Today would have been my Nana’s birthday. I miss her all the time, but especially today. Today – when we would have celebrated with lobster rolls and cheesecake and she would have called me Jojo as we played scrabble or dice. Nana was scrappy and sassy and herself. She was warm without being “too sweet.” When I was growing up, Nana didn’t preach to me too much about her faith – she just lived it. She fed people and loved people and took care of all the details. She raised her own children and cared for all the strays who came through her door. She was practical and unelaborate, but most of all, she was playful! Nana was the one who suggested a picnic or a game or a fancy cake for any occasion or for no occasion at all. She loved poetry and silly stories and told jokes with a twinkle in her eye.
I was eleven when Grampie died. After that, Nana really didn’t want to be alone. Eventually my parents bought a house on the same street as her and I got to live with Nana – sleeping with her in her big bed for a year or so. It was a water bed – one of those gentle ones that didn’t move too much. That year taught me some things I had no idea I was even learning. Every night, after a game or two and “nightlunch” – what we called a late night snack, Nana and I would get ready for bed. I’d brush my teeth and climb in my side. Then Nana would come out of the bathroom in her nightie and kneel down on her side of the bed. She never told me to do the same. She never said anything about it, but I knew she was praying. Almost every night I would fall asleep before the gentle rocking of the waterbed would wake me as she climbed in. Her prayers took a long time, I thought.
As I got older and became a mother myself, I began to wonder how my amazing Nana did it all! Children and neighbours and pets and guests and picnics and fun. And I began to learn a little more about some of the hardships she had faced before I was ever born. She came from Ireland to Canada, barely more than a teenager. The new wife of a gentle and amazing man. I wonder if it was hard for her to be married to such a gentle soul. I love gentle souls – they nurture me and offer life – but when I spend much time with them, I always end up feeling aggressive and clumsy and a little too much! I wonder if Nana ever felt that way in those early years. I never knew her to be self-loathing or insecure. My Nana was securely herself – offering love to others without needing them to adore her for it.
The older I get, the more I wonder about how to be more like her!
Nana endured physical and emotional hardships too. She suffered grief, bore illness, and certainly was no saint. I wonder how she reconciled those things. How did she stay close to her God in the face of devastating loss?
That’s when my mind goes back to her lengthy bedtime prayers. I wonder what my Nana was bringing to God every night as she knelt there so long. I wonder if she held that special place in her heart all day, storing up hurts or fears or frustrations, and letting them tumble out on the carpet, beside her bed each night. Did God meet with her in her very own practical, unsensational way every night? Did she receive forgiveness and grace every night, that gave her the gentle confidence that she, herself, was enough? Was her self-assured-ness a gift straight from the Divine Presence who got down beside her, knees pressing into worn carpet, head bowed tenderly? I never asked Nana about her prayers. The impact of her life was enough for me. Her love for me sustained me through an unbearably difficult season. During a time when I felt entirely unloveable, Nana truly loved me.
Something Deeper 
Leave a comment