Thursday, February 2, 2012
It may seem strange to remember my Nana most when it comes to Superbowl. She wasn't a football fan, I don't think she'd ever watched a game her whole life. But my parents have a big party every year, and every year she would come, ringing the doorbell at a house that everyone just walks in and says hello. She would bring her wings, and I think about her in her kitchen, cooking them up, for an event that she didn't care about, for her family, that she did, very much.
Of course I have lots of memories of her- twenty seven years of Christmases, birthdays, family get togethers, sleepovers at her house, twenty seven years of love, and kindness, and beauty. But this is one that sticks to me, I can almost see her, sitting at my parents' dining room table, cup of tea in hand, the game blaring in the other room, catching up with my cousins, who she hadn't seen since Christmas.
When I close my eyes and concentrate really hard, I can still feel like it was to hug her, bending a little, because she was shorter than I was (imagine that!) warm, and soft, and comforting. She was a great hugger.
Memories of her are hitting me hard lately. but that's what grief is, right? Rolling waves that ebb and flow, sometimes threatening to overwhelm you, but you hold your breath, let them crash over you, and when they recede, it's a little easier to take than the last time one hit you.
I think about the things she's missed since she is gone, and it makes my heart ache.
It's been almost three years. I still miss her so much.
This entry was spurred by this article, which I just read, and brought up a lot of stuff for me. If you've ever given a eulogy for someone, or think you may one day, you should read it.