So Many Memories



We buried my Nana on Tuesday.  That afternoon I showered, put a little make up on my face, and dressed myself in black.  I made sure that Abby looked appropriate for the occasion and provided my mother-in-law with a few last minute instructions for caring for my youngest three for a few hours.  Marc and I headed to a cemetary that I have not been to in quite some time and I got the chance to see a handful of relatives that I have not laid eyes on since the last wedding or funeral.  Marc socialized with my brother and brother-in-law.  Abby got the chance to meet my mother's co-workers.  I smiled when I needed to and gave hugs when it was expected. 

Reality never set in though, until we were all standing graveside and I looked at Nana's casket suspended above it's final resting place beside that of my Papa.  Then it hit me.  Not the sadness of her leaving.  Not the guilt of not being able to spend the time that I should of in her final years.  I actually felt a sense of joy.  Since the death of my grandfather, I have watched this woman sink into the depths of despair over the loss of her best friend.  She was never the same after his death and her strength began to fade further after selling her home and moving into the nursing home that she spent many of her last years residing in.  It is no fault of those who have diligently cared for her.  Her lonliness cut much deeper than that.  No amount of weekend or evening visits from loved ones could cure it.  No amount of invitations to birthday parties or family barbeques could fix it.  Not even her favorite sweet treats could repair the damage that had been done.  We all watched her fade away before our eyes over the last 14 years, which was far more heartbreaking than standing at her grave.  As the minister spoke, I pictured my grandparents finally holding hands again.  I pictured her at heaven's gates, smiling from ear to ear, completely blissful.  I pictured her finally freed from the confines of heart disease and depression and a fragile body.  I knew that she was finally happy again and my heart was overjoyed.



So the way that I choose to remember my grandparents...not the frail man dying of cancer, nor the fragile woman confined to her room in the nursing home...but rather...

*  Evenings taking orders on old diner notepads where there were things like Howard Johnson's mac and cheese, Stouffer's tuna noodle casserole, and escaloped chicken were on the menu.

*  Tents built out of a card table and an old comforter, complete with fold up trays for dinner and the Lawrence Welk Show on the television.

*  Yard sales, lemonade stands, neighborhood plays, and playing in the birdbath

*  Aprons, rubbers for shoes, Howdy Doody's light, and the button jar on the attic stairs

*  Glass jars with cheese its and cookies on the counter and pudding and jello on the bottom shelf of the frige

*  Making the "we're awake" call on Christmas morning.

*  Trips to the local parks to collect cans, followed by a trip to the local recycling plant to cash them in.

*  Hour trips to the store, because we'd lose Pop frequently as he found dozens of "old friends" to converse with in each aisle.

*  Walking up the street daily over each summer vacation to spend time chatting with them about everything from WWII to religion to the boy I liked in school.

*  The world stopping when Guiding Light came on each week day.

*  Pop sitting in his corner rocking chair reading the Bible.

*  Cloth brimmed hats of many different colors and tiny transistor radios.

*  Pulling out the blue couch to make a bed during sleepovers.

*  The cushioned toilet seat, the basement table piled high with yard sale "stuff", and Pop's workshop

So many memories.  So many things to share with my own children.  We went to see Nana and Pop today.  My children laid a bouquet of daisys, lilies, and pink carnations on the stone and we talked about what it must be like to live in Heaven like they now do.  It was a wonderful start to our day.