Nani

I didn't think I'd have to write this anytime soon. She was one of those people you thought would always be there. As a child she always wanted to see me, always wanted to be with me. That's how she was with all of her grandkids. You would think she lived for us. I was sure she lived for just me. Everything she talked about revolved around us. Everything she did revolved around us. When we moved from California to Texas, she followed. She and Papa lived with us for about 6 months until they found a job and a house. Those were such sweet memories. I remember falling asleep listening to her voice in the other room. I remember thinking that every day was a holiday because Nani was in the room right next to mine. I miss those days of complete security.

When we moved from Texas to Michigan, I knew they would follow. That wasn't a question in my mind. And they did.

We would visit them once a week for all day and they would come see us on their day off every week. They would sneak us treats, let us watch cartoons, and they would tell us wonderful stories of the old days. Nani cooked some elaborate pasta dish every visit. Oftentimes they would have Turner Classic Movies playing in the background, or an old Dean Martin record on. The 1950's era was the most perfect decade to me and I loved being transported back to Nani's days of dancing and singing where all the women always wore make-up, had their hair perfectly coiffed, and never left the house without a proper hat, handbag, jacket, and gloves.

As a pre-teen Nani would sit with me on the couch and we would sing all of the Andrew Lloyd Weber songs. Phantom of the Opera was her favorite, because Papa's favorite love song that he would sing to Nani was All I Ask of You. We would dream about seeing it live and then for my 12th birthday Nani surprised me with tickets to see the Phantom live in Houston. She took me to Neiman Marcus and bought me a beautiful black velvet choker with an amethyst and a very sophisticated outfit that made me look much older than the 12 that I was. She and Papa then took me to a fancy Italian restaurant and they insisted that the young, very cute waiter flirted with me. They were sure that my new outfit made me look 18.

Nani had two knee surgeries and I lived with her for a couple of months during that time to take care of the house, cook, and help care for her as she recovered. I was about 15 at the time. She shared so many stories. I would give her pedicures and she would share all of her regrets and she would cry. I would assure her that she was wonderful and had nothing to regret. I would massage her back and head and sing to her until she fell asleep.

When I got my driver's license, Nani's house was the first place I drove to. I came as often as I could until I moved back to Texas when I was 19.

Living apart was very hard for me - Nani was always apart of my home life all growing up. Moving away I didn't just leave my parents and siblings, I left Nani and Papa, too. I called Nani every Sunday. Papa was there, but it was always Nani who took the phone call.

She was always so proud of me. Loved hearing about my little romances and drama with friends. Loved filling me in on the family gossip that I hadn't heard yet. And when I found Chris, she wanted to know all of the details on how we met and how we were getting along.

My first meals that I cooked for my husband were Nani's recipes and I identified as Italian to every person I met because of her.

To her, life was all about romance. She lived for it. Papa was her one and only and she adored him, but there was another kind of romance that she lived for. Her walk with Christ was as pure and simple and beautiful as her marriage was. But she was also a nurturer and grandparenting was what she was born for. She held me so many times while I cried about something or other. Feeding people was her pride and joy and she was always concerned about everyone else's comfort - especially her grandbabies'.

It was my honor to be right by her side the way she has been by mine my whole life when she met Jesus. I was holding her hand, stroking her back, adjusting her covers, and assuring her everything would be ok, just like she had done for me for so many years. I held her face and told her that I loved her. She probably didn't hear me or know I was there, but I was. I wanted to have her at least one more day. But she was so ready to be free from pain and be with her Savior and her husband.

I can't say I've let her go, though. She's still with me in so many ways. Every Sunday I imagine calling her again and imagine what she would have said about how beautiful and wonderful her funeral was. I imagine her raving about the songs that we sang for her, her beautiful pink casket, the big Italian feast that we cooked for her after the funeral, and I imagine her telling me how worried she is about my Dad (her son), my mom, and her daughter, Aunt Debbie (or Deborah as Nani would call her). I imagine her worried about the weather, asking me if our house is done, and wanting me to give her love to all of my kids. I would have told her how I made her fettuccine alfredo the other day just the way she taught me. I would have told her how I just read a book about an Italian artist. I would have told her that my baby is no longer a baby and how hard that is for me. I would have told her about the romantic things Chris has done lately (she would have loved that part the best). I would have told her how much I missed her and that I would see her in a few weeks.

But tomorrow is Sunday and I can't call her and tell her all of those things. I won't see her in a few weeks, hear her voice, brush her hair, or tell her that I'm worried about her. She won't be able to tell me what to do about my upset stomach from crying too much. She won't be able to tell me how to get through weekend mornings when I feel like I can't get out of bed to face a world without Nani. She won't be able to tell me what to do about my headaches from not getting enough sleep due to my broken heart. And that hurts so so very much.

She was so much more to me than what you might see in our pictures. I never saw the gray hair, the wrinkles, or the cripple. I never saw the eyes tired from aging. I never saw the wheelchair or the hospital gowns. I just saw a glamorous, beautiful woman from the 1950's with shiny black hair, bright red lips, dark expressive eyes, strong Italian features, rosy cheeks on an olive complexion with statement jewelry to set it all off. That was my Nani.

I miss you (mi mancherai). 3/25/34~5/31/19