Mostly, I remember her voice...
A mix of british indian, with baghdadi intonation and
nasality
"wey julian ...you will go blind!" rings evermore in my ears
As she admonished me (out of pure love) for my
confession
In the mount aishel hotel bournemouth!
Her absolute unconditional love yet strict adherence to her
own (at times prudish) standards of right and wrong.
I could never master that balance with my own kids.
As the years pass
As the annual pilgrimage to her resting place clocks its
own memories
(this year with charles so sick, bless him)
Clocking its own biography
Nestled in the rolling meadows and grazing cattle of
london's green belt
I age too.
Yet in this, my 60th year I feel closer to her than ever.
Back in my life
In the web of professional and personal matrix
Each patient I lose is Nana
Each loss I experience is framed archetypically by her loss
In pain and grief she is my compass.
If I ever need to retrieve tears
To evoke grief
I merely think of her
Her tiny frame her intense eyes
Her frailty, her energy, her commitment and above all
unconditional love of her family.
As a teenager I remember hugging her small frame
Enveloped in my arms so easily
Then some 20 years later,
Watching her hold my own twins in the white rocking chair,
philadelphia
and feeling such pride
For having my own grandmother come from across the
ocean and spend a year with us.
Only now do I acknowledge my parents' faith in me.
That year the pride spilled over into humble recognition of
the larger picture.
I had "produced twins in 1981 the way my own mother had
twins in 1950 and here Nana was again;
Nana coming to the rescue!
How mythical!
Nothing else produces the flow of tears like the memory of
Nana
Nothing else such grief
As if at age 1, inscribed into my very flesh and mind was
her salvific grace-her showing up after weeks at sea
bombay to portsmotuh was it?
Dada in tow, to save the little julian growing pale and
losing weight with her dose of chicken soup.
She evokes for me the shechina, mama rachel, mother
dear, matronisa, maternity, the great mother archetype,
But all the positive features of the feminine archetype with
none of the darker threatening aspects.
In Nana I find refuge
In Nana I find comfort
In Nana I find solace and peace despite my own unending
torment
In Nana I find hope in her eternal energy and fierce
devotion to her progeny
Her utter faith in heaven and her optimism for the better
day to come.
Her belief that one day she would win the pools and would
distribute the cash to her children and grandchildren
It happened on more than one occasion in pounds here
and there
But what abides is her pride in winning.
I pray she has finally found peace knowing her
grandchildren and great grandchildren and descendants
Remember her and adore her for her love and devotion to
us.
And as we enter the month of her yahrzeit her hillula
The auspicious day of gateway to elul and "ani ledodi
vedodi li"
I had a dream of her
Coming to me
And as I reach out to her
She has come to me as a gift
And in the tears between us I cry out
"we will never forget you Nana you are inscribed in my
bones
your love is written in my heart your care is flowing
through my veins
and written in my flesh and Nana echoing my breath"
And as I age
No memories fade
No images disappear
On the contrary the stark releif of my own biography
focuses sharply and better when seen with Nana as my
background.
God bless you Nana in gan eden.
