New * Older * Me
Profile * Notes * Book
Rings * Reviews
Friday Five * Writings
Web design and photo © Heavenly Ginger,
here because of Diaryland
Brush from this site

We Have Brains Collab

< ? diary of a feminist ! >
< ? blogs by women # >
< # Blogging Bitches ? >

<< # Bitch Club ? >>

100 Books Club

I love you nanny, 2007-01-18, 9:47 p.m.


When I was a child I lived near my grandparents. For several years, we lived in the other side of their duplex on a circle. We had the same white picket fence with just a row of pickets between our two yards.

When I was a child I had a second home at my grandparents house. My grandmother was my caregiver and the days that I did not go to daycare I went to her house and she took care of me. I kissed her first every day, which my poppy used to tease me about. When I was a child I would go to my grandparents house for lunch sometimes. My grandmother always had a bottomless pot of kraft dinner and fresh homemade bread. When you'd visit at meal time they'd give you way too much and then, when you were finished that, give you the same and more again. Poppy would barbeque and Nanny would cook and it was all yummy.

When I was a teen we moved. I visited a few times but it was never the same. Our house was sold and started to change a little. Over the years, our house changed a lot. The little changes added up and it became somewhere that was not my house. Little things became big things and now when I visit as an adult I donít recognise the house that I spent so much time in.

When, as an adult I returned, my grandparentsí house did not change. For the most part. Nanny and Poppy greeted D. and I with open arms, a place to stay and a meal or two to tide us over until our next meal. The furniture changed but stayed the same. The food changed but stayed the same. It was nice.

Then poppy died.

I didnít make it to the funeral. Patrick was only three weeks old and I couldnít travel. I did visit when Patrick was five months old and it was the same. Poppy was gone but Nanny made it as comforting and familiar as possible. She made more food than necessary, loved having Patrick there and made it the house of my childhood that I was visiting with my child.

Then Nanny had a heart attack.

Then Nanny was diagnosed with alzheimers.

Then we visited.

It wasnít my childhood memory. Nanny didnít stay in the house any more. And, as those with alzheimers do, she had changed many things. Things were the same but a little off. She had stored knives with crib boards. She couldnít cook any more. There was no jar of tea buns on the counter as there had been every other time because she couldnít do it any more. The childhood memory had been changed, replaced with a picture that didnít quite fit.

Then Nanny had a stroke.

I found out tonight that theyíre selling the house. Itís the right decision. Having the money to have the best care is the best thing. But itís all gone. In doing this the dream of recovery is gone. The dream of returning to the white picket fence, the bottomless kraft dinner pot and the fresh bread is a dream.

Life goes on.

I am a mother now. I no longer am the small child who runs to her grandmother and kisses her first. Who reads bible stories over and over again in the spare room. Who grew up visiting her grandparents every day and loving it. Who left and could come back to the same house and fall back into being a child, even as an adult. Who could bring her child to visit. I was breastfed in that house and I breastfed in that house. Thatís a cycle.

My nanny is alive. The memories are alive. A house is just that. A house. I am the house of the past. I am the house of the memories.

By the Dixie Chicks:

"Silent House"

These walls have eyes
Rows of photographs
And faces like mine
Who do we become
Without knowing where
We started from

It's true I'm missing you
As I stand alone in your room

Everyday that will pass you by
Every name that you won't recall
Everything that you made by hand
Everything that you know by heart

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house

One room
Two single beds
In the closet hangs
Your favorite dress
The books that you read
Are in scattered piles
Of paper shreds

Everything that you made by hand
Everything that you know by heart

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
Silent house

In the garden off the living room
A chill fills the air
And the lilies bloom

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this

And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house

Silent house


(0 comments)

<<

>>


Miss
These?
* Moving Day ** Things I know ** Where I whine about food ** Long sickness description ** Explaining *