Now I don’t usually get too personal around here, mostly because everyone has their OWN shit to deal with, and I know you come here because it’s a place that you don’t *have* to deal with that shit. You can come here and just LAUGH.
Hey, I’m pleased with that!
In fact, it’s the reason I created this blog in the first place. Buuuut, (and there’s always a “buuuut”) tonight, I wanted to share with you a piece of MY life….
A picture I took a few years ago. It’s of my “Little One” and my “Nana”. The oldest and the youngest members of my family. A generational gap spread so vast, it spans nearly a century, and yet, the connection it conveys so simply, is timeless.
The moment is endearing because it’s universal. You can switch the clothing, the setting, the time and place, but as long as the relationship is there…that primal acknowledgement that adheres to the basics of blood lineage, genetics, and instinctual, familial belonging to, the characters will forever be the same.
My Nana died today.
She was two months shy of 98.
She was, as many others of her time, a refugee of her country and an immigrant to this one.
She endured two World Wars, the death of her parents, siblings, husband, and a child of her own.
She wet nursed in “The Old Country” so as to prevent other mothers from enduring the same tragedy…whether she knew them or not.
With a needle and thread, she was a genius.
From shirts for US soldiers crafted with the scraps of parachutes, to sliver satin mini-dresses stitched from scratch for my Go-Go dancing Mom in the 60’s, to intricate and lacy area rugs designed so effortlessly for the floors of MY dollhouse, she could do ANYTHING.
To me, she was EVERYTHING.
She was the bringer of ice-cream and blackberry brandy when my throat was sore. She made delicate clothes for my Cabbage Patch Kid, grew gooseberries and raspberries in her Brooklyn back yard, and could butcher and prepare a goose if she had to. Her heart was big, but her hands were bigger.
She believed animals should be kept outside but gave me milk in saucers to feed them anyway.
She cut my bangs too short, loved tennis, Benny Hill, and Sha Na Na.
She took care of me when I had the chicken-pox with the pink crackling Calamine Lotion and lots of leg rubs…
I could go on and on, but I won’t. I don’t have to.
I know many of you have lost loved ones and in that respect, I know I’m not unique. Now that she’s gone however; I realize that her strength and sacrifice was and IS a remarkable reason to celebrate LIFE.
Even in all her struggle and strife, she persevered. She taught my mother what was truly important, and my mother passed that down to me.
My “Big One” asked me today:
“But if life can end so fast, and you lose everyone you love, what is the point of living???”
I kissed her and hugged her so fucking hard I thought my heart would explode…either that, or I’d break her ribs. When I finally let her go, she looked at me with welled eyes and a quivering smile.
“The point of living,” I told her “is for moments just. like. these..”
Rest in peace Nania, I love you so much.