Nonna.
I lost my grandmother today. Which is odd, because she actually died about five and a half months ago.
I remember when my mother called to tell me she was gone. I'd just returned from a trip to a friend's wedding up north, and it had happened the second night I was away. They didn't try to get ahold of me on my travels, because there wasn't much I could have done; certainly, there was no reason to rush home, because the memorial wasn't going to be for another week. I was shocked at first, then sad, then somewhat numb. Despite all her frailty, my Nonna was the type of old gal who seemed like she was going to live forever. My Poppa actually hoped that she'd go first, just so she'd never have to be alone, but somehow I never believed that would be the case. Until it happened.
She'd spent her last couple of years in full-time nursing care, since she had a host of health problems, and not much facility in dealing with them. She would exist on tea and toast, unless pushed to consume more. My grandfather was much more energetic and capable than she, partly because he was eight years younger, and partly because he had a different attitude towards life. Where she was delicate, he was tough. Where she was prone to sadness, he was prone to practicality. She got smaller and paler over time, while he just seemed to maintain his robust colour and unwieldy laugh. Even with all his energy, though, he couldn't handle caring for her alone. Her move was one that brought both guilt and relief to her children, but it seemed the only real choice.
Prior to her stay at the home, I'd spent quite a bit of time with her, chatting and visiting when I would come by their place every couple of weeks to do a top-to-bottom housecleaning. She'd always been a very "grandma grandma"; she would remember your birthdays, slip you candy, listen to all your stories, and praise you unequivocally. I was the only granddaughter, so my place in the firmament was lofty and precious. She believed me to be the 'smartest, prettiest thing', and even when I wasn't, I could rely on her to have more faith in me than I did in myself. Our conversations took a different tone during those later visits, though; I was an adult now, no longer a child, and she seemed to feel that it was important that she open up to me more, and share her life with me in a different way. It was strange and cool all at once, really. Her world was finding colour in my eyes, where it had been old-movie black and white before.
Her decline prior to her death was not one I dealt with well; I'd always had a hard time with watching people I loved get old. Shaking hands and graying heads were reminders of a nearing end, and I refused to go there in my head. I saw her less often in those last months than I should have, but that isn't something that can be changed now.
I wrote a poem for her funeral folder, as requested, and designed the pages we would hand out to those who came to pay their respects. My grandfather loved what I wrote, and asked me to read it at the actual service. I did as he asked, and my parents told me that my reading was the only thing that really made him sob that day. I did everything I did that week with uncommon composure; at least uncommon for me, as I was normally given to tears at moments like these. And I had a few, most notably at her graveside. I was pretty cool about everything for the most part, though. I felt sad, but not incapacitated; I simply accepted her end, and went on with my life.
During the months that followed her death, I came into possession of a few things that belonged to her: a couple of pearl necklaces, an emerald ring, and a bagful of her old bottles of perfume and talcum powder. My mother thought of me when she was clearing away all the cosmetic acoutrements, since I'm a rather girly-girl, and could add her things to my shelves and shelves of lotions and potions. Yardley ' English Lavender', Elizabeth Arden 'Blue Grass', and Violet water were her scents of choice. None of them really suited my tastes, but the packaging was kitschy and fun, so I crowded them in next to my Demeter and Annick Goutal.
And that was that. Christmas had its emotional moments, as did their wedding anniversary in December. My grandfather found it hard to believe she was really gone, most of the time, and when he would remember, he would go silent and sad. My parents would make him laugh about her memory again, at times like those, dredging up stories of her quirks and oddities until he smiled and told stories of his own. That was their way of dealing with it, but I didn't need to cope. I was fine.
This morning, I was in a rush, having slept in past my alarm. I'd wanted to get to work early to get a few things done, but that opportunity had slipped away with a few hits of the snooze button. Now I was pressed for time, and rushing around like the proverbial headless chicken. My clumsy grab for my Angel perfume brought chaos to the bathroom, as a couple of the bottles around it headed rapidly for the floor. Nothing broke but the top of a tiny bottle of Violet Water, shaped like a wee cottage. I think my parents had gotten it for my Nonna years ago, while on vacation in Oregon. The familar smell filled the air, making me blink rapidly, as though the fragrance were passing through my eyes and filling up my head.
And then it happened.
I don't remember exactly what I did, or exactly how it began, but I was weeping before I knew it. A thousand thoughts rushed in on me like an awful wave. It was her, telling me about wanting to please her mother, and not feeling like she'd managed it all the time. It was her, telling me about hurts she'd experienced over the years that were still a part of her heart at 84. It was her, telling me how beautiful I was, and saying that she didn't understand why any boy would want to break my heart; I was her granddaughter, after all....I was a catch. It was her, sad-eyed as she watched my parents grieve a difficult time in their lives. It was her, holding my Poppa's hand, as they walked out the front door of their church. It was her, so old, so small, in a picture I took a month before she died, surrounded by my family, but not me. I held the camera, I kept my distance. And I had, for months.
I went to the mantel, where I'd kept the funeral folder I'd designed. I wanted to read the poem I'd written again, so that I could recover my nostalgic reserve. But it wasn't there, and I remembered I'd put it away a couple weeks previous. I tried to find it on my computer, where I'd done the template, but I'd deleted it to recover the drive space shortly after I'd made it. Who does that? I thought. Who gets rid of these things? Finally, I found something; the picture I'd taken was still in a file on my C drive, and I opened it up. There she was. I got later and later for work, sitting there, staring at her face.
When I finally went to finish getting ready, something in me had changed, just like that. Suddenly, I was without a grandmother. Not in the way I had been, accepting the well-wishes of her old friends, and of my friends, smiling with the right amount of sadness. Now I was hurt, and feeling left behind.
Today, I miss my Nonna. Today, I miss the way she'd say, "Shalom!" in a funny voice when we argued. Today, I miss the strange sweatsuits she wore, with flowers and kittens emblazoned in unnatural pinks. Today, I miss her wrinkled hands, playing old hymns on her electric organ, before she stopped trying because they shook too much. Today, I miss the way she'd chuckle at all my stories of lost love, but never offer useless advice. Today, I miss her wonky penmanship on birthday cards and housecleaning paycheques, and the "X's and "o"s after 'Poppa and Nonna' on everything she'd ever sent me. I even miss the way she dropped everything she ate half on the floor, and half on her shirt.
She was not perfect, and her life was not one that always took a steady path. She felt sorry for herself now and then; sometimes justifiably so. But she loved me well.
She will never watch me walk down the aisle, or hold my babies in her arms, and sometimes I wonder if all the things she'd wished for me are ever going to come true. But I had something that a lot of my betrothed and child-laden friends missed out on: I had a sweet grandmother, and though she is gone now, she has finally taken up a permanent place in the part of my heart reserved for the love that brings both quiet pain, and gentle joy.
I love you, Nonna, and I'm sorry it took me so long to cry for you, the way I should have from the beginning.
12:15:54 AM 
|
|
