My Nana’s birthday was the other day. The big NINE ZERO. 90. Ten short of a century. Ten more than she might’ve liked.
Early readers here will know all about my Nana and her dementia. There was a time when it was all I wrote about. But I tend not to write about the dementia stuff as much as I used to, mainly because it doesn’t make me as sad or angry as it used to.
Much of my sorrow and anger existed within my ego. Much of my perceived cruelty of the disease revolved around the question of me, the thought that Nana doesn’t remember my name or all the times that we laid in the hammock when I was a child, and she taught me how to squint my eyes and make pictures in the leaves.
On Nana’s birthday, my mother and father brought dinner to the assisted living facility where she lives. While they were there, I rang my mother, who handed the phone to Nana, who was trying Chinese food for the first time again. Rave reviews. Mom kept telling Nana to quit taking bites so that she could talk on the phone, but Nana kept taking big ol’ bites of lo mein, so I chatted with Mom while Nana finished chewing. Eventually, Mom handed Nana the phone and reminded her which end to speak into, and who exactly I was. Nana said the same thing she always says to anybody she talks to, “Well, it’s just good to hear your voice. I wish you were here to eat with us. Catch me up on everything.” Though she was empty of her wit, she was full of wonder, warmth, and lo mein, and those are good things to be full of.
I usually have a beer after I talk to Nana, but again, the sadness wasn’t there, so I went for a jog to empty the brain. The sun was warm, and the breeze was mellow. The air coming off the East River smelled cleaner than usual. On the field inside the track, the high school kids were having football practice, and the cracks of their helmets sounded like violent ticks on a clock.
When I finished my run, I walked for a while, then settled on a bench in the park. I tilted my head back and looked out into the edge of the canopy hanging over the bench. Autumn was in the wind, but the big oak leaves still held the last bits of summer. I tilted my head back further so all I could see were leaves. They wiggled and waved goodbye to each other. The light came through warm and clear, and I remembered everything. I squinted, looked deep into the leaves, and focused my sight there. In the blur of white, yellow, and green, I saw a shape.
The shape looked like this: <3
When I saw the heart, I cried. I cried, and I made it all about me. I cried, and there wasn’t a damn thing sad about it. I cried because my Nana taught me how to make pictures in the leaves when I was young. I cried because I was full of love, and love is a good thing to be full of.
Hello, world. Happy Birthday.
I really love my grandmother, too. Nanas forever.
This was beautiful Daisy!
It’s so moving and vulnerable and well-written. :)