“Sooooorry.” Three-year-old me put my hands on my hips. I was standing, feet planted, just inside my bedroom door.
“What do you mean, ‘Sorry’?” asked my Nana.
“You can’t sleep here.”
I pointed a chubby finger toward the bed, a full-sized Cabbage Patch Kid named Packey, sat in the center.frame I’d inherited from my . On top of a light blue comforter, every doll and I owned was placed in neat rows. My favorite doll, a
“Packey is sleeping here.”
“Is that so.” My Nana took a step forward and peered around the corner into the room.”It looks like all of your dolls are sleeping there!”
“Yes.” I gave a firm nod.
“Well, then, where am I going to sleep?”
“I dunno.” I paused and looked around, as though searching for a suitable place. Suddenly my mom’s cat walked into the room and started rubbing up against my Nana’s ankles. She bent down to pet him. I started giggling. “Maybe you can sleep with Clyde!”
Nana chuckled. “With Clyde?! You’re silly!”
Today was my Nana’s birthday. She would have been 85. She passed away two months ago, almost six months to the day after my Grandpa Joe. And while I know she’s gone to a better place, I still miss her sometimes. I still go for my evening runs and am saddened that she will never again look upon the stars or see the sun rise. Still sad that I’ll never hear her voice again or listen to one of her crazy jokes. She loved telling the story about Packey.
It seems only yesterday that I was standing in my darkened apartment in Tennessee, talking to her on the phone and wishing her a happy birthday—her 80th. I’d just gotten off of work. She always wanted me to drive from Chattanooga, my college town, to Ohio to visit her and . I never did.
And now I’m simply wondering: Where does time go?
- grandparents aren’t supposed to die—thoughts on my Nana’s passing
- on death and living life to the fullest—a guest post by my brother
- the end of an era—thoughts on my Grandpa Joe’s passing
- the world from above—a poem about perspective