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Last Monday, April 6, 2009 my Nana passed away. She was my last grandparent alive and had survived her husband by 19 years. At first, I was fine. I was expecting her death for a little over a month, since she had gone to the emergency room on my birthday in March for what appears to have been a minor stroke. We went to visit her for her birthday at the Governor's House in Simsbury. Cara and I brought her a card that sings when you open it, and although she looked nothing like her former self, she still had enough energy to swivel her hips and arms in an attempt to dance (one of her very favorite things to do). I have noticed over the past few years that I've distanced myself from my Nana. Oh, I loved her dearly, and always was glad after I worked up the energy to visit her, or be forced into taking her to her hair appointments. But, it was easier for me to stay consumed in my daily life activities with friends, work, and children-- things that did not show evidence of delicate fraying. Watching my Nana slowly morph from vivacious and garrulous to ambivalent and forgetful is not easy for a grand-daughter. When she passed last week, I took some time off from work to attend the wake and funeral, both of which I was dreading because I had not been to a wake in a long time and I had not been to a funeral since my Pop-Pop died 19 years ago. Since I was expecting her death, it wasn't that hard for me to accept when it finally occurred. I cried a little, but hardly. I went to the wake, and as I first stood there with my father and step-mom the tears started to blur my vision, but I stopped myself. Seeing her lifelessly posed in the light pink fabric of her coffin was surreal. I kept imagining that her chest was rising and falling. Her face didn't look like her face. The one thought that kept coming back to me over and over again was, That was the cheek that I kissed twice three days ago as I told her good-bye for the final time. And then the other thought: This is the last time I am ever going to see my Nana. The rest of the evening and the following day in Queens were spent laughing and reminiscing about my Nana's life. It was wonderful to spend time with my family and learn things about my grandmother that I never knew. When we got to the cemetery, I found out that half of my family is buried there. My Nana's mother, two of her sisters, her husband, my mom's father and grandmother, my dad's grandfather (or Pop-Pop's dad)... and the only grave I got to visit was my Great grandmother's: Nana's mother. I didn't get to see my Nana's coffin get lowered on top of my Pop-Pop's; I didn't get to visit HIS grave, which I really wanted to do... I felt a little ill at ease when we left the cemetery. On the way home we drove through College Point, where my dad showed me familiar parts of his youth: his high school, where my Nana went to grammar school, the factory she worked at when she met Pop-Pop, their old house, which I remembered, my mom's grandmother's house, which I also remembered, and my great-grandfather's house-- all of which were blocks away from one another. He showed me where the World Fair was held ever year-- the last year it was held was in 1965. He showed me the grassy fields where he used to shoot off rockets when he was a boy, and the place where the sewers were that he used to play in. He even showed me the street he used to walk down after school to meet his old girlfriend-- before my mom. That night, I wanted to remember my Nana in a happy way, so I popped in a dvd my dad had made me for Christmas a few years ago-- it is a dvd set of all of the old 8mm movies (the ones without sound). I sat in the darkness as the sound of film passing through the camera continuously streamed and sped-up actions of my Nana, Pop-Pop, and father as a child danced across the screen. Her life seemed so joyous, so care-free. Most of the films are of her and her friends and relatives sitting in the backyard dancing and waving to the camera. My dad is playing the accordian, whose melodies will forever be lost, and my Nana is seen in nubile perfection, swinging on swing-set. The tears suddenly poured out of me like an unexpected thunderstorm. Cathartic though it was, I have been depressed for days. What was the sudden change? I wanted my grand-parents back. I so desperately wanted to be six years old again, and hear the loud smacking of my Nana's lips on my cheeks when she said hello and goodbye, telling me my skin tasted like strawberries. I wanted to smell my Pop-Pop's pipe on his breath and sit in his lap. I wanted the impossible. I've been dreaming about my Nana almost every night since. I suppose these are normal reactions to death, but what really gets to me is that she was there for my whole life and I was only at the tail-end of hers. When she looked back on her life, she had almost 70 years of memories that had nothing to do with me. I want to know and hold onto this person. This youthful image of my grandmother. This is why I've decided that I am going to write an account of my family history. Once my mom and dad are gone, the stories will forever be erased. As it is, there are already memories that are forever gone, because I never had the foresight to write them down as my Nana told them to me years ago. I have this sudden urgency to transcribe and record as much as I can about my family history. I need to hold onto it for it comforts me, but it also makes me who I am. I have been looking at a lot of old photographs of my grandparents and family members. Although I don't look like my Nana at all (she was 100% Irish), I realized that my Pop-Pop's features are smattered all throughout my face. The nose I once detested from a certain angle, I have found to love, because I realized it is my Pop-Pop's nose from that angle. One living piece of him, I can hold onto. Pieces I can pass down to keep my relatives alive. Their dna surviving for centuries.
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