It's a weird time of year for me. The month of February that is. While it is filled with excitement because my "baby" will be turning 11 on Valentines day, it's also a month filled with sadness.
19 years ago, Valentine's day was the last time that I saw my Nana alive. She had been in the hospital for a few weeks, I went and visited her a few times, and the last time I did was on Valentine's day. I was very selfish back then. Had I known that would be the last time I would see her, I would have gone to the hospital everyday. She passed 12 days later. How is it that in 12 days, I couldn't get myself to the hospital to see her. It still pains me to this day. 19 years have passed. I can't believe it. It seems and feels like just yesterday. I loved my Nana so much. She was a huge part of who I am. She loved me unconditionally. I loved to sit with her on the front porch and just have chats with her. I loved being in her living room, with her in her chair in the corner of the room, watching her programs. We watched the Golden Girls together (is it any wonder why I am still a HUGE fan of that show... it reminds me of her)
I remember all too clearly the day that my Nana passed. I was a freshman in college. I was on the bus on the way home from school, the bus took me by the funeral home. I saw my mothers car parked there, but I dismissed it. But I knew. I knew that something had happened. Nana was going in for a procedure that morning. She joked and laughed up til the end. The nurses said she was telling jokes as they wheeled her in to the OR. Then her heart gave out. She knew it was coming. I remember my mother telling me that one night while visiting her, she said out of the blue I want to wear the dress I wore to Laurie's wedding. That was it. It was that simple. She knew the end was near for her. She picked out what she would wear to her eternal resting place. She had managed to have all of her family come and visit her and then it was her time to go. I remember that bus ride past the funeral home, it felt like slow motion. I knew what had happened, but I pretended that I didn't see what I had. I was walking down the street to my house with my friend Karen. We were going to hang out after school and then I was going to drive her home.
I walked up the stairs and in to the house, knowing that something was going on in there. My sister was on the phone with my Uncle. She was crying. My mom's friend Pat was there. I remember just starting to cry. Because I knew. No one had to actually say the words. I just knew. I remember having to drive Karen home. I was numb. My sister and I went to get our other sister who was in middle school dismissed.
It was a difficult day to say the least. It's hard to watch as your parents who are supposed to be your rock, crumble. I know that women are supposed to cry and do cry. But not men. That was the first day I saw my father cry. It was hard to see that. Here was this big strong hulking man, to watch him crumble. To mourn my beloved Nana, she wasn't even his mother, but he loved her and he knew how much pain it caused my mother to lose her mother. It was tough.
A year later my mom suffered a heart attack. A year and a day later. A year and a day after her mother had passed. It was a snowy snowy winter. I can remember my father taking the train in to see my mom. He left the hospital (after my mom threw him out and told him to head home because it was a blizzard, and he was too stubborn to stay overnight) took the train home, couldn't get a bus so he walked the few miles in a blizzard to come home. I remember being at the top of the street and seeing him walking down the street with a towel over his face. A towel he took from the hospital.
It's hard to see your parents endure pain. They are supposed to be the strong ones. I can clearly also remember the day my Uncle died from a drug overdose. My cousin found him in the bathroom with a needle still in his arm. I remember that phone call. Uncle Tommy died. Uncle Tommy use to be on top of the world. He was so handsome and seemed to have it all. I remember he had a nice car, beautiful girlfriend. He was so full of life and love. And then he got in to drugs. And fell down that rabbit hole. He went to jail, he got "clean". My father gave him a job when he got out of jail, he tried to help him, but the drugs were too much. They were too seductive. My dad eventually had to fire him because he almost killed another employee and he couldn't take that chance. Uncle Tommy died shortly after that. My father took on this guilt that maybe he could have tried harder, done something differently.
I remember clearly being at the wake. After everyone had left, my father lingered a little bit. He sat with his head in his hands and cried. Cried for the brother he couldn't save. My father was the mighty, he was the protector. He was the one that was responsible and always tried his hardest to give his all. It still haunts me, the image of my big strong father sitting there in the funeral home, head in hands, weeping. I heard him saying he was sorry he didn't do more, that he should have done more. This image kills me to this day. My Uncle passed in March '97. It's amazing how things stay with you.
So as you can see the February/March timeframe is a hard time for me. While there are good things, my son being born for one, it has always been filled with a lot of pain and sorrow. It tends to stand as a time of reflection for me.
To close this post, I say to my Nana, I miss you everyday. I know you are in Heaven watching over me. I know you can see the woman I have become and "know" my children, but I still feel cheated not having you here with me. I wish that you could know my kids and they could know you. You were truly a special lady.
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