One of my favorite pictures of Papa and Nana…
Today marks twenty years since the last time that I celebrated my grandmother’s birthday. Twenty years since my childish excitement over another year being added to her age, mixed with an apprehension, immature and somewhat vague as it was, over her future.
There are times that it doesn’t seem possible that it has been so long. I can still remember her face clearly. Remember sitting in her lap. Remember her teasing me. Remember her showing me one of her rings, telling me all about when and why Papa bought it for her. That ring is mine now.
It is times like these that, no matter the struggles it causes on other days, I am thankful for my memory. I am blessed to be one of the few grandchildren who remember Nana. Or Papa and Nana together.
One of my favorite memories is set in Papa and Nana’s living room. Nana had on a green turban, since she had lost her hair to chemo and she didn’t always want to wear a wig. Papa had his guitar on his knee. Together, in harmony, and to the strumming of Papa’s guitar, they sang about how they “ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog,” and “I’m not looking for a hole in the ground, I’m looking for a hole in the sky!” I wish I could hear them sing again.
Despite being barely eight when Nana died, I still miss her. I am, however, so thankful for memories. Thankful that I can remember. That I can tell my younger siblings and cousins about her. So thankful.
To the KING be all the glory!
I miss them both, too. They were always so friendly to me. I remember your mom doing Sarah’s hair. She was always smiling and chuckling. I enjoyed your company.