I always wondered what it would be like, how would it happen, when it would happen, would I be hysterical, scared, could I handle it.
I often wondered.
I often worried.
Nanny and I have always been very close. My Mother was young and unmarried when she had me. I was brought home from the hospital to Nanny's house and I always stayed with her, rather than daycare, when my Mother worked.
It took seven years before any other grandkids came along, so I had her all to myself for quite a while.
Even as I grew older, and after we eventually moved out, I spent many weekends at Nanny's house. She bought us "matching cookbooks" and we'd spend time baking, talking, and simply hanging out together.
|This was one of the books she bought us written by a Grandmother/Granddaughter team.|
At various times in my life, we moved back in at Nanny's house and lived with her.
She was always the one I could talk to about faith, about family, about charity, about helping others, about the simple, but important things in life.
Nanny was my center.
Mother always said I was more like Nanny than her.
I'm so very thankful for the influence she had throughout my life, even now more than ever.
And after carrying that fear of losing her, for all those years, now I know.
I know how it happened.
I know it happened on a Friday evening, after a long dreary day of labored, mechanical breathing, in a cancer filled body that seemed unwilling to let her go.
I know I was on the couch awaking from a foggy nap when I got the call and rushed over to her house with my shoes in my hand.
I know I was very sad and weeping, but not hysterical, and we moved about the business of doing what needed to be done, while feeling a sense of great relief that her body had finally released her.
I know our family gathered around her, through hugs and tears, as we waited some hours before the hospice nurse arrived and confirmed, in the sweetest voice I've ever heard,
"She is resting."
I know that later, two handsome young men, wearing crisp black suits, gently placed her small frame under a deep purple brocade, before carrying her out in the damp night air, leaving a single red rose on her pillow.
And I know I watched that long black car drive ever so slowly across the property,
and down the driveway, and up the hill,
with red taillights fading into the darkness of a precious summer night.