A Trip for Nana

Looking out of the windshield on edge like a soldier scouring the field for danger in battle, I grasped the steering wheel hard. White knuckle tight, I knew one thing and one thing only: we are getting to this goddamn hotel tonight in one piece, come hell or high water.

Anxiety does strange things to people. We did, indeed, make it to the hotel in one piece - although, it wasn’t exactly in a functional ‘in one piece’ kinda way. After getting the kids to sleep around 10:30pm, I darted from point A to point B, furiously rushing to get everything ready for the long trip ahead to Ohio the next morning. By 11:30pm, everything was done and I quite literally fell into bed.

Winding down from the anxious frenzy I’d whipped myself into proved difficult. Reading generally helps me unwind from a long day, but that night it wasn’t doing anything at all. Finally, I put down what I was reading and forced my eyes closed, hoping my imagination would fill the space in my mind currently occupied with ‘have to get done’s’ and ‘what ifs’ and ‘did I remember that?’s. Sheer physical exhaustion put me out like a light almost instantly. Then, it happened.

First I remember vaguely waking, in a state of not really alertness but not really asleep-ness - in the seemingly never-ending purgatory, the slipstream between consciousness and dreams. Thump, thump, thump. Whoosh! ‘What is that?’ I think in this dreamy daze. Then the thumps become stronger, more rythmic, and definitely more urgent. The thumps transition to staccato pounds. BAP BAP BAP BAP! Back to back, rapid & terrifying. The only other thought I had in the black nothingness was, ‘Am I dying?’

Suddenly, my body shoots up simultaneously as my eyelids retract. I’m breathing heavy, instantaneously freaked out by the truth of my consciousness and churning thudding of my heart. My chest hurts. Can I breathe? What in the hell is happening? Am I awake? I’m definitely awake.

“Wake up!” I whisper urgently to my husband, but not before I had a chance to whip out my pulse oximeter. The readings were worrisome: 99% oxygen, which is normal, but a heart rate of 148 beats per minute. Instantly I’m filled with dread and my old enemy, panic. 148 beats? Am I having a heart attack? Am I dying? I can’t be dying. If I’m dying I’m going to be pissed!

About this time, my husband briefly wakes and reassures me that it’s likely a panic attack. (No one could blame him about being semi-conscious - it was 1:30am after all.) No, it isn’t. I’m insistent and terrified. He reassures me again that it’s likely nocturnal panic. I can’t let it go. Everything in my body is raising the alarm, every hair is standing on end. I. Am. Not. Just. Panicked. Within a few minutes I was able to get my heart rate into a more tolerable and normal range. Folks, I was relieved but also very pissed off to find out that I was just panicked. After an hour of reading, I was able to once again fall asleep.

And then it happened again. Again! Needless to say, it was a rough night and I got a total of four hours of what some might call sleep, only with one eye open. After that experience (I rarely have nocturnal panic attacks), I desperately wanted to turn around. We were supposed to be visiting family in Indiana and I just wanted to give up. Cancel. Check out and get back home, back to my puppy and the comfort of familiarity. One thing held me back; Nana.

For those of you who’ve been avid readers, you’re familiar with Nana. Nana is my ninety-one-year-old grandmother who has shaped a significant part of my being. There is nothing Nana wanted more this year than to see her panic-stricken granddaughter and her great-grands. Reminiscing on all the indescribable good times I’ve had with Nana, I immediately knew without a doubt that I couldn’t turn the car around. This trip was going to be hard and stressful and exciting and exhausting, but it was also going to be a sweet, reunion filled with love and delight: a trip for Nana. I drove from Syracuse to Cincinnati that morning on four hours of sleep and had a good time doing it knowing that the next day one of the first people I would see was darling Nana.

When we walked into my cousins house, everything was familiar yet I didn’t know exactly what to expect. Something felt distinctly different. Though the passage of time through her welcoming abode seemed to remain at a standstill, time was evident in every other facet of the visit. The kids, mine and hers, had all grown significantly. People who were once children were now almost young adults. Even my kids have grown over six inches since we’d been back last May. Time had slightly changed each of our faces, molding us into more comfortably aged people. Though much had changed, several things stayed the same. The way my cousin moved in her home, in her own comfort zone remained. The way she moves with care in her intentions to shower those whom she loves with affection through acts of service was stronger than ever. Something about the way she loves, the way she laughs puts us all at ease. Not to mention, she can’t help but taste all of the absolutely too-many desserts she makes, which always puts a smile on my face. It’s the quirks of each person that I love, the eccentricities of their being that I most treasure. In the midst of riding these persistent waves of change comes the settling of uncertainty, and at the end of the journey is Nana.

Nana looked exactly the same, down to her wirey, wavy hair, terrible posture, and impeccable sass. As our eyes met I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her happier to see my face.

“Hi hon!” she exclaims excitedly, reaching up toward me for a hug. She’s the only person to ever consistently call me ‘hon’ aside from her deceased husband, Charles.

“Hi, Nana!” I respond in kind. God, I’ve missed this woman.

I sit next to her, reeling with feelings. The moment of anticipation has come and it’s…complicated. Immense joy washes over me for the intense love I feel for this fragile, fiery lady. Yet, the pure joy overwhelming my body collides repeatedly with an intense fear. Fear of the changes in her memory, of the reality of degradation over time. Unaffected by the subtle changes in her appearance, I’m fixated instead on her health. She’s faring well, but I know that probability is not in our favor. Foreboding joy slowly crept in, robbing me of staying present at times. This may be the last time you ever see her. The nagging thought lingers in the back of my mind every time I see her, and has for at least ten years. In the moment I catch myself drifting away into the dread of tomorrow and gently redirect my attention to the present.

By now Nana has grasped both of my hands as we sit side-by-side on the couch. She insists on holding them both between her own. Funnily enough, they fit perfectly amongst all of her bony knuckles, as I notoriously have freakishly small hands; the hands of a child. As the moments went by, I was able to tune into the present moment. I felt, really felt her hands. I would plant one of mine atop hers and she would move her hand to once again place both of mine into her own. It dawned upon me quickly that this was a pivotal moment, an important snapshot in time. I never recall Nana holding my hands in this manner. Though Nana loved me unconditionally, she rarely showed any sort of physical affection aside from a good-bye hug. Sitting there, with my hands in hers, I soaked in the significance of her loving gesture.

Not only were my hands wrapped up in hers with her rubbing them gently, but she was staring into my eyes with a softness I’ve never known from her. Everything about this moment was delicate and magical and tragic. The skin on her hands was chilly, but soft and delicate, thin like tissue paper. Splotched with brown sun spots and freckles, I should only be as lucky at ninety to be able to warmly hold the hands of my loved ones in utter awe. Something within me suddenly recognized her in all of her being. All of the inner inhibition, the external societal expectations of what a lady should embody fell away from her in that moment. Nana never, ever shuns an opportunity to be proper, to maintain a certain controlled facade, but in these few minutes she let it all go. The slow glow I’ve always seen burning underneath her fear of being seen unleashed onto me as the sun rising on a new day. I saw her. Not the woman she’s always allowed us to see, but all of the rest of her, the I Am of her being-ness. The warmth, kindness, love, and utter joy once stifled by worry permeated the air around us and we both somehow felt so held by the universe.

As she stroked the top of my hands gingerly I leaned into the truth of everything. Yes, Nana will die. Yes, there will be a one last time. Yes, it might have been those wonderful, awful three days. Yes, it will be difficult. Heartbreaking. Shattering. Full of grief. A darkness will fall across my heart. Yet, she will go with me knowing that she showed herself to me in all of her love and also knowing that I loved her every moment, from the day I was born to the end of existence. From her gifting me my love of coffee from a young age (8 months) to teaching me how to play a variety of card games, to showing me a real example of a dignified, strong, independent woman, Nana has made her mark on my spirit now through the end of forever. And nothing can take that from me. No one can take Nana away from the bosom of my heart, not even the reaper.

The moment of pure holiness between us lasted for several minutes but eventually faded, as everything does. I saw glimpses of her sharp and timeless humor in-between the frequent bouts of forgetfulness. As this memory faded, I wanted to hold on, to remember her forever this way. Now I know that I always will. Now I know that I don’t have to choke the life out of each ounce of joy in order to preserve the feeling. On the contrary, letting go when it’s time opens us up to so much more joy. When the day comes and she’s returned to our astral home, my heart will once again be a war zone. Yet as the day is done and morning comes, I shall revisit the memory of the warmth in her spirit and the love in her hands as I meet her once again, this time as the sunrise.

I never had another panic attack during the entire trip.