It's mell-ooow time here. The dog is curled up on her pillow, the tv is off, kids are in bed and Kevin's at hockey. The clothes are folded and the dishwasher is swishing away bits of pizza cheese and molecules of milk. The table still holds clutter from kindergarten projects and random kid moments of juice-drinking and hair-braiding...
July 2nd was our 17th anniversary. Earlier tonight Taia asked, "Why do we have so many canning jars?", and I told her it was because her dad likes to can lots of things. Then I remembered that it was probably supposed to be my job, the canning of things, and it's now become one of the things Kevin used to hope I'd do, like sew beaver hats and make cookies all the time. And make menu plans while keeping a well-stocked pantry. There's probably more on the Used-to-Hope list than I'll ever know! I used to wish for date nights and long conversations, but after seventeen years I've learned to sacrifice some hopes and accept what is real.
So July 2nd was my last blog entry, then on July 3rd, my grandma, my Nanny died. Her life, her presence, became her legacy of children, grandchildren, the memory of her laughter and her suffering. Her body as I saw it that day was just her body, it wasn't Nanny anymore; but I held her hand and smoothed her hair, the same way she had done to me during my whole life, up to the few days before she died. Whatever her declining health had altered about her didn't matter, she will always be the warmest, most smiling and nurturing embodiment of love in my life.
I think a person's life, when they're gone, isn't just about their words or beliefs or actions but it's very much about the places they lived. Just as I am so much Nome and Fairbanks, Tacoma and Laramie, Nanny was Sledge Island, Sinrock, Belmont Point, and next door to the Methodist Church. I think of her on a nice fall day, walking on the tundra with her hands behind her back holding a berry bucket, walking so far we can't see her anymore.
