Nan's life

We were at my great nans' bedside, her daughters and sons, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were there to see her pass away. It was a sad occasion. We had her funeral planned for years, not knowing when she truly would pass. She wanted to be sent off to Nirvana playing in the background and Bea Arthurs voice from the golden girls giving her comfort. She adored Bea Arthur and would go on long rambling rants about how that woman made history. She too grew up in the 1920s and was a part of the army, a woman that was a field nurse, ahead of her generation with multiple medals. She was a democratic conservative lady that would look polished and refined but also supported Obama’s policies. She loved when he was in office and always wanted to meet him, someday of course.

My Nan graduated with a 4.5 from Stanford University and got her doctorate in genetics and medical field policy. She worked in the health care industry for 59 years before retiring at 80. She passed on as Kurt Kobain started to sing smells like a teenage spirit. Her eyes closing as her lips grew grey and her skin grew cold.

We cried and cried for what felt like hours. The doctor came in and nodded to us as she slowly was taken away, people came out of their rooms to see this woman who gave our country so much passion and medical treatment, passed on. Her skin now tight, her loose features stunned and her hands clamped to her sides. I walked to the side of my father and mother who all saluted her for her courage and bravery.

We had the funeral the very next day after she had gone to the funeral home and had her autopsy done. Her funeral and death certificate was created, dying of natural causes. We had pre-service, some uncles and aunts having taken too many swigs of her brandy she had left in their names. She only left me one thing and I think it was her most prized possession, her medal of valor. My father and mother were weeping, I am only 15 but I miss Nana already with her smile and her laugh. I remember her debates with the more conservative relatives we have and always would make them cry at the end. She would be like Sierra, which is how you get it done.

I would smile at her, making her favorite tea, Earl Grey with honey lemon water, and doing the sports section with her. But now she was gone, and I saw her last breath. We all wept for what seemed like hours till the priest, my Nan being a Baptist Christian wanting a ceremony with her good friend Francois Guillaume. He was originally from France and courted my Nan in her late teens, early 20’s but remained friends with her, being more of soul mate and grandfather to my Nan and my mother than my actual great grandfather.

We all sat down as I read through my eulogy, going to be the first great-grandchild to speak. That is what she wanted. I wore her medal proudly, singing her favorite song, Purple Rain by Prince.

“All of you knew this proud woman; she was a character all right.” The priest said, tears welling at his eye ducts.

“Yes, she was,” I said as he smiled at me, the crowd applauding to that.

“She made us all wholesome, and all proud to be humans, caring for all of those she met. I am her longtime priest that spoke the scriptures of god but not only that, I was her friend. Not just any old friend, I was her lover, in our early teens. And I do feel our souls matched each other. We were in all rights friends till the end. But I loved that woman with my heart.” He said as he took out his handkerchief that she had knitted him, I knew her stitching, leaning his weight into the podium.

“No way;” Someone screamed behind me.

“Yes way, she was something more than a woman in the army.” He said proudly.

“And a lady of the night;” My grandmother laughed as the priest stopped the whispers.

“What, it is true?” My grandfather asked next to her.

The priest looked at them both with perplexing gaunt eyes. He was a withered old man, the same age my Nan was, 112 with a few more years on his old bones.

“She wasn’t a lady of the night; she was more of a bingo lady than that. Your father, grandfather, and great grandfather loathed her from playing her games of gin rummy, poker and bingo all night long. But besides the point, she brought education to the growing issues in medical policies. She stitched up more than half of the World War 2 soldiers and defied the odds when she got two bullet wounds in her neck. That lady was as strong as she was feisty.” He said showing a photograph of her in her uniform standing next to her daughters and sons.

“She was also sarcastic, don’t forget sarcastic.” My uncle said sheepishly as I chuckled.

“Yes she was very sarcastic and if you debated her, she would read you to filth. I loved her beauty, I loved her kindness, and I loved how she stood up for every creature no matter who they were or what they were. She didn’t care who you were; just that you could play bingo and gin rummy.” He said as another photo of her came up in his hands.

“Also that you had to know every tune to the smurfs television show.” My mother said as she wore my Nans favorite tee shirt, the Smurfs tee shirt.

“She has brought all of you together, and as you recall all of those great memories, I want you to remember her for her strength, for her courage, and her pledge to humans, how she was there to stick up for people that needed it. “ He said rapidly.

“She hated the Karen population,” I said smiling at everyone as the priest agreed.

He shifted his weight, leaning on his cane as he cleared his throat.

“And the male Karen’s as well.” My father whispered to me.

“What I am trying to say is that Esther, you passed on at 112 but I, the same age as you, thank you for your service, for your passionate side, and your love to this large family. Sierra, may you come up.” He asked as I slowly stood, his hands shaking a bit, tears running down his cheeks.

I slowly walked up; Francois shook my hand as he left the stage, tears starting to flow down his cheeks. I smiled at him, patting his shoulder back and turning back to the podium. I smiled staring at the paper before me. I crumpled it up and threw it to the ground.

“Today I am speaking on the behalf of Nan. To me, she was my everything. She babysat me for all of my 15 years of my life and always told me ‘it is better to be random, to be sporadic, and take that risk. I am not here to guilt-trip you all into knowing this woman as I did but my Nan was the best thing in the world, to me, and from what I am hearing she was to you too.” I said standing up as I brought my pictures with me.

“Yes, she was!” My grandmother replied everyone was agreeing.

“What a saint Esther was.” The priest replied trying to calm down in my mother’s arms.

“My Nan was the symbol of life. She was what life was about. She made a name for herself, she made friends, she made this wonderful family and she fought for our country. She learned real quickly what side she wanted to be on and she adored our presidents, well the one now of course. But moving on, my Nana made this world better. I remember we were at an amusement park and she saw this poor man getting berated by this angry evil man over something so ignorant. And you know what Nan did.” I said cheekily, trying not to cry.

A little boy stood up staring at me; he was a distant relative that I didn’t know.

“No, what.” The little boy asked.

“She went up into angry man’s face and told him off with no cussing, with no throwing of hands or no screaming. She was calm, cool, and collected and she was polite to him, telling him that he needed to leave and if he didn’t she would have no worry taking the angry man that berated out to a lovely dinner so she can show him the wrongs and rights to manners and etiquette of eating and being with people.” I said staring right at him.

“No way.” He said as his mother made him sit down.

I smiled nodding to them as I slowly took out my Nan’s favorite picture of us, the day this incident happened.

“This man continued his chants when she slowly with the hand of a goddess touched him and read him to filth with every word she knew that was not mean not rude, and very straight-to-the-point endearing. There are more stories like this but saying goodbye is harder than saying hello. Hello is so easy to say, it is easier to say hello because you know this person and are welcoming them. Goodbyes are not warm; they can be sad and hurtful. I cannot say goodbye.” I bellowed across the stage.

“Ain’t that the truth?” My aunt whispered in the front row.

“Nan, this is not goodbye. I cannot say goodbye to a wonderful lady like you. I cannot whisper it or find it in my vocabulary. But I cannot say hello either, can I? What I say now is that I love you with all my heart, we love you with all of our hearts and we praise you for having started World War 2 when you were 30 years old and had three babies at home. I respect you and with no other words to say than you lead a fulfilled life, a life of debate, a life of sticking it to the man, a life of love, dreams and some might even be secrets, that I give my word that your legacy will live on, it will live on in the flowers, in this medal, in this life, in my future children and all of our family members lives too.” I said as we all burst into tears.