A Tribute of Love to my Nana

Yesterday, 29th June 2005 was my Nana’s 82nd birthday. Nana is my mum’s mother and someone whom I love beyond words.

Growing up was a different question though. I remember the many times my parents would go overseas on some trip or the other & my sister & I were at the mercy of my ruthless Nana. “Ruthless”, because she was a perfectionist. You could see it in her wardrobe, perfectly matched dress, earrings, belt, shoes & bag. Any time. Every time. Even to go to a store.

You could see it in her immaculately clean house. We were never allowed to lounge on the sofas, we couldn’t even dream of putting our feet up! I was always the tomboy & inevitably ended up breaking all sorts of stuff - and dreading the outcome…

I hated Nana taking up my lessons… not because I didn’t study - but because she was so particular about my handwriting. Once she tore up an entire book because she was unhappy with my writing - I had to copy the whole year’s notes again from scratch & neatly too. (In my twelfth grade, when more than half the students in my class photocopied my speedily written & extremely neat Eco notes, I thought of my Nana.)

But even as a young girl, I knew her corrections were for my good, so somehow I loved her through it all. And there was something else that attracted me to my Nana when I was young – she would tell the greatest stories. Always the life of the party (I had heard about her wearing coconut shells & doing hula dances, though I can’t imagine that!) Nana could tell the greatest stories. I used to often make her recount to me the days she lived through, of the British “Raj”, the fancy lifestyles they had – she would tell me of daily dinners at their dining table (which seated 30), where each dish was served by a different “boy”! I would sit, dreaming as she spoke of Cessna airplanes they flew & of the fancy parties they attended.

My Nana was also a great poet & writer. People would always call her up for words to put on obituary cards and the like… and she would always make up the perfect rhyme or the perfect little verse for them.

I remember the first time I wrote a story. I was still a little girl… I took it to Nana, who read it. When she was done, she scolded me for “lying” to her – she wouldn’t believe it was I who had written it. I in turn rejoiced – surely that meant she thought it was some good?! So the routine continued; I wrote, she read, she scolded, I rejoiced.

I suppose somewhere down the line, she realized I was telling the truth. By that time however I had already formed such a bond with her that it didn’t matter that the scolding didn’t come. She was the only person I let read the stuff I wrote for many many years – writing was always personal to me & Nana was the only person I let into that world of mine. It was only when I started writing spiritual articles that I was led to share them with the world.

Nana was very spiritual & always made sure we said our Grace before & after meals, our rosary & that we went to Holy Mass as often as we could. Her deep faith was passed onto my mother (who is really more like Nana than she realizes) and from mum to me.

My Nana was also privy to another world of mine – all of the guys I liked – even if it was a little crush, would find their names deposited in Nana’s bank. They were all “Charlies” to her (I suspect the fact she was married to a Charles, had something to do with it). But I loved to know her opinion. I would even take my Charlie home to meet Nana, who would then – correctly – analyze his character (usually the minute after he’d gone!).

All my friends loved Nana, her hospitality & her humor. My college was very close to where she lived and we often found ourselves bunking class & ending up at her place, where we would get free food and lots & lots of amazingly funny stories - sometimes we laughed so hard we had to go into another room to keep our stomachs from hurting.

The years passed by and Nana & I both grew older. We always remained close and I always remembered to show her every new thing I had written and every new Charlie in my life. She would always refer to me as her “Graaaaaaand daughter”, stressing on how grand I was to her.

About five years ago, we were told my Nana had Alzheimer’s. She had become increasingly and increasingly what we thought was forgetful. Once she called my dad five times during his birthday to wish him – the last time late in the night, when she profusely apologized for not wishing him earlier.

Over the years Alzheimer’s has stolen lots of things from her. She no longer knows where she is most of the time – she spent a year at my mum’s & then another year at her sister’s, always begging to be taken home. When she finally was taken back home – she no longer recognized it. She no longer knows what day or what date it is. Worst of all, she sometimes (though mercifully not often) cannot remember the children she brought up – or the grandchildren who love her so dearly.

Alzheimer’s hasn’t stolen everything though. It hasn’t stolen her sense of humor – which still astounds people. She can’t get names – so now everyone’s a Charlie. What she lacks in memory, she makes up in humor. Her poetic touch is still as good as gold. And her spirituality is still what it used to be – you can still find the same pink rosary she’s been using forever in her hands at almost any given time (though I suspect she may be saying the first decade over & over!)

Yesterday the family gathered to celebrate her 82nd birthday. From time to time, she asked me what was going on – had I gotten engaged? And when I would shake my head, she would say “it’s high time!” or reprove me in some other way.

Finally before I left, I went to my Nana to take her blessing. She had already forgotten the party that had just gotten over. She asked me why I was dressed up – was I going out? “No Nana,” I promised her “I’m going home to sleep now”. “Don’t forget to say your night prayers then. And pray for your Mum and Dad…” I smiled. How typically Nana.

“And if you remember my name, say a prayer for me too” she ended. I was not sure she knew who I was anymore. “Of course I remember you Nana, you’re my beloved Nana” I told her.

She smiled at me… “And you’re my Graaaaaaand daughter. I love you all, you know”.

And that’s always enough for me.