Part 1 of 2, Nana

My mom's mom went by the name "Nana" for her grandchildren and it's a term I will always hold dear in my heart, for who she was, and for the impact she had on me while she was alive.

We spent summers living at Nana and Pop's house, allowing mom to work fulltime in another state, get a mental break and cut down on the cost of daycare. It was an awesome win-win. We knew our grandparents in ways too few grandchildren do. There was many a day of just hanging, living life and enjoying things. I can't tell you how many memories surround Godzilla black and whites, bowls of cherry jello, snacks of celery, playing with my summer friends, crafts at the local playground, roller skates (you know the clip on your shoes kind!), catching fireflies... those were great days and nights. As you can imagine, spending that much time with your Nana can lead to some wonderful memories and friendships, at least it was true for me.

Over the years we became more and more friends, I'm very lucky for that transition. She inspired me in her later years for taking a different approach to people who "weren't white", she lost a lot of her attitude and tone that was so common, all too common to her generation, that alone was pretty awesome to watch. She gave me faith that people can change if they really feel the need, desire or wish.

The years passed, our lives diverged, cross paths only to diverge and cross again. I've never forgotten our talks, the times I drove her crazy (and vice versa) and the times I felt so lucky to be spending summers there and I'm glad my mom felt comfortable with it.

As she aged, Pop, her husband did too. (more about him in Part 2 though) In time, he passed away and she was alone for the first time in many decades, perhaps in her whole life. She changed a lot those years and it was great to watch though I'm sure it was lonely too at times. Then Alzheimer's came along and robbed her of all she was and all she had become. She slowly drifted away behind 'the mask'.

My last memory of the real person behind the mask in her final years was near the end of her life, close to the last time I saw her. She'd been in the nursing home for years, she started out in an assisted living suite, surrounded by all the comforts of home, her bed, furniture, pictures, but with help at the touch of a button. I don't remember how long she stayed there, but sadly not long enough, she went quickly downhill as Alzheimer's took so much of her, her smile, her laughter, her essence.

She moved into the more 'clinical' nursing home, still bright, but hospital beds, roommates, nursing bells going off, you know the drill if you've been to any hospital. I'm not sure what came first, the loss of her will to live or the move to the other side of the facility. But it happened fast.

I visited her every few months, driving up 6 hours Fridays, home on Sundays, staying in hotels. I watched her slip slowly away into the darkness of Alzheimer's, so cruel in it's final form.

And one day, one day I will never forget, I saw the real Nana, it was nearly a year after she stopped recognizing me. In fact, by that point my mom was the last person she knew, I was "Joann", my Aunt Joann in fact. We were chatting, like two strangers at a bus stop, passing the time in pleasantries. And all of a sudden, the look on her face changed, it was incredible and I saw Nana, for the last time.

She said "L, we need to go shopping to get you some new jeans, these have holes in them, don't you have nicer jeans?".

Oh I smiled a big smile, it was her, her face, her voice, her hint of a shopping trip!

And in an instant she was gone. But that sentence, that moment, that look on her face, I love that I always had that last glimpse of her and I love that I had it while she picked on my clothes as it was something she would do on my trips home during my college years!

In the end, Alzheimer's robbed all of us of her, the good, the bad, the ugly, the awesome. But Alzheimer's also made sure I had forever etched in my mind my last "moment" with her. If I can find and scan a decent picture of her/us or pop I will.

I still miss her.