I dreaded this day. Another year hasn’t lessened the
sadness. It only cracks open the pain and grief of not having Nana in my life.
It’s a reminder of all I’ve lost. Today I did something I’ve avoided for two
years – I watched some of the videos of Zoom meetings we did while Nana was on Covid
lockdown in the Watsontown Nursing Home. It was like joyful torture. Seeing her
sweet smile, hearing her lilting laugh, and watching her gnarled fingers clutch
the phone so she could hear me.
From March 2020 through November 2020, I did everything
I could to stay connected to Nana. I called her every day. In June, Jan and I
visited Nana outside while she was protected in a plexiglass booth. In August,
we again visited outside the booth with Bill and Marcia and Sharon and Ron
joining us. Since Nana couldn’t hear us on the June visit, I brought a white
board in August. We conversed via writing on the board. Nana loves to read and
we all had so much fun with her. By September, the booth was no longer
available so I arranged window visits from a downstairs room at the nursing
home. We talked to Nana via the phone but it was hard for her to see and hear
us. On our October 10th window visit, Sharon was able to join us at
the last minute and Nana’s face lit up when she saw Sharon. On October 25th,
Jan and I did our last window visit with Nana.
When the nursing home offered the Zoom visits via IPad,
I jumped at the chance to see Nana’s beautiful face and have her see me. Over
those eight months, Nana and I did more than sixteen Zoom visits. I recorded most
of them and those videos are a treasure. I was so blessed to have those face to
face conversations where we could see and hear each other. One of the first Zoom visits, when she saw me
on the screen, she said to the volunteer helping her “That’s so sweet.”
Then she looked up at the volunteer and said, “That’s
my Diane.”
My heart melted.
On our Mother’s Day Zoom visit May 10th,
her words were my gift.
As we closed our visit, I said, “I love you.”
She replied, “Oh, I love you too. You’re such a good
girl.”
That conversation is wrapped in love in my memory
forever.
Watching the last Zoom from November 24th, 2020 was the hardest. I could see the isolation had taken a toll on Nana. She was tired and distracted. Her beautiful white hair hung loose and unkempt, unlike the days when she had regular appointments in the nursing home beauty parlor. I could see her fingernails needed cut. Her Covid diagnosis came three days later so perhaps she was already not feeling well. Despite her fatigue, I still got a smile, a little laugh, and Nana and I still had some conversation—about naps and calendar sheets and Lori’s Thanksgiving card. If I had only known that was the last time I would see her precious face, I’d have stayed on longer to savor everything about her. But we ended as usual.
"Bye Bye" She said.
"I love you and I'll call you tomorrow, like I do every day." I told her as we closed.
As sad as I feel today, I also feel grateful. Grateful
to have had so many years with Nana. Grateful to have known her so well.
Grateful to have spent so much time with her—listening to her stories about
World War II, taking her out to eat, taking her shopping, watching her game
shows with her, seeing her spend hours reading the morning paper. She was a
model for me of courage and bravery, humor and persistence. She loved life and
lived every day with enthusiasm. For 97 years. But, for me, 97 years was still
not enough.
Next year this day will still bring me sadness. That’s
the price for loving so deeply. But I’ll keep Nana’s memory close every day
until we meet again.
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| February 2020, Last in person visit with Nana |
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| August 2020, Booth Visit |
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| October 2020, Sharon, Nana and Diane window visit |
