A Nana Fortune

The faint sound of the ancient heater in my apartment hums, but not nearly loud enough to drown out the reality of today. This building is probably from the fifties. Outside it’s wet, cold, and inside there’s a candle burning in the corner as I use every ounce of strength to conjure up a meal for my kid and I. The stove top was covered in water because my wooden ceilings have grown tired. The winter months are always heavy, but when I’m needed I don’t feel as burdened. It’s a strange dichotomy. Being needed should add more stress to a person and in the same token, it adds just the right amount of pressure. I no longer have time to dwell on small things and the grand scheme of my life tends to elude me and come together all at once. I try piecing together each day a small amount of the puzzle that was given to me. A corner piece here and a lingering middle piece there. 

I look around my little apartment and remind myself how lucky I am, how far I’ve come. And I dream of more, still. Yesterday was the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. She passed in 2019 and just the other day I remember asking her for extra support and guidance this year. I don’t want this year to be like the last. As incredible as it was, there were a lot of challenges. Most could have probably been avoided. My support system ebbs and flows and my heater is on high, but blows lukewarm. 

Yesterday I ran into the wind in only a sports bra and shorts. It was below 40 degrees and I realized that perhaps the reason challenges feel so overwhelming sometimes is because one doesn’t put themselves in challenging situations on purpose enough. To run into the wind, lungs burning, and the skin turns red from the lashing of the chill–it’s a welcome kind of pain because it becomes pleasurable. The mind generally goes blank and all energy and focus is on getting limbs to move in tandem. There is nothing now except breathing, the sky, and cars passing by. 

Sometimes I worry. I’ll worry that I haven’t soaked up enough from the time that I have. I’ll grow anxious about the way I chose to spend that time. Then I’ll think about my grandmother and her wisdom. Over the years, I’ve noticed how much of her is laced into me. The encouragement she provided to chase my dreams, to indulge in creativity, to keep on going with an idea even if it seems like it’s not going anywhere…I find myself doing that for others. I do that for myself too. The way she was never afraid to speak her mind or share the full extent of her emotions, which were always expressed elegantly. Even the worst of them. The way she always smelled of her garden. The strength in her. How her Buddhist roots made strong ones under my own trunk. Listening to Frank Sinatra on the way to the monastery to meditate with the monks as an eight-year-old. How I sang a Celine Dion song for my third grade talent show and she put me on her lap once I finished. How she bought me my first ever grand piano and paid for lessons for an entire year. How she saw me when no one else had. I have to remind myself frequently that I am the sum of all the women who’ve walked before me. That the women in my family line fought to get me here. When I think about things like that, it isn’t so “woe is me”, it’s more like “let’s be the best we can be so that they’re proud”. 

Sometimes I worry. I’ll worry about my son and the way he’s developing and if I’m doing enough. Then I’ll think about how I made a way when I was younger. Made a way in a much more grim environment. I’ll think about how proud my Nana would be of me and how she would’ve loved her grandson. I’ll think about how I’m grateful for a less than ideal upbringing. It made a warrior out of me. 

I remember one time when my grandparents took us girls to Seaside. We clamored over the saltwater taffy and needed “more much more!”, to which my Nana obliged. I remember the look on my Papa’s face and how quiet he always was around her. It wasn’t because he didn’t have anything to say, it was because he was in the midst of a star and he let her shine her light. He protected it and relished it. I remember their relationship being the first healthy one I’d ever seen. I remember going to get Chinese food for lunch that day, it was her favorite. I remember my sister convincing me that if you put your fortune in your drink and drank it that it would come true. And I wanted mine to come true, so I did it. Everyone laughed, eventually so did I. I still have a video of her from that day, my Nana. She was smiling in the bright way she always did and said that the best way to deal with fortunes is to add “in bed” at the end of them. Let’s say your fortune was, “A beautiful, smart person will be coming into your life”...now add “in bed” at the end and you have yourself a Nana fortune.

She reminds me to laugh. She reminds me to keep my own council. She reminds me to keep on creating. She reminds me to be mindful of myself and others. She reminds me that I am wonderful. Even now, she reminds me. And until the very end, I will remember her smile and her wisdom. I will cherish her each day. I will remind myself of her walk when I walk into a new room. I will think of her more this year. Above all else I will try to remember all of the wonderful memories that this life freely gives us…in bed.