Love Lives On.

Some moments defy description. There are experiences that we encounter over and over again in this life that no matter how often they are repeated their significance never fades. Like kissing your Grandmother. From the time I could form a pucker as a baby I have kissed my Grandmother probably hundreds of times. Greeting her on holidays, birthdays and impromptu visits then again when leaving all of those... I kissed with the realization each and every time of how blessed I am to have her. She's my Nana. She's the one who stroked the curls in my hair as I sat at the foot of her chair and told me how beautiful I am. She's the one who admired my crooked crochet attempts and proudly displayed the shawl I made her when I was nine. Nana would discuss a book I was reading with me like I was the smartest gal at the book club. She would listen to me chatter endlessly and watch me turn cartwheels in the yard as if it was all quite fascinating and wonderful. She made me feel fascinating and wonderful... talented and bright. It wasn't only me either. Nana made us all better when we were around her.

We were all around her last week and we couldn't make her better though. As we surrounded her bed in ICU we kissed her, I stroked her hair and smoothed the quilt over her legs again and again. I watched uncles, aunts, cousins and my Mother fight for control and lose it, over and over again through the hours that made up the day... that we lost Nana.