My Nanny

I lost my grandmother last year.

She got COVID for the third time, and it almost killed her. She overcame it but needed to rehab at a nursing home in order to return to assisted living. She wouldn’t do as instructed there, and one night, she went to sleep and never woke up again after that.

I lost a parent that night.

My grandmother raised me from an infant to a young teenager. My mom and dad were in the picture, but I stayed with my grandmother a lot—many days through the week. She was just as much a parent to me as my mom and dad were.

And one chilly night I got a phone call saying she was gone.

My wife was there for me. She’s still there for me, but I have a hard way of showing grief. I think about it; it makes me sad, but I guess I don’t really show it.

But I can write about it, and that makes me feel better.

She has 5 kids, but due to circumstances of bad, youthful decisions powered by a horrible life, they’re all estranged from her. My dad stepped up and paid for the cremation to keep me from having to do it. But her other kids didn’t help, and I kind of lost a lot of respect for them, in all honesty, because sometimes they were around, sometimes they weren’t.

But I’m moving on, forgiving and forgetting, and living my life knowing that my grandmother is somewhere watching me, smiling, and hopefully having fun.

I love you, Nanny.