August 17 is the date. Annie Rachel was the baby born of that date whom like herself would grow to be a monument. She was my grandmother but not just any grandmother but my Nana. When I say there is one woman who I consistently think of her love, compassion and understanding that woman is her. She was a big love to me then and she is still the exact same if never greater to me now.
I miss sitting on her lap. I miss her telling me to raid the fridge of whatever condiment I wanted to eat straight out of the container for the sake of my happiness. I miss her convincing me, at 4, that beer is good for me. I miss her silence. I just miss her especially in her chair.
My Nana was taken way too early. When I consider the last days I am tormented by the brevity that sickness and ailment overcast her and her body. I am left with the very vivid optic of her bedridden and sullen but mostly her spirit worn down and her face indented with sadness. I am left with only the memories and unfortunate for me I was only a teen.
Today, I joyously celebrate her and her lasting impression. I celebrate the very round and comforting favor that I know only she could give and hope and pray that I, too, when my time comes am a Nana to mine as she was to me.
Here is to you Nana. I miss and love you more than dearly.