In Memory of Nana

My grandmother, Margery Tovey, passed away in her sleep on April 12. I was not able to travel to England for her funeral but my mother did and read this on my behalf at the service.

This Easter Sunday is a stormy one. Rain is falling and bits of cherry blossom are floating about like snowflakes or confetti. I can clearly hear my Nan say, “hark at the wind!”

As humans we know ours -- and everyone's -- time is temporary. But there are some people you cannot imagine leaving. We need, maybe even expect, some people to live forever. If anyone could defy mortality, it would be Nan.

Yet despite Nana’s indomitable spirit, she left us today, as all humans eventually do. I cannot believe she is gone, I cannot accept she is gone, yet I can reason she was nearly 90 and had been very unwell. But she was different. Small in stature, but mighty in will and constitution, I doubt I will ever again know a stronger person, male or female, than her.

Nan was smart in an innate, empathic way that cannot be learned. She was sensible and knowing. Her desire for fairness and justice often found her putting her own needs last to insure all was right with everyone else. She was born to take care of others and I know it must have been hard these last few years to rely on people to help her. This was not her nature.

When I was at University, Nan took care of me. I have fond memories of staying with her for weekends when she’d cook up a storm for me not just while I was there, but to pack me care packages of dinners and goodies to hold me over and offer me respite from Uni food. It is no secret that her chocolate cake was my favorite and she supplied me with one every time I visited. My ongoing dependence on tea was developed during this time, and whenever I put the kettle on, and it goes on many times a day, I think of her. But Nana did more than cook. She listened without judgement, and she counseled with seemingly divine wisdom, choosing the words and when to say them, carefully and lovingly. I so appreciate the nurturing she gave me during that time and I know my parents, who were an ocean away, did too.

Nana was funny and witty and had a wonderful laugh that I find myself replaying over and over again in my head. She was willing to give anything a try. She was creative and spontaneous. She had an amazing memory. The old village way of life is dying out in modern England, but Nan kept it alive with her colorful stories of Barns Green’s folk through the ages. I feel as though I was there and knew all those characters. She could recite Shakespeare, including all her lines when she played Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She recited classic poetry. When she visited us in America one summer, I had just returned from French camp and had learned to sing La Marseilles. To my delight, she had learned it years ago, and sang it word for word with me.

She loved animals, both domestic and wild. When she spent time with us in Washington, she’d get up early and sit by the back door, waiting to spot the raccoons. She loved their little bandit faces and would sit for hours in the hope of spying one. When we eventually emerged from our beds, she would delightedly tell us about her critter sightings.

I am so grateful that she was able to meet my boys and visit with them at our home in the States several times. She loved them and she loved to hear about them. She laughed that Nan laugh so heartily when we shared tales of their mischief or their funny remarks. When she was here she’d spoil them with ice cream and Legos and hugs and love. She always asked how the little boys were even after they grew to be not so little. They loved her and have their own special memories of their time with Nana.

In Midsummer Night’s Dream, Puck asks, “How now spirit? Whither wander you?” I see Nan in a garden, it is not too warm or too cold, she doesn’t even need a cardigan. She’s sipping sherry with a lovely bit of bread and cheese. She knows we are all taken care of and she is content.

Above the whistle of the kettle, I hear Nan’s laugh. The impression she left is too great to forget and so she stays with all of us who were privileged to know and love her, which thankfully is the next best thing to living forever.