of it all the little gems and treasures that define my Nanny. She was a woman that believed in hankies, white gloves, coasters, and serving dishes. She was never unpolished, never at her best, even when it was clear to see how hard of an effort that was some days. She remembered birthdays, anniversaries, and special occasions, and thank-you notes were promptly written after receiving a gift. She and my Gramp, well, to me, they defined love, marriage, family and tradition. They raised 7 children and were married 52 years until my Gramp died in 1997. They were a solid, a constant, and to me Nanny&Gramp was one word.
My Grandmother was never one that wanted people to make a fuss about her. As she aged and her health failed her little by little, she was uncomfortable depending on others to help her with her meds, do her shopping, drive her to church. She was a fiercely independent woman and took great pride in that. As the last breath left her body and her heart beat for the last time, our city was in the midst of two back to back blizzards on a night where most people are drinking champagne, dancing and dreaming of what the New Year has in store for them. I laugh to myself thinking is this the way she wanted it? Was she thinking everyone’s attention would be focused on the events of the day, and not the journey she was about to take? Laugh because she couldn’t have been more wrong. Time stopped for me, New Years Eve became utterly unimportant, and the 5 foot snow drift blocking my car and the swirling wind outside seemed like a small obstacle to overcome. Needless to say, I did not make it over to her house, and with my mother and my uncle holding her hands, she left this earth to join her two True Loves – God and my Grandfather.
In the days that followed, family gathered, fighting the elements to travel to a town buried in snow. I worried about my mother, my Nanny’s first born. My mother (and my father for that matter) over the last handful of years was the one that attended to my Nanny daily, doing more for her than I could possibly list. How was she going to get through this? How could she possibly go on? My mother amazed me. I watched her over the course of the week, as the prayer service, funeral and burial took place and my heart swelled with pride and admiration as to what a strong and courageous woman she is. I watched her greet my Grandmothers friends and family with a warm smile, a firm handshake or sincere hug. I felt her warm embrace more than once as I wept for my loss, forgetting for the moment that she had lost her Mommy. In the face of unimaginable loss, my mother was the support, not the one being supported. I have never been more proud of my mother, and proud to be her daughter than at that time.
But with that crept closer a fear that has always lingered in the back of my mind, in the deepest parts of my heart – how, oh God how, am I going to do this someday? I am the eldest of 4, the only daughter, and how I am I going to do what my mother just accomplished with such grace and strength? I feared that I would let her down, not live up to what she did. How am I going to have the strength to say goodbye to my parents someday? Everyone knows that death is eminent – you are born, you live, you die – but for me it didn’t become real that my parents could ACTUALLY DIE until I had to say goodbye to the last of my Grandparents. To live in a world without my parents seems impossible to me, and to entertain that thought hurts me to the core of my soul.
In the weeks that followed, my mother and her siblings began the task of going through and distributing Nanny’s belongings. Again, being amazingly organized and independent, she had already named many things to go to certain people. As I entered my Grandmother’s house for the last time, I felt like a trespasser. I have never been in her house without her in it, never opened a cupboard, drawer, or closet without her permission. It felt utterly disrespectful and wrong. I sat on her bed with my mother and we went through her jewelry. My mother pulled out a small box and placed it in my hand. “Nanny wanted you to have this”, and opened it. Inside was her Mothers ring, a ring that holds the birthstones of all 7 of her children. A ring I had seen my whole life, like it was one with my Grandmother. I couldn’t touch it at first, like it was made of fire as I sobbed to my mother, “I can’t possibly wear this, this is not mine”. Gingerly I picked it up like it the most delicate of all things on earth and placed it on my finger. It fit perfectly, and I wept.
My mother and I went through several pieces of jewelry, caressing them and remembering the history behind them. After a while I placed my hand on top of my mothers, exhaled and began to tell her my fears. “Mom, how am I going to do this someday? How am I going to do this for you? For Dad? I don’t think I can… I hope I don’t let you down, I pray to God I am strong like you. I watched you, and you were amazing – I hope I am amazing for you.”
And you know what? She said to me what I have said to more people than I can count when they ask me how do what I do – how do I have a child with Autism – she said to me,
“YOU JUST DO.”
…You do what you do because that is what God asks of you, it is what you do because you love.
I am the daughter of an incredible woman, who is the daughter of an incredible woman, and will live up to the standards they have set, for it is what I do….
