time

We were all so excited because my mom was coming for a visit. "Nonny is coming!" Echoed throughout the house long before Christmas. As I warned the children that their Christmas presents hadn't arrived in time through the mail, Madelyn replied "that is okay, I will wait to open all of my presents until Nonny gets here." Then urgently, she asked after being reminded that Santa left his presents unwrapped and she might not have any to unwrap but would at least have one, "would you go downstairs and wrap up my Santa present so that I won't see it? Then I can open it with Nonny here." Oh, the sweet love. Pure. Gentle. True. It will forever be one of my favorite Christmas memories that a 7 year old would wait, even ask to wait for her presents until her grandmother arrived.

Finally, the day arrived for my mother to board the plane and start her journey to visit us. We would pick her up the following evening. Grandchildren were gleeful, excited, making "to-do-with-nonny" lists. 8 sheets of paper were taped together and a multi-colored sign created. Last minute preparations for Angelina's baptism were being made. Flowers were being bought. Photo's were being planned. Lives were changing. Nonny would be here soon.

Along this journey, somewhere, things started changing. My phone went dead. Things were getting stressful here as I tried to finish unpacking the last few boxes left to really "move in." I wanted things to be perfect, but messes were being made instead. Grandparents come all this way to visit granchildren and things should be perfect! I recognize that my mother loves me and wants to visit me, but that she really can't wait to see her grandbabies and to start spoiling them. I think to myself "I can't wait to be a grandparent!" as I am trying to motivate my children to clean their playroom. My husband's phone rang. It was my father and he asked for me. My own grandmother died. My Nana...

I was born on her birthday. She always said that I was the best present my mother could have given her. I grew up my whole life knowing this to be true. It rang in her voice with power and gravity when she spoke it...no matter how she said it. There were no doubts about the love she felt for me. She was definitely biased in my favor. I lived a charmed life when I was around her...even as an adult. I really could do no wrong in her eyes most of the time. She always showed people my pictures, she was always so proud of me. You know those moments in life where you wonder if you have amounted to anything? You wonder if you have made a difference in life? When I was around her, it felt like the answers to those questions were a great, brilliant and grand YES! Because she believed it so strongly...how could the answer be anything else? When I was around her, I was always pretty, always good, always dear and witty and smart and funny. It was a bit unfair to the rest of the world. I often felt embarrassed by this, knowing that in anyone else's eyes these things were clearly NOT true...but in hers they were and nobody could tell her otherwise. She loved me better than most grandmothers...she loved me like a Nana. This love would spread to my own children, who while misbehaving, she would giggle hysterically sometimes until tears fell. They too, could do no wrong. She wasn't all peaches and cream though. She was a survivor, spunky, bold, brazen, and brave. I recall her sitting in her seat on the sofa telling us in the lamplight about how she desperately needed the job of the phone operator but was too short. Operators had to be able to reach a lot of switches on a huge board, but she felt she could still do it. So she put on a pair of the highest heels possible and got that job! She was a fabulous storyteller. In her later years, she would have a stroke, leaving her unable to lead as full of a life and diminishing her zest quite a bit. This phase of her life came with many challenges.

As I sat thinking about her stubborness and fierce love that applied to so many areas of her life - her love of hummingbirds is evidence of that as every inch of her house seems to have one somewhere - we got another phone call. This time it was the airline telling us that my mother had arrived early. I wiped the tears, tried to straighten my makeup and we took off. I didn't have the time to prepare that I would have liked before having to see my mother and to tell her that her mother had passed away. I waited until we got home and asked her to sit down. She immediately asked if something was wrong. I said "yes, Nana died." I watched as she processed this information. She didn't really process it. I did it all wrong though. It came out...not comforting...or caring...just completely wrong and abrupt. About as abrupt as Nana's life had ended. I wish I could have done it gentler...I wish I could have said something poignant. I just didn't want her to think it was one of her own children. It just popped out of my mouth like that. I almost vomited due to being sick at my ineptitude of letting her know. I'm sad for how it happened. It should have been better.

We agreed not to tell the girls until after Angelina's baptism. The baptism was beautiful. We eventually had to tell the girls because this meant Nonny, their grandmother, would be leaving sooner than expected. The next day, in fact. They cried. My heart broke some more. I think I did a better job of sharing the news of Nana's death this time around. I had some time to think about it and some experience to pull from with my previous stumble.

The problem I see with all of this is that I could have used some more time with my Nana. More time when she felt good and wanted to share. More time to be adored. So, David and I did the best we could to keep my mom here as long as we could...mostly out of my own selfish desires for my children to be able to spend time with her. We failed on that point as well. All of the flights were booked solid. At one point the solution was to just send us all back with her so she could continue to spend time with her grandchildren...but after a giant fiasco, that didn't happen either.

Instead, this morning I watched my mother walk into the airport alone. I felt so helpless knowing that it would be better to ride back with her, but being unable to get a seat on the flight. I'm sure there were seats available. I feel certain of it...if only the would have at least put me on standby. But they wouldn't...and now she has to make a long journey home alone.

I don't even know if I can get a flight for just me at this point.

I am angry and sad and completely broken hearted. I've never lost anyone this close to me before. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to handle this. Perhaps I should be less tearful...more robotic...it just hurts in my heart. It hurts mostly that I won't be able to make it back.

She was my Nana.

I hate airlines. Especially Qatar Airways. When I have the energy I will write them a letter, I will hand deliver it to the highest paid person I can find and I will say "shame on you!"

Shame...I wonder if my Nana is now able to see me for what I really am, or if she still thinks of me the same way she did while she was on earth. I wonder if she realizes the impact she had on my life alone. I remember running down an alleyway to her house from mine. I remember running up steps. I remember being asked if I wanted a cheese sandwich. I remember spending the night and sleeping in her bed and smelling her night regiment. I remember dancing like an elephant in a circle to a record. I remember her flowers and plants. I remember her pecan pie. I remember the callouses on her heels. I remember her soft hair. I remember her playing the peg game. I remember her urgent "oh" as a baby bobbled onto it's side. I remember skin so soft lip balm. I remember her soft, soft hands. I remember her fussing. I remember her pride in her hummingbirds. I remember the hummingbird in the freezer. I remember her tidy closet. I remember pink dove soap. I remember a bruise that she got from falling on a cliff edge. I remember how her wedding ring fit her finger...exactly where it sat. I remember her pretty age spots and her delicate little nose. I remember her fever blisters. I remember her wicked sense of humor. I remember Snowball. I remember her wanting details from the fair. I remember sitting on the "hump" of the leather seats wedged between Nana and Pawpaw on trips into the country to get bread. I remember perfect pancakes. I remember 'cloud' pudding. I remember her aversion to being photographed. I remember how happy she was to have a great grandchild. I remember how tenderhearted she was and how she took other peoples bad news and plights so personally - even those she didn't know. I remember how she cried. I remember how she looked when she was in the hospital. I remember how much she loved David. So many memories are flooding back...mostly, I remember how she loved.

How much time before I forget all that I just remembered?

My Nana was beautiful.