Today would have been Nana’s birthday, and she’s been on my mind a lot lately. Some of my earliest memories involve her–from the mundane moments of sharing car rides together, “walking races” down her backyard and card games of War to the more memorable trips to the beach or the frequent sleepovers at her house. I don’t know that she ever missed a band concert, and she was frequently there before homecomings and proms while parents were taking pictures and we kids were generally feeling rather embarrassed by the hullabaloo. Tenth grade homecoming in particular stands out as one such instance, which is also the dance where I got to wear her emerald necklace, which is our shared birthstone.
After I got my driver’s license, the first place I drove solo was to her house. Nevermind it was only a few blocks away and easy walking or bicycling distance. The point was I could drive solo and that was the first place I thought of to go.
For my 17th birthday, she flew us to New York City to see Les Miserables on Broadway. The next day, we went to the World Trade Center to visit the top, but the very nice man at the ticketing counter told us we’d just be up in a cloud and not able to see any views, so we left without going to the top. We ended up getting stuck in a terrible rainstorm in the financial district and ducked into a restaurant where I proceeded to order and choke down the worst grilled cheese of my life. I didn’t even know it was possible to make a bad grilled cheese, but this restaurant perfected it and charged premium dollar. It’s a memory we still sometimes laughed about years later.
When I decided to study abroad in Australia, she took out a subscription to National Geographic magazine in the hopes there would be Australia-focused articles (there weren’t).
When I moved to Chicago shortly after college graduation, she came out to visit within the year and was always eager for holidays and other special trips home. Seven years later, I moved back to Pennsylvania and she was so pleased.
When she turned 85, Mom, Bridget and I took her on the Megabus to New York City to see Anything Goes on Broadway. That time, we visited Ground Zero and the World Trade Center memorials. I sometimes wonder if the nice man who told us not to waste our money made it out of the World Trade Center.
Nana was beyond thrilled when Brian and I married. I knew she was eager to see us become parents. When we visited her one day in fall 2017, we mentioned something about a baby next year in a creative way I can’t remember. She lit up for a moment, then said, “Oh you got me excited! I thought for a second you were telling me something.” Well … we were!
Then in April 2018, Landon was born. His middle name is Scott, which is a beloved uncle’s name, and he was named after Nana’s maiden name of Scott. So Landon also carries a part of Nana’s name. Landon happened to come home from the hospital on May 5, 2018, on Nana’s birthday. We missed her birthday and coinciding Kentucky Derby Party that year. But I love the dual celebrations of Nana’s life and Landon coming home from the NICU. It seemed fitting to celebrate milestones for the oldest and youngest family members on the same day, even if they were apart.
Two months later, Landon was preparing for his inguinal hernia surgery and Nana for a knee replacement. The two of them spent some time visiting and I just adore the gaze they share.
The above photo is on my desk and Landon recently looked at it and asked, “Why is Nana holding me like a baby?!”
Right after Nana passed, Landon kept saying, “Nana fell down on herself.” Just stating it. One time he looked at me and said, “Nana fell down on herself. I want to help her.”
We all did.
I drive by Passavant nearly every day and Landon asks if that’s Nana’s house. We recently told him it was but she didn’t live there anymore. “Where did she go?” he queried. “She’s up in heaven,” we replied. He thought for a second, then said, “I want to see her.”
We all do.
The Story of Our Lives 
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