Nana

How do you say goodbye to the last person who belongs to you? How do you take care of all the things she left behind? How do you get through something you said you probably couldn't do? You take it one step at a time.

Opening boxes of treasures from the past creates imaginative thoughts of how they were worn, when they were bought, and who saw them first. Costume jewelry that was only a few dollars are now far more than that. Looking up china values for beautiful china sets creates a crazy number, and then to know there are TWO sets, makes my head spin. I was left all these items because I loved her. And I still love her.

She was tricky, the hospice nurse said 24 to 36 hours left and Nana said well, lets make it four. Her eyes were open for a minute, then closed, a look of peace and serenity upon her face, One more moment of open eyes and then her last exhale. I miss her so. I didn't cry right at first, and I haven't yet. Its almost been a week and I have started to go through things and put values on them and one afternoon has made my head swim. Three thousand dollars worth of bone china, and that is just the place settings. Vintage statues, antique typewriters, sewing machines, steamer trunks full of long forgotten treasures. Jewelry so old, I couldn't even imagine the person who wore it, let alone when it was created. Art and so many little figurines from world travels, money from each stop of the ship. Furs, who wears fur nowadays, well there are two of those too. Many boxes have yet to be opened and I feel so overwhelmed at the thought of what might be next. Shoehorns with advertising on the, fifteen dollars value! Anchor bottle openers, old milk bottle openers, straight razors, first "new" safety razors, watches, bric-a-brack, so much I had to stop. Looking for makers marks on each item tiny writing that says who made them. So many rosaries my head spins, and who knows how old some of them are. Crucifixes that scare me. I have never been fond of Jesus on a stick, items so holy and revered I have no idea what to do with them. So many things. What a collection of life.

I would so much rather have HER than all this stuff, but it does give me a glimpse of the Nana before me. Her younger days. Smiling photographs, love letters from her husband while he was at war. How can I just throw them in the trash?  I can't, but where do they go? Her grandchildren have not been a part of her life in the last fifteen years except for holidays and when they weren't too busy. seems these past 15 years they have been rather busy, and after her son, my husband, died I can count on one hand how many visits were made by them. Now that she has passed on, graduated from this life they will come. Vultures looking for the kill. I want this, that should be mine, how do I look at them without contempt and anger? Why should they get a piece of her that they didn't care about in life? Why am I so angry that they didn't come? 96 years of living, and she didn't see her grandchildren often. At first it was her husband, He wanted this and wanted that, and it didn't include sharing her with them. Then when she needed them in her life they were grown and not willing to repair the hurt of yesterdays. It wasn't her fault, she gave what she could when she could, but an overbearing husband with love only for her, made her life difficult. I was blessed to have so much of her in my life, daily for the past seven years. through the good and the bad. This was my gift from her, the stories, the laughter, and then the tears and loss of her. I knew this day would come, I just thought it wouldn't happen. Funny, things are never quite what they seem.

The house is quiet now, very quiet. No shuffle of feet in the wee hours to the bathroom, No coughs or toss or turns in her bed. No Thursday outing to the hair salon, or lunch after. The routine had become mundane, but now I miss it with all my heart. Seeing her in her hometown, reliving her joy through the twinkling of her eyes. She didn't speak much these latter years, but you could see the stories in her eyes.