My Dear Sweet Nanny
I have never been more thankful for my three darling babies who bring me the greatest joy of my life and force me to move on with things, but also I have never been more thankful for a husband who walks in the door at the end of the day, takes care of our kids and lets me fall to pieces for a moment.
Dear Nanny, today has been an interesting, ridiculously hard, and emotional day, as have the days before, but today was different. Today an irrational sadness has settled in surrounding all of the things that will no longer be. Today I am picturing you and Papa standing beside our car, waving goodbye until our car was out of sight, as we sat turned around in the backseat watching you get smaller and smaller. I am remembering $5 bills slipped into our hands to spend on the ferry on the way home, I can feel Papa's forehead kiss and your goodnight hug. I can see Papa sitting in the kitchen with his earphones on listening to the football game, or the hockey game on the radio and I see you making your seventh trip around the living room offering shortbread and apple tarts, and I can even picture myself handing the little cherry on top of the shortbread to my mom discretely before I took a bite.
I can taste the after dinner ice cream with peaches, or the tea that always had a dash of milk and one and a bit of sugar. I can feel Papa sitting beside me, driving in his Ford truck and me snuggled up in the middle seat beside him as we drove back to the Home Store because he had forgotten his wallet there earlier in the morning. That feeling is the reason I coveted a Ford Truck for all of my teen years.
Nanny, I can taste your ham sandwiches that only you could make so delicious, when maybe the secret was only just a little bit more mayo.
I can see you drying the dishes in the outdoor sink at the cabin and I am not sure if I remember sitting in the box of Papa's truck as we drove down the last stretch to the cabin or if I just feel like I remember it because I look at the picture of it hanging on my wall every day.
I can see the red nose on the deer head that hung in their front entrance at Christmas and I can hear the noise and the laughter and the chaos of Christmas in your living room. I can hear you sitting on the chair in your hallway talking on the phone to one of your friends from England and I remember thinking how special it was that you were so old (even when you really weren't!) and you still had close friends that you would talk endlessly to on the phone.
I can hear the bells of the reindeer landing on the roof at Christmas, as we lay awake in the bedroom at the top of your stairs, and I never knew if it was my imagination or if someone in that great big loving Watson family jingled the bells just for us to make the Christmas spirit come alive just a little bit more.
Nanny, it was at your house that I learned how to juggle in your living room (thanks, Mom!), a talent that still amazes my own kids and kids in my classes. It was at your house that I got the Grease Soundtrack for Christmas and I am certain it took the patience of a saint to not grow tired of Danny and Sandy's love ballads on the first, second, third, and fourth days of listening to them endlessly.
I remember climbing the ladder in your yard to pick cherries, and cherries, and more cherries from your cherry tree until my belly hurt so much that I couldn't eat anymore. I can taste the walnuts that were always set out in dish with a nutcracker at Christmas, and it is a holiday staple in my house simply because it was a holiday staple in yours.
Nanny, I can see you darting back and forth in the kitchen getting another dinner, and another lunch, and another breakfast prepared, and I don't ever remember you asking for help. One would wash the dishes and one would dry, but I don't know how you always managed to so effortlessly keep your household together with so many people coming and going. I can see the little ceramic painted dogs sitting on top of your fridge where you and Papa would rest your glasses when they weren't on your heads.
I can picture myself sitting at the kids table, set at the end of your great big wood dining table for holiday meals and I can see the hush come over the family as Papa got ready to make his speech. I don't remember the words, but I remember as if it were yesterday his speech coming to a close and me looking back a moment later to see my sweet, gentle, soft spoken Papa gnawing on a turkey leg.
I remember snowy walks down the streets of Cumberland, hockey in the street, with the net set up against the building across the street. I remember jumping off the sidewalk railing into the snow covered front lawn. I remember snowmen, snowball fights, and even croquet in the front the lawn.
Nanny, I remember getting to sleep in your bed a few times, after Papa had passed away and you had moved into a smaller house. I remember laying in that cozy bed wondering if I were sleeping on your side or Papa's side and feeling the safest I had ever felt tucked in in your bedroom. I remember wondering about the photo of the man who was not my Papa, on your dresser and later learning that you had been engaged before meeting Papa and that you had lost your partner in the war.
Nanny, you did not miss any of the moments of my life that mattered. We were important to you, and you never let us forget it. In 2010, Brady and I made our yearly trip out to the cabin and stopped to visit you and get the cabin keys before hitting the lake road. At that time I didn't know that I would be returning the keys to you at the end of our trip as an engaged woman. The cabin has always been a special place for me; as a child, as a teenager, as an adult, as a Mom. My husband knows me better than he lets on sometimes, and when he came to meet me at the end of the dock on one of our first days up there on this trip, I turned around to find him on his knee. Nanny, when we came to see you on our way down from the cabin, I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't get the words out to tell you that I was engaged and that Brady had proposed in the most special place in the world, and I never really understood it. Your friend Harry was there when we came and shared the news and I remember him saying, "why are you crying? I thought this was happy news?"
Nanny, the love you showered on my babies was a gift for me to see. My Ava Irene made you laugh and made you smile, and I know that I am not making up the bond that the two of you had. I know that you were proud when my Dad phoned to tell you that we had had a daughter and that she had your name. Nanny, even though you and I never talked about why I would give my daughter your name, I believe that you knew.
My greatest gift from you is your letters, and of all the things I have parted with over my 37 years, I am thankful that your letters were not one of them. Handwritten, and some typed, they are my saving grace. In those letters are the words that Watson's don't often say aloud, but Nanny, they are FILLED with love. Love for me, love for your family, and love for your beautiful life.
Nanny, I can not thank you enough for being such a steady, unwavering, strong, brave, and loyal woman in my life. You taught us all how love can be shown in so many different ways, and you loved us with every beat of your heart. A great friend of mine messaged me today to send her love, after leaving flowers at our doorstep and said that she was sorry I was having such a hard time, but that she guessed it was the price that we pay for loving so much, and she couldn't be more right. I am not going to wish these tears away in a hurry, because Nanny, they are my overflowing expression of my love for you. Our hearts are broken without you here, but what a love it was.
Comments
Post a Comment