Nana +5

I was planning on doing this last month on the anniversary of her death, but I think it is more appropriate now since my family is planning our annual trek to the cemetery and celebration this coming weekend.

That Friday morning in 2007 when my mother called to tell me that Nana had passed - the morning before our family was going to trek to Atlantic City to say our goodbyes - was a beautiful day in Newark, and I was getting ready to head out the door to work, preparing for the celebration to be had with her the next day (along with the tearful goodbyes), but that didn't happen.  I like to think that she decided to pass before we all got there to either a) save us the sadness; or b) have one last chuckle to herself before going out. I like to think it was a combination of both.  I skipped work and just crawled into bed; I thought about all the amazing memories I had with her and Boppy.

And, as I thought about then, and even more so now, I realize that we were all robbed of so many years of great memories because of her disease.  Yes, she was there, but her witty (or wise ass) comments, guidance, and laughter were slower and fewer between because she couldn't physically say the it.  And while her facial expression always said it, we rarely heard "Oh honey" in that very maternal, very loving, voice that only she had.  Then it became more of a heartache to see her like that - I didn't want to remember her like that.  I think that is why I didn't go see her solo as much as I should have - I was selfish, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  I needed support from others - support that she usually gave me. So, I would wait for the rest of the family, and go with them.  I have a picture of all my aunts and uncles, with Nana and Boppy, the last time we were all there the summer before she died, sitting on my bookshelf.  My living room wall is also adorned with pictures of Nana and I sitting at the table of 117 doing inventory - both with our giant adding machines and papers; walking along the boardwalk with my Kid Sister in my stroller; me and Jimmy out front of Lucy with her; walking home one Easter Sunday down Center Ave. in my mini-pea coat and saddle shoes.

One of the greatest things I learned from her is to have empathy for other people.  Not sympathy - where you "feel sorry" for them - but being able to put yourself in their shoes and "feel their pain." That is true key to compassion and love.  The other is to make decisions for you (not your husband, parents, or whomever - for you) and to back them up with logic, feelings, and truth; to stick by your guns and fight the good fight for something (or someone) you believe in; to evolve. Well, OK, there's a lot of things I learned from her.  If only we had her to impart these things on other people; somehow I don't think we are as effective.  I will say that I am very lucky to have a wonderful aunt fill in for her in times of crisis, and the last few years have certainly brought up times of crisis; I just hope I can have that impact on someone, or at least an opportunity to impart that knowledge on someone in the future, and they actually heed it.

I would have loved to have her been able to dance at Erik and Jimmy's weddings (and whatever other ones may be coming up); give a stern talking to to Keith; tell my brothers to GO READ A BOOK because they are bored; meet Little Dude; see Melissa and I finish graduate school; dance around the kitchen to Lady Gaga or Kenny Chesney or Taylor Swift or Katy Perry or anything post-TLC's "Waterfalls;" to argue politics with her some more (I am sure she is rolling over in her grave over my bleeding-heart liberal stances; but I think she would be proud of me for making logical, articulate arguments and standing up for what I believe in). I would have loved to have been able to crawl up next to her for a hug last spring and summer when my heart was breaking for so many months as I fought to make things work. Just have her hug me, then give me some inspirational kick in the ass to keep calm and carry on.  Or hear her words of strength and wisdom after that dreadful April 16th, just a few weeks after we lost her.

But, we don't have that luxury.  We do have the memories she gave us, and rely on her strength even though she isn't here.  So, even now, 5 years later, I sometimes still feel lost without her.  We must find strength in our memories of her, pick ourselves up by our bootstraps and carry on; we reach out to others; we fight for what we believe in - we fight the good fight.   And, by doing that, we keep her memory alive. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.