One year tomorrow will be the last day that I heard her strong voice, not her only voice, but her strong voice. One year tomorrow will be the last day that I spoke normal words to her, celebrated with her, and heard her cry.
I grew up in a world where extended family was as important as your immediate. My cousins were my first best friends, and my aunt and uncles were the next step after Mom and Dad. My one grandmother lived with me for years, and my other grandparents were a part of my everyday being. While I wasn't as lucky as my cousins to have them live across the street, we were together many summer days, every holiday, and their beliefs were a part of our very soul thanks to my father and mother. I was often reminded of the importance of family - "Family comes first" - "We might fight, but we don't let anyone fight with us - you always defend your brother and/or sister". And, in all honesty, my family lived by that motto. On more than one occasion Frankie and I would be battling each other, and then fighting whomever chimed into defend us. On more than on occasion I was competing with my cousin, and then be playing together moments later - and now she is a person I admire and aspire to be. Actually, I often look at her and see one of the closest versions of Nana - her intelligence, compassion, faith, inquisitiveness... She was lucky enough to spend hands-on years with Nana, and she is the closest replica of her that I know.
Saying goodbye to my grandpa was devastating. And I did what every emotionally immature, devastated, person does. I pulled away. I visited often while he was sick, rubbed his legs, sat with him in the sun, said goodbye, and only returned to the house twice after his passing. I wasn't as good as my cousins, whom repeatedly returned to show Nana support. I would offer to swing by and take her to the cemetery or the grocery store... I would call and check-in, or drive her to the lake. But I couldn't sit in the house because Grandpa wasn't sitting on the chair. And so I was selfish, let my own comfort stand in the way of further developing my relationship with Nana. Somewhere, deep in my heart though, I am reminded of my favorite part of my family - that no matter how far or close we are geographically/socially/emotionally - we are always reminded that we come first, our family & our love.
And so it was August 7th of last year that I called Nana from summer school to tell her that I was engaged. Her voice sang through the other side of the line, as excited as I, and giggling in a way that she did only when she was at her giddiest. "Oh, Nic, he's a good man... He's a good man." I instantly felt comforted, as if she knew a secret, and could see a bit of my future that was only known to her and her faith. Years ago I had promised myself that when I went wedding dress shopping I would bring Nana with me, even though her vision was almost completely gone, because I knew that she would love that moment. So, as I listened to her voice, I envisioned me in "The Dress" and her sitting beside me touching the dress to have the best understanding. My bridal shower flashed into my head, with her sitting their nodding her head and happy with all of the great gifts I would receive. I pictured ordering her corsage, and watching her biggest smile - the smile she saved when she was happiest with and for her grandchildren. We ended our celebratory conversation with her final words, "Make it be soon, Nic.... Make it be soon."
It's funny how easy it can be to brush off someone's words, and how quickly they can come back to bite you in the ass. It never occurred to me then that she knew something that we didn't. It didn't occur to me that she was, in fact, living in pain or feeling unhealthy in any capacity. It didn't occur to me those words would be the final time I would HER voice. It was only a matter of days before she was in the hospital, with the 24 hour care from her children she deserved. And while she had coherent moments with her children, and many grandchildren, I was never privy for those moments - I believe that was her last gift to me. She left me with the gift of remembering our last words - that our last words were celebrating the most exciting moment of my life. She left me with reassurance, excitement, and trust.
In true form, she was still giving me gifts in her final days...
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**This post was started a couple of weeks ago, and finished today. 1 year and 1 day since she has passed. Nana, I'm so glad that you have taken the journey to be back with Grandpa. I can't think of a couple whom deserve to be together more than the two of you. Missing you everyday. Love, Nicole
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