samedi, mars 01, 2008
knowing is the easy part
It would have been my grandmother's birthday last week - her 90th. At the time of her 89th birthday last year, my brother Kris was visiting with her. We knew her health was deteriorating, so some of us made an effort to get back to New Brunswick for a visit. I went in May, and although it was a long drive (with a cat!), I'm glad I made the trip.
Nana was already preparing for her own departure over her final few months and made a point of giving away some of her possessions as we visited. She gave me an afghan she'd knitted. And you know, for several months after I visited, I had a note on my calendar "send thank-you note to Nana R". I'm so bad for that kind of thing, though, and I never did.
I didn't know my grandmother terribly well as an adult, but have lots of random childhood memories and have heard plenty of stories, and I really respect the person that she was. It kinda seems like she never sat around feeling sorry for herself or complaining about anything; she just made the best of things and just lived. Whatever that gene is, I hope I have it.
Recently, on a night when I went to sleep feeling troubled, I had a dream about her. In the dream I was repeating my visit with her, only this time I knew it was the last time I'd see her. But she's so alive, I remember thinking - how can she be gone so quickly? Because that's how it was when I visited - she mentioned that she was having some pain, so my father, the dutiful son, went out to the store to grab some painkillers for her. When he got back and buzzed to be let in, she jumped up and got to the intercom so quickly, I was almost surprised. This is a woman who spent many of her last years hardly being able to see; I was incredibly impressed with her agility and sure-footedness. She was still so vibrant, six months before her death. I believe that the spirits of the dead communicate with the living by visiting us in our dreams sometimes, so I've tried to take something from my dream of our visit. I guess she was telling me, live; be fearless. | ¶ 11:59 p.m.
It would have been my grandmother's birthday last week - her 90th. At the time of her 89th birthday last year, my brother Kris was visiting with her. We knew her health was deteriorating, so some of us made an effort to get back to New Brunswick for a visit. I went in May, and although it was a long drive (with a cat!), I'm glad I made the trip.
Nana was already preparing for her own departure over her final few months and made a point of giving away some of her possessions as we visited. She gave me an afghan she'd knitted. And you know, for several months after I visited, I had a note on my calendar "send thank-you note to Nana R". I'm so bad for that kind of thing, though, and I never did.
I didn't know my grandmother terribly well as an adult, but have lots of random childhood memories and have heard plenty of stories, and I really respect the person that she was. It kinda seems like she never sat around feeling sorry for herself or complaining about anything; she just made the best of things and just lived. Whatever that gene is, I hope I have it.
Recently, on a night when I went to sleep feeling troubled, I had a dream about her. In the dream I was repeating my visit with her, only this time I knew it was the last time I'd see her. But she's so alive, I remember thinking - how can she be gone so quickly? Because that's how it was when I visited - she mentioned that she was having some pain, so my father, the dutiful son, went out to the store to grab some painkillers for her. When he got back and buzzed to be let in, she jumped up and got to the intercom so quickly, I was almost surprised. This is a woman who spent many of her last years hardly being able to see; I was incredibly impressed with her agility and sure-footedness. She was still so vibrant, six months before her death. I believe that the spirits of the dead communicate with the living by visiting us in our dreams sometimes, so I've tried to take something from my dream of our visit. I guess she was telling me, live; be fearless. | ¶ 11:59 p.m.
