A Birthday to Never Forget

A crooked smile adorns her face the way a crow parading as a dove would - lacking grace and sincerity, but not for lack of trying, yet still beautiful in its own right. I always laugh when I see her awkward forced grimace because my grandmother, Nana, has always been anything but awkward or forced, regardless of the fact that her pathetic attempt at a smile might suggest otherwise. Good Lord! I think to myself, just as my mother would exclaim, can somebody make her laugh genuinely for photos from now on? A sentiment that might be less necessary by the day, for Nana just turned ninety-one. The gruesome and grief-filled truth is that there won't be many more opportunities for laughter I'm afraid.

Our family gathered around her in a midwestern O'Charley's restaurant for a nice, low-key celebration. The only exceptions in attendance were myself and my family, and my mother who had covid. It's times like these where I question whether living a thousand miles away is still worth the heartache of missing the ones I love.

Imagination aids me in mending the longing. I envision Nana sitting, joking, and eating some kind of chocolaty dessert. She's a growing young lady, you know.

I remember back to when I was turning thirty, and every year since then she's said to me, 'You know, I was twenty-nine at every birthday for about twenty years.' In her case, it was mildly believable. In my case, I looked forty at thirty. That's the gift of post traumatic stress - cortisol, fat, and wrinkles. Nana though, she radiated - and still radiates - beauty and poise in every space she enters. It amuses me endlessly that even in her fifties she was still claiming to be twenty-nine. Her attitude about it is simple - why not? The deciding factor in her finally turning a little older than thirty was my birth. At fifty-eight she reckoned that she couldn't be, at the ripe age of twenty-nine, a retiree and grandmother. That was stretching the truth just a little too much for her liking.

Ninety-one years is a feat, a legacy any of us should be grateful to achieve. Yet she makes it all seem so easy. Eat, sleep, and be merry. That's her day-to-day life. Quite simply, Nana is the ultimate living legend.

Reflecting on her life and my memories of her, my favorites are always of her embodying her tenacity, wit, gumption, and faux pas. When Nana was five, she learned to never lie. Her mother, Evelyn, sent her to the chicken coop to retrieve eggs. Born on the heels of the Great Depression and growing up in the makings of World War II, Nana was the product of a mighty kind woman and what Nana describes as a 'nothing' father. "Not good, not bad, just nothing," she'd say. Anyway, as her tiny hands are collecting eggs, she drops a few and they splat against the hard ground. She brings the eggs back to her mother and her mother asks her point blank, "Did you crack any eggs?" And Nana always says the same thing: "I thought about it, you know. And I knew, I knew it was a lie but I just couldn't bring myself to say otherwise." Nana would go on to tell her mother that she did not crack any eggs and she got a very rare whipping. Afterward, she decided lying was no longer an option. "I thought, well I am never doing that again." Nana has always been a pretty level headed and decisive woman. Once she decides she wants something, she finds a way to bring it into fruition regardless of the difficulties in her path; a quality I envy.

Another of my favorite of Nana's memories is the time she built an outhouse at thirteen. According to her, there was only a hole in the ground out back that everyone used when they needed to relieve themselves. Growing tired of the lack of comfort (and likely the implications, socially) she walked several miles to an abandoned school house in the middle of nowhere. There she managed to disassemble an abandoned toilet and stall still in good condition, and carry its pieces home. She worked for hours until the toilet was complete with ample privacy from the remnants of the stall. Tenacity, gumption, and independence. That is Nana.

Delving into her childhood through the lens of her own perspective is fascinating enough, but examining her mid-life brings me a whole new insight into her being. A tough and traumatic marriage beginning at seventeen and ending with his death at fifty-eight, five children (two of which tragically passed away), her going to college at forty to begin a whole new chapter, and her facing the emotional ramifications of her past on a long train-ride to Montana, all while maintaining her authenticity and integrity. Nana has never been a sweet, affectionate person but she's been the realest woman I think I've ever known.

Today I honor her with a deep-dive into the memories, into my own foray of feelings about her which have shaped me in numerous and invaluable ways. Growing up, I knew Nana wasn't necessarily going to be the one to swoop me up and kiss my skinned knees. She'd be more likely to tell me I was okay and to walk it off - but she'd take me to lunch afterward. Full bellies equate to love in her eyes. The gift of abundance is the way she shows her affection. Through the years I've been gifted I don't know how many wonderful trinkets and meals. As a teenager, I knew she was one of the few people I could really count on to show up for me. Subsequently, I started to recognize that she was one of the few who also really loved and adored me. I felt truly cherished by her. The lessons and the love she's given me are some of the most profound of my life. But more than anything, the emotions she's imparted and the laughs we've shared mean the most.

A tinge of sadness slowly consumes the joy I feel for her getting another year older. At first I thought it was upset on her behalf to be aging, but I began to observe that she wasn't upset much at all. Any excuse to eat and celebrate and she's quite thrilled. Rather, it is me who harbors this daunting fog of sadness which permeates my heart. Yes of course we are blessed by her presence with each pressing moment, but aren't we also one step closer to her imminent loss? Are we not one step closer to loosing our laughter and our joy forever?

The truth is, I've never lost someone I was so close to. She's already started to deteriorate - ninety-one is a long time for a body. She forgets that she's asked me once, twice, maybe three times. At times she goes blank, like she's not sure if any of this is really real or not. That's been difficult enough, but to actually lose her, to bid her adieu for the last time? I don't know how I'll do it but life reminds me that I will because I must. Worlds collide as the land of the stars and the infinite unknown come together to bring each one of us home. Not only is there nothing I can do about it, but I have an assigned seat on the same cosmic bus leaving not long after hers departs.

Thankfully, one important lesson I've learned is that nothing can be lost. Energy is energy no matter what shape it takes or where it goes. Moreover, love is enduring. Love is in every molecule around us and within us. The delicate breath of life resides in the plants, animals, and stardust. The care infused into the ingenuity and evolution of the unfolding of every species on earth carries with it a great brilliance, a profound love. Most notably, as cliche as it might seem, Nana will remain with me wherever I go. I carry her with me now, even as she still lives and breathes within her insular little world, surrounded by the cornfields of a small farm town in southern Indiana. Naught will be lost, but I will still grieve. She remains and still I am sometimes poignant. Part of me knows that this is the nature of life. And still, I find it impossible to let go.

Happy birthday, Nana! I love you more and more each day. I'm so immensely full of gratitude for your journey and the ninety-one years you've been a blessing to this place.