Nan...12.20.10

My Nana died... She was 93. She was the oldest living person on my mother's side of the family. I could write volumes about my Nana, and although she wouldn't think so, I think she led a very interesting life. She was 3 when women earned the right to vote, she was 12 when the great depression happened. She worked for a company that wouldn't allow married women to work, and worked for them while secretly married (quite the rebel, like me). 
She broke her arm twice in the same year, and had to teach herself to write with her other hand while healing... as a result, you could put a pen in both hands, and you couldn't tell the handwriting apart. She painted, quilted, kept a daily journal for most of her life, and was a pack rat, but in a REALLY good way. She took a lot of pictures, and wrote on the back of every one of them.


I have all of her journals, and plan on reading them. I'm hoping that I'll be able to learn even more about her, and maybe get a little insight into her relationship with my mother, which was also strained.


When my mother passed away, I called my uncle (her brother) to deliver the sad news... he told Nana, and I think she was devastated. I wanted to come see her, but she wouldn't have it- instead she wrote to me, saying we were distant relatives at best- I had not seen her since my grandfather had died 6 years prior. Over the last year, I really wanted to see her- to try and at least reconnect with her and hopefully repair some of the damage caused by my mother and their strained relationship. But I was constantly rebuffed by my uncle, telling me it wasn't a good idea. I should have gone anyway.


Nan lasted a year past my mother, then decided she was done. For a 93 year old, she was in good health. Heart , lungs, organs... all fine. She literally decided she was done living and decided to shut down.


When my Uncle called to tell me that Nan was fading, I got in the car and drove to Pittsburgh. I loved her, and wanted to tell her so, face to face. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I always new my Nana to be feisty, sharp, and full of life- the woman I saw was frail, and a shell of the woman I knew. The hospice nurses had given her morphine, and so she was in a fog when I came to her. The next day, she was really agitated, and calling for her husband and her mother. I got to talk to her a little- I told her I loved her, and thought about her often, to which she replied, "no, you don't." I said I did, despite her being her, as I loved my own mother. She calmed down, and held my hand, and I got to say all of the things I needed to say. I can honestly say it's helped me cope with her passing, knowing that I got to have some closure, which I didn't get with mom.


And I learned something else... Nana died on the same date (and almost the exact time) as my Pop. That woman had a plan, right down to the end.


I hope that wherever she is now, that she and my mother have forgiven each other. That they have regret, and love.