The view from my Nini's bed, where she passed away yesterday under the careful compassionate care of hospice and in the company of four of her six daughters. The wall is covered with dozens of pics, of which these are only two: Her husband, my Bumpa, and the Silver Streak trailer they
traveled in together through North and Central America.
The dozens and dozens of others are of family and friends and memories of a life well lived.
Posting by cameraphone from Phoenix, AZ where I'm saying goodbye.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
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I knew only two of my grandparents — my mother's father and my father's mother. The former lived in Manhattan, so my contact with him was minimal as I grew up in Toledo. I'm thinking that I might have seen him all of ten times in my life. The latter lived somewhat nearby, so we saw her more often, but she lived with my dad's sister's family, and seemed, at times to be their grandmother more than anyone else's.
She babysat my brothers and me one time (three of us at the time as I recall) when my parents went to New York for my mom's brother's wedding. He (my uncle) told me last year that my grandma said after the experience, "Never again!"
It's funny (or sad, I suppose) how some families are close and others aren't. Some begin that way and remain; some become close as the years go by; some just never find it. For those of us who haven't grown up being close to our grandparents, missives like this tend to bring water to my eyes and a catch to my breath — it is such a foreign experience to me!
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