Portrait of Nana #3

A song...

...and this one I can remember her singing to me as I snuggled up next to her in bed one morning long ago. Whenever we went to stay, my siblings and I would pile into her bed for cuddles as soon as we awoke. There, she would sing to us, teach us times tables, and perhaps my favourite of all the childhood mornings spent with Nana was when she let us bring her jewellery box on to the bed along with this little donkey ring-stand. We would play at being grown-up; try on all of her lavish costume jewellery and on occasion some of the real expensive stuff. "Can I have this one?" I'd ask repeatedly. Every now and again, she'd say "yes" (I still have a sparkly pink crystal bracelet from being so bold as to ask directly for it). Other times, she'd laugh and jokingly say "You can have it when I'm dead!". My 10 year old mind would then muse about which of her lovely things I would jump in to claim when she did eventually pass away, and how I would have to fight my little sister for some of them. I remember telling her I hoped it wouldn't be too soon, and she confidently told me she'd be with us for "30 more years". That was 20 years ago. Now, I'd choose a little more time with her over any of the treasures from her jewellery box. I just wish I'd taken more time to really listen. She so loved to talk, and told tales from her past over and over and over. I was so used to hearing them that I would often just switch off as she spoke, but now am frustrated that I can't remember the details. I wish I'd interviewed her and written it all down, or recorded her at least.

She sometimes talked about a precious and sentimental ring that she believed was stolen from her. She suspected who had done it years and years previously, and still seemed so angry and hurt as if it was yesterday. I often wished that she could be free from the burden of that incident, as it seemed to genuinely weigh down on her spirit. In her final days, she hardly opened her eyes, but managed a tiny peek when the priest came to pray by her bedside. I somehow knew that as he prayed the words "forgive those who sin against us", she was finally able to let go of that painful memory, along with other tiresome family baggage that I suspect I myself will not be able to fully let go of until I am in the same position.

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More tomorrow...

in it's place