Bittersweet

I've been meaning to update my blog for quite some time now. I had a wonderful vacation with my sister in Prague, and then with my best friend in Paris. I have been meaning to write about all of the wonderful adventures, quirky discoveries, and oddities of Prague. I have been meaning to write about how appreciative I was to finally be with people who truly know me, and have for years.

I have been meaning to write about these things, but suddenly, I cannot. I thought that this afternoon I might finally have enough free time to organize my thoughts and pour them into this digital space- but suddenly, I do not.

Upon arriving to my studio this afternoon, I discovered that my grandma, Nana Bernice, had passed away. Earlier this week she had a stroke, and I knew that she was in poor condition. My dad gave me brief updates, and then that they were moving her in to hospice.

I understand death to be a part of life. It can happen unexpectedly, naturally, painfully, or even unfairly. Sometimes, it is impossible to understand the complexities of why it happens at a certain time, or why at all.

With this loss of one of my family members, I find that I am not questioning the reasons or logic behind death. My Nana lived a long life, that was of course bound to end at some point. I just didn't expect it so soon. I have to say, I'm a bit numbed by it.

Nana Bernice... there's a lot to say about that woman. She was my dad's step-mom, but I've only known her as my nana. Growing up, our relationship was far from... existent. We would see her and my grandfather often, but she was always cold towards us. It was almost as if she didn't love us, the "step-grandchildren" as much as her own blood grandchildren. I'm not sure if that is true anymore. She often offended me, made comments about my weight using little to no tact, and never said I love you. She was anal-retentive, and a bit obsessive compulsive. This woman was as tough as nails. The highest compliment she ever gave me was: "oh, that's interesting." But that's the way she was. To everyone.

As my grandfather become sick, and I grew older, I started to see her change. This bitter, red-headed, little woman had to support herself, and her husband. She was dedicated to him, refusing to let him live in a residence facilities. As his Alzheimers worsened, her patience grew. It was easy to see how lonely her life had become. When I would stop by her house every once in a while, she seemed to light up with happiness, although of course she never directly admitted it. That was fine by me. She began asking me if I wanted to stay for dinner. One day, she complimented me, saying that I was looking great with all the weight I had lost. This backhanded compliment caught me off guard- I was flattered. Maybe 2 or so years ago, I stopped by the house for a quick visit. She was happy to see me. We talked for a little bit, and as I was leaving, she gave me a hug and said "I love you." I was tempted to look around the room and see if she was really saying that to me. Instead, I gave her a kiss on the cheek, said "you too" and headed out the door.

I'm not feeling frustrated, or angry that she died. She was old, and died of natural causes. I don't particularly feel guilty- that I should have been closer with her, or been more in contact with her. I know I should have called her more, but I did the best I could do. It's hard to establish a very close relationship with someone who had not been particularly warm to you. I know she loved me, and she was never "mean" to me... but I feel bittersweet. I'll cherish the memories of her fondly, for there were quite a few good ones.

She was a quirky woman, sometimes a bit cold, but always a great grandmother. She was always there whenever I needed any help, and always sent me a card at least 3 days before my actual birthday. She never forgot once... not a single year. She may not have been as physically or verbally affectionate as my other grandmother, but she loved me. It took me a few years to finally see it, but I know it to be true.

I feel a bit numb right now. How could my red-headed Nana Bernice be gone? Despite her fragile (and shrinking) body, I always envisioned her as invincible. It is a part of life that I must accept. I cry silent tears, knowing that I'll never see her again.

Nana, I love you and miss you. You are forever in my heart.