"Lady Jane," aka, My Grandmother

I have been trying for the last two days to finish this blog.  I've realized there is just no putting my grandmother into words, no matter how hard I try.  I can't fit 34 years worth of memories into one blog.  I can't use words to help you see the things I love so much about Nanny and help you understand the things I find so endearing.

We lovingly call my 87 year old grandmother Lady Jane.  Not because she rules the roost (which she unwittingly does!), not because she is pretentious or any reason along those lines.  Only because the name seems to fit.  She has become too old to drive (and many other things), so she is comfortably chauffeured everywhere she goes and seems to enjoy it.  She has always enjoyed life to its fullest, at least from where I've watched.  She has never gone hang gliding or jumped out of an airplane (I can hear her giggle and say, "Oh my goodness, no dear!" to that!), but now she is content to sit on her sunporch in the house she shares with my mom and watch the water, the wildlife, the sunrises and sunsets.   I've always admired my grandmother.  She is from a different generation and a different world.  She is a happy person and seems content with the life she has led and the one she is leading.  Hers is a slower pace of life and today, trying to 'herd' her and my two children (carrying balloons, a purse and a diaper bag, chasing an almost 2 year old, while minding a 10 year old with Asperger's who is pushing my grandmother in a wheelchair down a hospital corridor is NOT a one-man show, dear friends!) was a circus act in itself.  Out of all my cousins, I am the only SAHM; Shawn and I have frequently talked of moving up here to help my mom (who works full time) with my grandmother.  I think today I realized I wouldn't be of much use, at least as long as the kids are at home.  I would easily exhaust myself by 9 am!  Anyway, I enjoy my grandmother's pace.  She takes things slower and thinks that makes her a bother.  I think it means I get to see things I would otherwise miss out on.  I'd rather take the scenic route and be 'bothered' than not have my grandmother at all.  I remember when she was stronger and younger, when she didn't know how to slow down and "act her age."  I remember when I got sick and acted more her age than she did!  And now I'm watching as age is finally catching up to her and slowing her down.  It's difficult to watch.  The saying is true, reality bites.


We visited every summer growing up.  She always ran out her door with her arms extended, a hug ready for us when our car pulled into her driveway.  I can hear her yelling, "There's my girls!" as my mom, sister, myself and dad fell out of the car after the long drive.  My cousins, sister and I would play from sun up until long past sun down during our visits.  Those were the days when we could still run up and down the street (and around most of the town because my grandmother lived so close) unsupervised and barefoot.  We weren't allowed in the house until our feet were clean, so she kept towels and a bucket of soapy water at the back step so we could wash our feet before traipsing through the tiny house, just to run back outside and get filthy all over again.


My husband is such a gentleman and has been so good to Nanny, so patient with her.  With Mom at work, it's been up to us to get Nan to the hospital to visit Denny and look after her here at the house (I'm not going to say "take care of" because she doesn't need taking care of).  Mom and I traded cars because Nan can't get in and out of the Jeep--let's just say her Pathfinder and my Jeep ride a little differently!  And judging from my the "Oh my!"'s and "Oh dear!"'s coming from my grandmother, Shawn isn't used to driving them differently yet!  But he's good about driving Lady Jane and humoring her.  With me and the boys 'getting air' in the backseat with each pothole (potholes up here are very different than the ones back home and unlike in the Jeep, which is built for that kind of driving, we feel every single pothole!), with Avery throwing his hands up, laughing and yelling "WEEEE!  Daddy!", Shawn is up front with my grandmother (a friend has a theory that Nan secretly enjoys the air she might catching up in the front seat with each pot hole, too!), pointing out the green grass, as well as the ice and snow that still remain.  He's so patient, pointing out the sights, giving her an arm, helping her in and out of the car.  I see him doing things for my grandmother that I don't see him doing for his own (not because he's disrespectful, but because of how his family is).  He hurries around to her side of the car to help her in and out of the car, gives her an arm to steady her, carries her purse (cardinals really are a good look on him) and is just johnny-on-the-spot.


The other morning, my pill box fell off the top of the fridge and pills scattered everywhere.  Thankfully, I am on far fewer pills than I ever have been and was quickly able to count out what I was missing.  With Shawn and Noah crawling on their bellies (Avery buckled safely--yet unhappily--into his highchair) on the floor looking for all them, my grandmother chuckled, saying, "Oh, I drop my pills all the time, you'll probably find mine!"  Noah found a pill, asked if it was mine, Nan called out, "Nope!  That's mine!" We went through that routine six times before we finally found all of mine.  Had all of us laughing quite hard!


My grandmother has raved about my cooking since I got up here (my mother is thrilled that she hasn't had to operate the stove or oven since I arrived!).  We brought some of my rosemary-olive oil bread with us.  After her first bite, her eyes closed in ecstasy, she asked what bakery I bought it from.  Let me tell you, it thrills me to no end to know that my bread is good enough that my grandmother thinks I bought it!  Woo hoo, go me!  I made grilled cheese sandwiches with it, using sliced mozzarella and a blend of shredded asiago, romano and parmesan cheeses. She insisted on a half because "I can never eat more than a half a sandwich anymore."  After wolfing that down, she said she'd love to have another half, but didn't want to bother me with it.  Even as I was making her second sandwich, she continued to insist that she didn't want to bother me!  She cracks me up.  I've made my famous Mac and Cheese (cheddar, harvarti, provolone and swiss with asiago, romano and parmesan) for her, as well as our chicken, keilbasa and couscous meal (which my mother said sounded like too much work, then was excited to see how easy it was).  Nanny even ate black beans on taco night.  She said she hasn't not liked anything I've cooked yet, so I promised her tonight's dinner (leftovers) will be garbage! :)  My mother insists my grandmother eats like a bird, but I have yet to see my grandmother put down her fork (I think it's the difference between my cooking and my mother's!)!


Nanny watches me raise my boys with her eyes wide open and her eyebrows raised.  She raised three girls and told me once that she used to think she wanted a boy until she had grandsons.  She loves them, but is glad they are grandsons!  My boys say words like "fart," "butt" and "poop" and have inappropriate dinner conversations.  Thankfully, they will never wear pink or have ribbons in their hair!  They jump in puddles and get dirty.  My youngest tells me "NO!" and my oldest--well, he's Noah, enough said there!  We sing "There's a party in my tummy! So yummy!  So yummy!" at the dinner table and follow up with "There's a poopy in my diaper!  So stinky!  So Stinky!" after dinner.  She isn't quite sure what to think of that one.


With catching air while flying over potholes, eating my food, having inappropriate dinner conversations, and watching me raise boys, Nanny's life since the Furr Family of Four invaded has been anything but boring and mundane!


I love listening to her 'dottering' (a new word I made up to describe what she does)--I tease my husband that she has Elderly Asperger's because she gets 'stuck' on subjects the way Noah does.  Occasionally she looks lost and if you ask if she needs something, she says, "Oh, I'm just thinking!"  She never naps, just 'rests her eyes.'  Nanny constantly worries about Alzheimer's, but is constantly assured by her doctors that is the least of her worries! I see the way my mother has to be with her and realize the lives we lead aren't very different.  We are both raising children; the only difference is that my mother's child is 87 years old (and I don't mean that out of disrespect for my grandmother: I mean she requires the patience one would use with a child). We drive past a fire hydrant everyday and hear how it looks like a child from far away (Noah and I are tempted to sneak out in the night to dress it in a hat and coat just for fun!), we hear about the green grass, about the small church in a neighbor's yard that plays Christmas music ("And your mother and I have been meaning to stop and listen to it but for one reason or another haven't yet and I bet by now they probably aren't playing Christmas music in it anymore, which is a shame."), we have to observe the ice and the ice fishing shacks (and hear the rundown on how they really shouldn't be allowed out there)--there are so many things I could tell you that make me smile about Nan, but it would take me forever!  And there's just no putting Lady Jane into words.

Twenty-six years ago, Nanny buried her husband of 37 years.  Not long after that, she buried her best friend of many years.  Over the years since, she has buried many other friends.  Her boyfriend--my grandfather--Denny, has seen her through those times.  And now we wait with her, as we fear he will be next.  Even as he suffers, we're not ready to let him go, and on some level, I'm not sure he's ready to let go either.  I watch her day after day and I see her strength.  I see that she is stronger than I am (or better at pretending!).  My grandmother and Denny never married, have never lived under the same roof and have never shared a bed (one of my divorced friends declared Nan her hero, which cracked my grandmother up!).  Denny is not my biological grandfather, nor is he even my legal grandfather, but he is the one I have the emotional attachment to.  He has given me the love and the memories; for that, I will always be grateful.  I remember my grandfather and have fond memories of him, but Denny is the grandfather God has gifted me with for the majority of my life.  And he is the partner God has given Nan for the last 25 years. 


We wheel the hospital wheelchair right up to Denny's bed so Nan can lean over to kiss him and then they just sit and hold hands.  They don't speak much as Denny nods off occasionally.  It's beautiful.  I feel like an intruder, watching such a private moment, wiping away tears, but I love seeing the love between them and I want to watch it.  I can't make myself look away.  


Noah's prayer gave me hope that Nan will have Denny will have a little while longer, and each day Denny looks stronger to me.  I keep hoping and praying.  With God, there is always hope.  For that also, I am grateful.