Big Nana

My great-grandmother passed away Saturday night at the age of 101. She would have been 102 in March.

It's an odd feeling. There is some sadness of course, since she was part of my life. There is concern for my grandmother, who is taking care of so much (though she seemed well when I spoke with her.) There is awe that someone I'm related to lived for so long. There is no anger, no despair, no doubt, as there can be when we lose someone too early.

There is happiness, for my great grandmother, who had been ready to go for a long, long while.

I've been thinking about if and what I should write about her. I'm still not sure.

There are things...

She was a tough old Sicilian broad. Since both of my grandparents were "Nana", my mother's grandmother (who died when I was 8) was "Great-Nana", and this woman was "Big Nana." I still think that's a little funny. She seemed to like it.

She had three daughters, two of whom are still with us, and one autistic son. He died not long ago, at the nursing home where both of them lived when she became to old to take care of him any longer. When I was younger I thought he was a lot like Rain Man - he was different yes, but could do 2,000 piece jigsaw puzzles faster than I could even imagine. Keep in mind, he was born in the 1930s, when it was expected that a "different" child would be sent away to be brought up by strangers in a group home. Big Nana cared for him until the day he died. In fact, when he passed away, I remember hearing that she had decided she was done too. Her job was done. She was ready. Apparently, the world wasn't quite as ready yet, because she held on a few more years.

She and my great-grandfather were both from the same village in Sicily. They didn't know each other there, but both came to America as children and met later on in the Boston area. I'm not sure how or where they met, but Boston was even smaller back then, so surely all the immigrant families knew each other. I'll have to ask my grandmother for the full story.

When I was little, we'd go over to her apartment quite often. She lived in a complex with a lot of other elderly people, not quite assisted living, but not far off. EVERY TIME we'd go, she'd pull out one of those tins of Copenhagen butter cookies. We'd eat until we were stuffed, or until my parents made us stop. Those tins are my biggest association when it comes to Big Nana. She wasn't huge on affection, but if other people were eating those cookies, she'd make sure she saved at least one of the sugary pretzel-shaped ones for me because they were (and still are) my favorite.

She lived through the flu epidemic, and remembered looking out the window, watching carts bring the sick and the dead up and down the streets of Boston. She was alive for the Molasses Flood, the Triangle Factory Fire , Prohibition. Theodore Roosevelt was President when she was born. Barack Obama had just been elected President when she died.

She was raising kids in the Great Depression.

She was alive for the beginning & end of 5 wars: WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and Persian Gulf. (I wish I could say the current conflict had ended in her lifetime as well.)

She was old enough in 1918 to remember the Red Sox winning their 5th World Series. She was still around when, 86 years later, they won their 6th.

She could be a little mean sometimes. (I don't think she thought she was being mean.)

She used to call me (even in April, even in August) to make sure I was wearing a sweater so I wouldn't catch a cold. I used to crack up as soon as I hung up the phone.

When she was turning 97 or 98 she asked for cake and ice cream. She had been diabetic for years and wanted to go out in style. She ate the cake and ice cream, and some cookies. She was fine. Didn't even get a little sick. And she was pissed, because she realized she could have been eating that stuff for years. I still think that's hilarious.

When I went to her 100th Birthday party, which was scheduled at 3pm, I walked in at 3:05pm because I had to run back and grab her birthday card. She couldn't see me very well, but remembered me when I told her who I was. Her first words after "Who's this?" were "You're late." I think my response was: "So you can't see me but you can see the clock?!" I don't think she got my sense of humor.

None of this is who she was... I certainly didn't fully know her. We don't realize until after someone is gone that we have only a partial grasp of who they really were, what they really thought of us and of the world, what they loved and feared.

You just have to hope they knew you loved them, anyway.

I'm happy that you're finally where you want to be, Big Nana.

Thanks for all the cookies.