Remembering Nanny...451

         13 years ago today my Nanny went to heaven. However, it was 13 years and 14 days when she left in the way I had always known her. (This is not a glum, dismal writing that makes climbing under a rock look fun. Promise.)
           I remember …

          I was 4 or 5 months pregnant with my 2^nd child. I spoke with Nanny about 3:30 pm and she sounded a little strange, but she assured me she was fine. We made plans to visit in the upcoming days because I had some vacation time. I went about my day ... until the phone rang that night.

Nanny lived with my mom, her only child, in an addition on mom’s house. As I was told, Mom came home and checked on Nanny. She looked in the window and saw Nanny lying on the kitchen floor. While she was cooking, a stroke had interrupted the day. All we know is it happened some time after 3:30. My mom is an RN and kicked into medical mode. Though a career history helps, I doubt it is an emotional help when the patient is your mom.

I drove in a daze to the hospital, hoping for the best. My Nanny was only 75 and was a very well kept, lovely woman. Seeing her in any other way was so unfamiliar and upsetting. She looked at me in a panic when I entered the room, unable to get any words out. Strokes at this level are unusually cruel. Basically, a person is trapped within her own body, but the brain can still be functioning. The body simply won't listen and respond.
     I couldn’t help her.  I didn’t know what she was trying to tell me. Trying to understand her, not look panicked and keep my own emotions under control was unnerving considering I have not one ounce of my mother’s nursing abilities.

The hospital nurse entered and nonchalantly, coldly, explained to me in a routine way how this behavior was “standard for stroke patients.”

          I could see how my Nanny looked like an elderly woman that night, not her youthful self. However, I remember being offended for my grandmother by that nurse’s words because Nanny was thrust into a category as if she was any regular person … which is what she was to that lady, but not to me.

In a defensive response, I said, “She is NOT a ‘stroke patient.’ This is not how she is … she is not a stroke patient, she’s not!”

Her condition declined over the next 2 weeks. I visited her daily, possibly missing 2 during the time once I started back to work. My mom, being the nurse and daughter, never left.

The time came when all hope was gone. Mom had a home health care background and could have maintained Nanny to exist, but not to live. She knew that, yet still struggled with the decision. During one of her quick visits home, she went to Nanny’s house and came across the papers Nanny had already filled out. The living will, choosing to be allowed to go if such circumstances arose. Mom was relieved and distraught. I remember her saying how much easier this would be if it was happening 100 years ago, when we didn’t have the ability to keep someone alive. Nature could simply take its course. Sometimes having skills can be a curse instead of a blessing … The decision was made to let her go. Now it was a waiting process.

13 days after the stroke, I was at work. I was exhausted from standing all day along with being pregnant, then some sort of newfound energy came over me. My husband worked nights, but was off that night and could be with our daughter. I knew mom was spent and I was off the next day, so I went to the hospital to relieve her so she could get some much needed rest. Sometimes, God prompts us. I thankfully heard the whisper. (Not a whisper that mom needed rest, but that I needed time with Nanny.)
     Once I arrived, I realized I was not capable of doing the suctioning by myself; I didn’t have the confidence or skill. Mom couldn’t leave … not that she would have anyway. Instead, she slept on the couch and I sat in a chair beside Nanny through the night.

Every time Nanny moved, I stood and held her hand. I read out loud  her favorite scriptures about love from Corinthians and prayed, though I cannot remember what my prayers were. That night, I noticed her blue eyes were the most beautiful, vibrant color of blue. I had never seen them so bright. She really was a beautiful woman.
    Most of the time I was with her was spent sadly accepting … she was my last grandparent here ... and she was leaving. My unborn baby would never know her great-grandmother and Nanny would never hold her 3^rd great-grandchild. It felt too soon and like we were all being robbed of future memories.

 I left early the next morning. Only a couple of hours passed until the call came … It was time, the end was here.

I remember that drive well, and entering the hospital room. Nanny was at peace. Her spirit had left her human home just before I arrived, and her body lay there peacefully. It was a calm sight compared to the way she had been over the past 2 weeks.

When I walked into the room, I asked to be left alone. Death is one of those things that we all have to deal with in our own way. Part of me thought I may be viewed as weird or morbid, but I wanted to lie beside my Nanny one last time. That’s what I did.

 Growing up, Nanny lived next door to me. She always let me sleep with her when I spent the night. Though she was not a big, cuddly grandma (she was tall and slim,) she was the best back scratcher/rubber ever. She did it until I fell asleep, the tickly way, and not in the same spot like some people do. I try to scratch my girls’ backs like Nanny did mine …

I’m not sure what thoughts ran through my mind in that quiet hospital room 13 years ago, possibly none. It seems like I only remember numbness, like an anesthetic fog. Though I knew “Nanny” was not there, it was the 1^st I had seen her without tubes and chords covering her since the stroke. I crawled onto the bed beside her and became a little girl again in some way. My tears came from deep within; not for her, but for myself.

The next 2 days were spent preparing for her services. She and I had the same taste in clothing, so mom let me do all of that. I also wanted to do her hair and nails. She would never want to look anything less than her best, even in death. As I was showering to go to the funeral home, I remembered, “OH MY! I AM PREGNANT!!”

The couple of times I had styled hair in a funeral home, I had to sign a release stating there was no chance I was pregnant due to airborne pathogens. After some brain storming mixed with my determination to be the one to do it, we found a solution. They brought her body out of the room and made me wear a get up that looked like I was about to enter the operating room, complete with a mask. In spite of the seriousness, I did burst into laughter looking at myself in that silly outfit with a baby bump showing underneath. I could imagine Nanny holding back her laughter at me because I was laughing at an inappropriate time, but it was funny.  All turned out well and I felt some sort of peace, like I had really done something that mattered. Nanny would have been proud, I know she would.

Some time after her death, possibly a couple of months, I had a dream. It was one of 5 I’ve had in my lifetime like it. In my dream, I saw Nanny. My grandfather was present, but could not be seen or heard. Mom was to my left and my sister was to my right. Nanny never spoke to me or my sister, just to my mom. I almost didn’t share the dream with mom because it was so incredibly odd to me, but I did.

The following morning I called mom and told her about the dream. I said, “Nanny was holding your hand and she kept saying the same thing, over and over. It was weird and didn’t make any sense. She was saying your name, thanking you and then she was reciting 3 numbers.”

I could remember the numbers, but not the order. As I was trying to recollect, mom said, “Three numbers? Was it 451?”

I was in the guest room of my house during that conversation and my body froze upon hearing her words. I sat on the bed in a tremor. It was that number. I had never heard that number … how did she know?

“Was it?” she asked again …

“Mom, what does that mean? How did you know that? Yes … that’s the number.”

My mom went on to explain the number …

Nanny had some bad driving luck over the prior years and had wrecked, breaking her back 2 different times. Mom preferred her not to drive, but sometimes she did anyway. Most times mom drove her where she needed to go, dropped her off, and then came back when Nanny was ready. (This was back in the day of beepers.)

They had chosen a code number, 451. It was my grandfather's badge number from when he drove a bus. (No idea bus drivers even had badges.) If mom dropped Nanny off, Nanny was to page her with that number when she was done and ready to go. If Nanny drove, she sent that same code once she safely arrived home to let mom know she was home and fine.

A message was delivered from a mother to a daughter, “Thank you. I am done here, I am ready to go, I am home and I am fine.”  451

Moms always get their message across … and will get the last word, somehow. Even though I never had the chance to hear Nanny talk again after the stroke, it kind of feels like I did now.

Remembering my Nanny … Knowing, she is in the actual, physical presence of Jesus, dancing on streets of gold … probably wearing liquid leather and some glittery accessories!! Sending love to heaven …

Thankful, but still miss her,

Kasi