Nana

December 2003

It was always hard being the grandson that lived six hours and three states away – four if you count both times through Maryland. Sometimes I felt a disconnect between Nana and me, because we only saw each other twice a year. There was never a real opportunity for her to learn everything about me or for me to learn everything about her. Maybe in a way I felt like we didn’t always understand each other, because I thought we were so different, but what I realize now more than anything, is how much we were alike. And even though I didn’t always realize it, I learned a lot from Nana.

First, Nana taught me how to appreciate music. True, I didn’t always like playing piano, and I certainly felt like my seven years of lessons was six and three-quarters years too long, but I was always so proud when I could play something for her. As I got older, the stigma of being of an adolescent boy who knew how to play piano faded and my appreciation for the talent Nana encouraged me to develop increased. I realized just how happy music made Nana every time I saw the smile that surmounted her face when we played “Deck the Halls” together, after I cautiously made sure that nobody else was listening, of course. I used to wish that when Nana called, she wouldn’t ask me if I had been practicing my piano, because I didn’t want to lie, but now, I’d give anything to have her ask me one last time.

Like I do, Nana loved to write, though we both expressed such a passion in different ways. As I wrote short mysteries of the Robbie Doo Detective Agency, she had a knack for the time-honored tradition of letter writing. At every birthday, holiday, solstice, equinox, and change in the tide, I could expect a detailed letter from Nana. Such letters always made me feel like I was three hundred miles closer to Lancaster, and that even though we didn’t see each other much, I was still on her mind and in her heart. No matter how many times I forgot to write her back, Nana’s letters never stopped coming. Deep down, she must have known how much I loved getting them.

One more, and perhaps the most important thing, Nana and I had in common was our love for pictures. Each time I came to visit, Nana showed me two or three new photo albums that she had put together, complete with snippets from programs, church bulletins, and brochures. I especially loved seeing pictures of myself and my brothers growing up. If you looked through Nana’s dozens and dozens of albums, you could easily write the life story of each and every family member. Nana’s albums served to remind me, when I needed it most, that I, too, was a member of the family and that I would never be overlooked. My favorite photo albums were the ones that documented her and Poppop’s great trips across the country. Nana loved to travel, as do I, and she taught me that pictures were the best way to create lasting memories of such experiences.

I never really got to say goodbye to Nana, because the last time I saw her, she was very healthy. Maybe that’s the best way to remember her. I think if I could say one last thing to Nana, what would sum it all up is “no matter how far apart we were, I never stopped thinking about you.” When my other grandmother died four years ago, Nana stepped up in a big way, without even knowing it. She always showed interest in me and my life, and despite being so far away, I never once doubted that Nana loved me… that she loved all of us. She always will. We’ll never forget how much Nana loves us, and we won’t have to, because her legacy will never fade away. We can still read her letters over and over, we can smile at and admire her photos, and we can always sing and play Nana’s favorite songs, when no one else is listening, of course.