Nana's Pin
The Power of Grandparent Love
Sometimes when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.
~ Lamartine
For as long as I can remember, my Nana wore the same pin- every single day. It was a simple safety pin filled from end to end with tiny shoes representing each of her chicks. I cannot remember a day that she did not put that pin on, even in illness, on a bathrobe. For me, that pin would always represent love. It was, and is, a security checkpoint, signaling the knowledge that I was cherished, and the safety I could find in sight of that pin.
This December would have been my Grandmother’s 116th birthday, and she would have expected a party! She always got a party! I do not need a “Hallmark holiday” or a circle on the calendar, however, to have the power of my grandparents’ love with me. Even at my point in life, their fingerprints and that essential connection will never diminish.
My family has suffered far too many losses, and it is often very hard to swallow the world, especially now, without the ones I love close by, perhaps none more so than my Grandmother. Nana was the harbor that we all sailed toward. She was the force, and quite a force she was.
The loss of a grandparent should not be a shock, and at the grace-filled age of 96, you should be accepting and grateful for the gift of such a lifetime. It will tell you a great deal about my Grandmother’s presence, however, that anyone who knew her was, in fact, thrown by her loss. None of us could really imagine that there would be a time or a world when she would not be here to point a well-manicured finger and direct us all. Without her, we had been cast adrift. There was no longer a center point, a guiding light, a command post. She had seamlessly captained all of our lives. Twenty years have passed since we lost her, but to this day, I find myself switching on my NPS (Nana Positioning System) and asking WWNS-” What would Nana say?” And, I know she would have a lot to say!
Like many of us, I have searched relentlessly in this moment for something positive, something hopeful, some guiding force to hold onto and help to calm and confirm that it's all going to be OK. No, it has not been easy. As I get up each day and grapple with our anxious existence, I look to Nana's pin. It is no longer filled from end to end with tiny shoes, as I made sure everyone got their own shoe to hold onto. Now, there are just two shoes on that safety pin. Yet, it remains a symbol of all her gifts, all the lessons she taught me. That pin is a tiny beacon to help find my way to “safe” and to help show that I can and will do what I can to keep the foundational heart baked into every one of Nana’s cookies, of kindness and hope moving forward.
What follows are excerpts from the words I wrote when we lost her. I hope they are, as they were meant to be, a celebration of my Nana- a woman whose voice and strength and determination I carry with me each day of my life.
My grandmother could move mountains, change the weather, run a country, and make sure everyone ate in the process. You did not say NO to her, and even if you tried, she magically used her powers to turn NO into a YES. We all learned to do it Nana’s way – after all, she was never wrong. During the recent Presidential election(2004), she was determined that everything that could be done would be done to change the direction of the country. So she wrote to President Clinton, telling him she understood that he was recovering from heart surgery but that he needed to become more involved in the campaign. “Do you think he will listen to me?” she asked me – “Of course, Nana – don’t we all!”
Her expectations for all of us were high. Not so much that we would become President, or film stars, though that would have made great card table conversation, but that we do everyday life the right way – Nana’s way. Of course, we all fell short. I, for example, rebelled as much as possible, but in small, annoying details just to exasperate her. Did you know there is a correct way to fold sheets? This would be Nana’s way to fold sheets. Over the years, I have given in on the folding of towels – each side meets the center – but on symmetrically folded sheets, pressed, of course, I have drawn the line. Whether it be folding sheets, setting a table, decorating a room, making a noodle pudding, coordinating an outfit, cutting a fruit plate, baking just about anything, or living with a man for over 60 years – there is and always will be only one way – Nana’s way.
We were her life’s work. She was born into a driven, achieving family, and in her day, women did not necessarily excel openly in the world. Yes, she could run a country, lead an army, and certainly build a better mousetrap, but she was living in Barton, VT. Without an outlet, she channeled all that energy, determination, and strong will into her home and her family. Her brothers ran a company, she ran us!
Whatever she put that busy mind to, she naturally did correctly and did well – at least that was what she told us, and we know she was always right. She did not just have children; she had girls who stopped traffic with their beauty and brains. You never tasted anything like her…you fill in the blank. I have a theory, by the way, about her baking. Although she shared her recipes, I think she always withheld one key ingredient so that no one else’s would taste like hers did. Thousands of pounds of poppy seed have gone out with the trash in my efforts to duplicate her Mun Cookies. She would simply smile and tell me that it was very tricky dough to work with – I know there is a missing portion to my copy of the recipe!
The key ingredient in all of us, however, was always shared – her love, unflinching, unwavering, demanding, expecting, unlimited love. If we did not always meet her standards or do it just her way, she would actually pout and launch one of her famous persuasion campaigns. It was because she believed so much in us. She invested so much of herself in us, and loved us so much that, of course, we would be the best – always. She could criticize us, but heaven help you if you criticized anyone she loved to her face – she simply would not allow it. So, flawed as each of us may be, we are the product of her life’s work – thank goodness.
Family was first, and feeding that family was her vocation. Her dining room table was where everyone came. She fed everyone, even if she didn’t know them. It was her band-aid for the world. Her answer at all points of life, good and bad, was to be found in her kitchen. Once, when David (my brother) was in the hospital, Nana arrived with food to feed the entire wing of the hospital- each time she went to visit. As you walked through the door, the aroma of her kitchen permeated every inch of the house. Her hugs were filled with sugar, butter, cinnamon, and Shalimar. For many years of my life, I think I only saw her in the kitchen, or at a MaJohng table. My grandfather took me ice skating, but my grandmother and I went to the butcher. Holidays, even Groundhog Day, I think, were command performances; you missed a seat at a holiday table at your peril! And, the doors were open for all to come. At Thanksgiving, my grandfather would exclaim as he placed another leaf in the table – “Your grandmother has turned over Plymouth Rock and found a few more pilgrims!”
My grandfather was the love of her life, and rightly so. She claimed to have molded him over time, “You have to mold a man,” she would tell us, as if my beloved, very proud and strong Grandfather, was a lump of Play-Doh. But I know, like all of us, he let her have her way. She was, after all, the center of his life, and that was a love story that lasted for over 60 years.
Yes, her expectations for everyone were high, but I have learned in recent months that our expectations of her were high as well. Anyone who has witnessed many of us, particularly her granddaughters, in the past few months can attest to that. In December, Nana celebrated her 96th birthday. I promise you that those who did not know she was ill will be shocked at her loss. Strange for someone 96, but no one who knew her, and certainly no one who loved her, ever thought of her as old. The doctors would look at me cross-eyed when I questioned them about her progress, as if to say, “She is 96, let her be, what more do you want? “
96 was just a number – there was nothing average about Nana, and she did not do her 90s in an average way. Average may get you decent Scrabble points, but that would be it. She had determination and a will of iron, never wrong and stubborn til she won, and win she did. We just expected that our very small package of hurricane force power to continue to point her finger and show us the right way forever. Somehow, I know she will.
Once in an English essay class, I was asked to write about someone I admired. I wrote about my grandmother, not because she ever built that better mousetrap, but because hers was a life that could be defined as truly successful. She was adored, and she got back every ounce and then some of that unconditional love that she dished out on her impeccably set table, with the good dishes and silver, on the perfectly pressed organdy tablecloth.
I have thought a lot over the past months about how I will do every day without her. She won’t be here to tell me to dress warmly, to get home before dark or get out of the rain; she won’t be here to call at 10:00 at night to watch a movie over the phone with; She won’t be here to buy cute outfits for; She won’t be here to redecorate everyone’s homes with; She won’t be here to put down seven letter words on a triple with the q the z and the x; She won’t be here to run menus or business schemes past; She won’t be here to go shopping with; She won’t be here. She was my harshest critic, my instructor, my source of knowledge of very important things, my debate partner, my dictionary, my place to go when I needed to know I was loved, my barometer of doing it right. She was my best friend. She had a string that led from her heart to mine. I know now that the string will not break – I will never lose her, she will always tug at that string and whisper in my ear – “you don’t want to do it that way, let me tell you how it should be done!”
Some people care too much, I think it's called love.
~Winnie the Pooh
#GrandparentsDay #Intergenerational #GrandparentLove