(This is a rough draft... Spelling errors and whatnot included.) Can't believe it's been a year... Miss you Nanny.
The Last Time
November is a unique month. As the steamy August air turns into stinging cold nose-drip weather and the leaves shrivel up and die, families are warming up by cooking together and sharing stories. My November wasn't one to be envied. Quite frankly, my November sucked. I guess I shouldn't call it “my” November. “Her” November sounds better-- Nanny's, that is.
Nanny had a mouth that could tear down the ego of an entire army. In her words “She didn't have a problem telling you where the dog died.”, and it was true. If I felt like I was getting fat, I wouldn't tell Mom or Dad. I went to my Nanny. She would tell me. As a result, she pushed a lot of people away. Not me. Her blunt ax-like opinion was just what I needed.
The end of October was the lowest valley of my what was at the time 19 year-long life. My fiance Doug and I had stopped talking. I was miserable. The 20 pounds of muscle and fat I lost was replaced with 50 pounds of advice, pressure, and grief. “You're too young!”, “Live a little first!”, “Go to France like you've always wanted!”, “Twenty years down the road you're going to look back and regret this! I know I do!” These words were the apple stuffed inside my mouth and people-pleasing mentality was the string that bound my hooves together. I was a dumb and immobile pig on a stick, plumped up with the sour juices of opinion. One person who knew me better than I thought I new myself. One person told me how it was. That person was Nanny.
In early November, Nanny had been in and out of the hospital with congestive heart failure, a hole in her lungs, and a whole list of other problems I can't even remember. Finally she got sent home with the help of the sweet little grim reapers in green scrubs, otherwise known the American people as Hospice. Hospice is a death wish. I knew that. My parents knew that. We informed my sister, Shawna about it. Grampy didn't really talk about it. He did his normal thing-- went to the gym, went to Market Basket at least twice a day, and doted on his oversized Pomeranian. He knew his love of 42 years was on her way to checking out, but Grampy doesn't talk about much. Mom would make the trip to Haverill at least once a day to clean the apartment and take care of Nanny. “Isn't it hard for you to give your own mother a bath?” The once extraordinarily independent red-head said to my mom. “No.” Mom would say back to her with her quiet and sweet smile,“It's just like washing a car to me.” Nanny laughed so hard she couldn't breath. There were a lot of moments like this toward the end. We could make Nanny laugh so hard we'd have to turn up her oxygen. We sneaked her Big Macs and her favorite iced coffee from Dunkin's--a large iced ,extra extra light, with three Sweet'N'Lows. (She'll never know it was really decaf.) We caused trouble at the hospital-- joking with her nurses and writing silly things on her white board. I never would have thought a hospital could be such a fun place.
I was attending school in Durham and frequently made the treck down to Haverill to spend time with her. I'd also call her on my way down to school every day and share with her what I read in the Bible. We talked about it. She gave me her life experience and I gave her mine. We grew even closer in those last few weeks, if that's possible.
The last time I spent with her was a gift from God. By gift, I mean the God of Heaven who knows that without Him I'm incomplete, gave me something that would simply make me happy. I learned a meatloaf recipe, and I thought “Hey, old people like meatloaf, don't they?” I told Nanny and Grampy about it, and they were so excited. “I haven't had a good meatloaf in forevah!” they said to me in their thick Boston accents. It was a plan: That Friday I was going to make them dinner and take it down to their little assisted living apartment in Haverill. I made the meatloaf, never having been so excited about a loaf of meat, made potatoes to go with it, packed it up, and we were on our way.
The ride there was something I really needed. After all the stress I had been feeling with school and life, I needed to let go and be a kid again. So, my sister and I revised every song we heard on the radio to be about meatloaf. The songs came out great. We thought they were hilarious anyway. We arrived and brought the warm meal up the stairs and into their little corner apartment. Excited, we all ate the meal. My grampy ended up choking on it. I, already having a horrible fear of people choking, was terrified. Seeing the look on his face made me want to jump out a window. Thankfully he got it out and all was peaceful again.
Shawna and I sat on their blue couch which was complete with a Thomas Kinkade throw and matching pillows, nanny sat on her usual chair in the corner, and grampy right across from her. We all got to talking and ended up watching my parent's 21 year-old wedding video. Grampy got up and popped it into the VCR, we all sat impatiently while the tape rewound waiting to see Mom and Dad get married. Mom, practically a little girl, walked down the aisle on the arms of my spunky, gray-afro'ed Grampy. There was olive-skinned Dad, skinny and handsome as ever in his navy uniform, waiting like a nervous boy for my beautiful mom. The look on Dad's face when he saw my mom was something I can't forget. I remember thinking in the back of my mind “That's the way Doug looks at me.” But, given the circumstances, I pushed it even further back.
The tape went on to the reception. Nanny, a five-foot-ten-inch red-head wearing a long black beaded dress with a matching black bird-cage hat was doing the jitter-bug with Grampy, the cute, George Jefferson-like man. To see both of them so much younger and so able-bodied was incredible. Nanny, who is sitting across from me with swollen ankles in her lofty brown recliner was the same Nanny doing the jitter-bug on my grandparents 36-inch Sony television. It was surreal.
“Wow!” I said. “Look how young you all are!” I said, awe-struck and trying not to relate this video to Doug in any way.
“Mirn,” (She always called me Mirn),“I'm going to tell you something.” Nanny proclaimed with an empty ketchup-smudged plate on her lap.
“Listen. Just frickin' marry Doug, have babies, eat a meal, and join the rest of us fat-asses!”
I laughed. This was such a “Nanny” thing to say. She was always nagging me about not eating because I was sad. I will never forget that quote.
Grampy and Shawna played with the plump Pomeranian named Brady while Me and Nanny looked through piles of those old lady nick-knack magazines. We both share a love for sunflowers We collect sunflower anything. So, we spent at least an hour rummaging through these trying to find anything sunflower. I had a moment. While I was staring at her rose-bush-tattooed left hand that was so familiar to me at the time, I realized that this night was just like the old days when I would sleep over Nanny and Grampy's.
It was getting late and they were both tired. Me and Shawna hated to leave, but it was time to go. We packed up our things and headed out the door. I gave Grampy a big hug and kiss on his scruffy cheek that always smells like aftershave. I slowly moved on to Nanny, almost like I was savoring but didn't know it at the time. I put my hands on her thick, red hair that I've always been envious of, and gave her a kiss on her cheek. The specific smell of menthol and her perfume stained my nose. Shawna followed after me.
“Bye Nanny, love you.” I said walking out the door.
“I love you Miss Me-Ernie. Aren't they beautiful Mopa?”
Her voice trailed off into the distance as we made our way down the hallway.
