Nanny is making a move

My sweet, funny and beautiful Nanny is now a resident of "Casa Loma." She is now the resident of a Senior's complex, at nearly 93 years old. She is now our wonderful Nanny (mother, grandmother, great grandmother, mother in law, wife...) who has taken care of 5 children (and at times, their families) and a husband, and who has taken care of herself for the last 20 years and who will now occupy room #416. 

I would be lying if I said that I was completely confident that she would love and feel comfortable in her new "home." I can say, and have to say, that with time, she will get used to it and will enjoy the company, which she has really missed since Harry passed away.  I would also be lying if I said I doubted that anyone could love her or care for her the way that her family could. I would be lying if I said I was not upset that my 93 year old grandmother cared for herself until she was 93, only to live out her life in a Seniors home, rather than with her family who loves her and knows her the best. And I would also be lying if I said that I was not guilty and sad that I can not be the one to do that.

My sweet Nanny has lived in Cumberland since she left England. Cumberland has been her home, and Cumberland has been my "home." When my Papa passed away in 1994, and Nanny moved out of my Dad's childhood home a year later, I always dreamed of the day that I would buy that house and make it my own. Yes, that dream still exists.

We go to visit Nanny a few times a year (not NEARLY as often as I would like) and always soak up Cumberland, its history, my Dad's history there, and OUR history there. But my Nanny now lives in a Senior's home in Courtenay, and although Cumberland will always be there, there is no home, and no family there to welcome us. There be no trips past Nanny and Papa's old house, rich with memories of hockey on the side street, and shooting pucks off the building across the street. Building snowmen in the front yard, playing cricket, climbing the cherry tree and sneaking pop from the basement. Of tucking in tight in bed at Christmas and being positive that we hear the bells of Santa's sleigh on the roof, and emories of the quick trip to the corner store to get penny candies with the money that Papa snuck to us on ever trip.  Walking to Mike and Julie's for a visit with the Smith's and that "big" hill that Dad always made sure to wake us up for on our drive into Cumberland. Memories of family dinners and New Year's celebrations, and of the first fish I ever caught being cooked in the kitchen by my Nanny, after proudly showing it to my Papa, who was in bed, sick with cancer. Memories of playing tennis and horseshoes at the park down the street, and how amazed we always were by how big the hill at that park was when it came time to take Nanny and Papa's old sled down it. (Only years later did we come to realize the hill was never very big, and no, it had not gotten smaller over the years.)
I can remember so clearly those times when I got to ride in the middle in Papa's old Ford truck, and one trip in particular, when I got to hop in with JUST Papa on a drive to the HomeStore. I remember getting to sit in the passenger seat, and when we got home and Papa realized that he had forgot his wallet at the store, I got to go all the way back with him, sitting in the front seat alongside him. Just the two of us.
My wonderful Nanny will go down in history as the "hostess with the mostest." She will be known for her eager offerings of tea, cookies, bars, and biscuits. She will be known for her ham and potatoes, and her vanilla ice cream for dessert, and if we were lucky, with oranges on the side. And I suppose for this reason, a part of me will be happy that she has the chance to kick up her feet, to not worry about serving her adult children and adult grandchildren, and to not worry about the dishes or the chores, or the other un-fun things about living on your own.
I will remember her in that Cumberland house, sitting in the loveseat (that I later owned for close to a decade!) by the living room door with Papa, and I will remember her loving arms wrapped around us when we said goodnight, and Papa's perfect forehead kiss.
And later in my life, I will remember her sense of humour. She is witty, she is quick, and she really is just funny! She is 92, and sometimes her humour certainly comes across as that of a grumpy, 92 year old,, but I find it funny, and dangit, she's 92, she has earned the right to use humour to vent, to get something off her mind, and for any other reason she pleases!

Cumberland is not gone, and my memories, obviously, will never fade, but this feels like a part of who we are is just ending.
We will go visit Nanny at her new home, and we will talk to her on the phone, and if I am lucky, I will get to hear Ava's sweet voice say, "I love you Nanny," and Nanny's proud and shy, "I love you too, Ava."
I suppose that, like my Nanny, and like my Father, I struggle with change, and it will take time for us all to adjust. But the pretty great thing about this family is that we are always there for each other. Through the good, through the bad, and definitely through the ugly.