On a chilly day in December, 2007, my Nana set out. Off to the historical society, then to lecture in church—though she wasn’t feeling well, she knew she had to do it, because the churchgoers needed her—and finally back home. She took out the garbage, one last time, then only had a moment to take off one glove before she passed on. My beautiful Nana.
I miss her especially on days like today, when a touch of snow coats the trees and the sun is rising, painting the sky pink and pastel blue to match her eyes. And I think about how nice it would be to get a letter from her once more—her letters were so full of joy and delight in tiny details. That was how she lived her life. Nana embraced each day as an opportunity for love and life and laughter.
She would have been thrilled that we came to live in Basel, Switzerland, and sometimes I imagine the letters I would write to her about our latest adventures. It’s strange, because sometimes I see her here: in the face of the lady with the wool beret walking slowly across the Mittlebruck to savor the rushing Rhine below, in the eyes of the smartly dressed woman sitting next to me on the tram, in the delicate hands fussing with the petals of a rose in the flower shop. I see her walking with me down the cobbled alleys laughing up at the grotesque faces adorning the buildings. I hear her giggle in the trickle of the stream next to my apartment. Nana is always near me.
I miss you, Nana.
I miss her especially on days like today, when a touch of snow coats the trees and the sun is rising, painting the sky pink and pastel blue to match her eyes. And I think about how nice it would be to get a letter from her once more—her letters were so full of joy and delight in tiny details. That was how she lived her life. Nana embraced each day as an opportunity for love and life and laughter.
She would have been thrilled that we came to live in Basel, Switzerland, and sometimes I imagine the letters I would write to her about our latest adventures. It’s strange, because sometimes I see her here: in the face of the lady with the wool beret walking slowly across the Mittlebruck to savor the rushing Rhine below, in the eyes of the smartly dressed woman sitting next to me on the tram, in the delicate hands fussing with the petals of a rose in the flower shop. I see her walking with me down the cobbled alleys laughing up at the grotesque faces adorning the buildings. I hear her giggle in the trickle of the stream next to my apartment. Nana is always near me.
I miss you, Nana.
4 comments:
Grandmas are special. She's smiling right now.
Ann - You are such a beautiful writer and I also loved your Nana. I only met her a few times but we connected in many ways. I lost my Mom on 8/30 and I really understand how our memories are in so many unexpected places. Tears come so often. Your family is having a life-changing experience so enjoy it. I believe you do. Keep writing and sharing -
monaj7@windstream.net or trybusmonaj4@google.com
Kelly sent me here.
I am sorry about your grandmother. I lost two of my grandparents while they were in the midst of everyday things. It may be off, but it actually comforts me to know that they went quick and without event.
I hope the last two months have been healing for you.
If you decide to come back and blog, I'll be here because I like your writing. Good work.
Thanks, everyone!
Post a Comment