The Nana Letters - Foreward

My Grandmother has been my pen pal for quite some time. Our letters are changing though, changing as she has changed. I know it can be hard to look past the person Nana is now; Forgetful, bitter, depressed, lonely, and sad. But I know that's not who she is. She would have never chosen the life she lives at the age of 96. If she had her way, she would have been square dancing with Jack, the grandfather I knew. She really LOVED Jack and Jack really loved her. He had a grumpy teasing way about him. He loved to fart and then blame it on my nana or smack us with his newspaper as he walked by. Jack died over 20yrs ago. When he left, a piece of her heart went with him. That's when the CHANGE started.

Nana lived with a couple gentlemen after Jack's passing, and married one named Leonard (who she met by placing an add in a newspaper). He was a nice man, but he couldn't dance because it hurt his legs. His legs were eventually amputated and after a short time, Leonard passed away. This is when we started noticing the CHANGE even more. The tantrums, the confusion, the depression, the case of the nasties, these had all become part of the change. The change that took the sweet, feisty spirit of my grandmother and chased it away for good.

The dementia was and still is, the worst part. She doesn't remember the good stuff anymore and is often redundant in her letters, but every now and then, when I'm lucky, a moment of clarity strikes and she is like the nana we knew when we were young.

So... I was thinking that this would be a nice place to share some of her letters. YES... some of them are going to sound crazy and look like I can't type, but it is just because I want to keep the integrity of the letters as I received them, and I have to admit that she is a little "crazy" these days. But these letters are still part of our history. I will post them here to share. I'm going to write it just like she did - and she loves to right in her nursing shorthand. (Good thing I work with Dr.'s and nurses) So if it doesn't sound right, think of what I thought the first time I read them. I think the tone and content of her letters is dependent greatly upon the time of day she writes. Night hours are when the dementia is worse. She has a wonderful recollection of what happened 85 yrs ago, but could hide her own Easter eggs today and never find them. Sometimes she writes very happy letters describing her world that has gotten smaller. Cherish those. Sometimes she speaks mean and bitter things. Ignore those. That is not the woman we know that helped raise us as kids. For my sisters, my mother, my dad, my cousins, and anyone who reads this blog, my nana was, and still is, one of the most amazing women I have ever met. She has outlived 5 husbands, one I didn't even know about until about 5 years ago. She helped us become the independent people we are and in this afterlife, when her mind and body is perfected, I believe she will be there, with Jack, preparing the way for us, just as she has in this life.

The letters will be out of order, because I have kept them in different places and she doesn't like to date her letters. Some are postmarked, some are not, so bare with me. I will try and add a sidenote on ones that could use a little explanation. If you want to add a letter, you can email me at ldsklandrews@yahoo.com or mail it to me (email me for my address) and I'll post it here for all our family to share.

When the Dark Wakes Up

I had combed my hair and brushed my teeth
and said "Now I lay me down to sleep",
but my toes were to wiggly to go to sleep yet
so I asked my mommy if I could play with my jet.
She said, "In the morning, when the daylight comes,
you can play with your jet, your trucks, and your drums."
Then she pulled the covers way up to my chin
and said "Now close your eyes and let sweet dreams begin."
As soon as she left, I hopped to the floor
Only to find my mother's eyes staring back through my door.
She said, "Young man, get on back to your room
and do it quickly before you wake up the moon."
"If the dark wakes up," she whispered to me,
"he'll be much too tired to set the day free."
She bent in closely and kissed my head,
then helped me get settled back into bed.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep at last,
in hopes that the dark would fade away fast.
In the morning, when daylight came,
it called to me to come play a new game.
But I was too tired from staying up late.
This time the daylight would have to wait.
So I pulled the covers back up to my chin
and prayed the dark would come back again.

Written for Nick and Dan when they were 3 yrs. old
ka

The Girl Who Faded Away - a short fictional story by me

I didn’t know this girl we are writing about very well.  Well, actually, I went to school with her since preschool, but, I mean, I never really knew her.   Our English teacher, Mr. Segal, told us about her though; about how she slowly faded away.  Her name was Michelle Roberta Anderson.  Michelle was sixteen and went to Monrovia High School.  She wasn’t into brand names and designer jeans like all the other kids.  Instead, she always wore a red sweat jacket with holes in the elbows and blue jeans that didn’t get washed very often. When kids at school walked by her, she kept her eyes focused on the ground and prayed quietly to herself that they wouldn’t tease her again.  She told herself that if she prayed hard enough, one day she would just fade away and never have to face these kids again. 

Ever since Michelle was in Kindergarten, she was known as an outsider.  She was quite, shy, and kept to herself all of the time.  I mean, she must have been a total loner, because I would have noticed her… wouldn’t I have?  Why didn’t she even try to make friends?  Anyway, as she grew older, she seemed to distance herself more and more.  During class breaks and lunchtime, Michelle would sit by herself under the shade of an old oak tree, writing in a book, which must have been her journal.  She would write in that book for hours sometimes, pouring out her heart and soul, as if it were her only lifeline and her one true friend. 

Michelle must have gotten sick a lot, because she missed a lot of school.  Sometimes she wouldn’t come to school for days, but when she finally returned, she would be wearing that same red sweater and old blue jeans.  One of my friends said they heard she was just being rebellious against her parents.  That she was one of those rich kids that had everything, but she refused to wear the clothes her parents bought her.  I thought that was just crazy.  Could someone hate their parents so much that they would walk through life, day after day, wearing the same ugly clothes?

Sometime in the middle of our Junior year, Michelle started missing school more and more, until eventually, she stopped coming at all.  It took a while before anyone noticed.  Her teachers were encouraged by the school district to mark everyone in attendance so they would get the money for each student, so they never really took a real roll count.  So even though they should have noticed she wasn’t there, it didn’t seem to make a difference.  Michelle didn’t have any friends so there wasn’t anyone to report her absence.  Then, one day, the gardeners found a book under the old oak tree where Michelle used to spend her time.  That book was Michelle’s journal and in it were these words written over and over again.

Can’t you hear me screaming?

Don’t you see these tears that stain my face?

My body has been broken and bruised,

I’m so tired of the human race.

Will anyone notice if I loose this fight?

Does anyone hear these words I pray?

Can’t you hear me screaming?

Can’t you help keep me from fading away.

By the time that journal was found, it was too late.  Michelle’s tired and broken body was found in a make-shift forte, where she had been living under the freeway.  She was still wearing that red sweat shirt and those old blue jeans.  The outline of her body was spray-painted on the cold cement ground where she slept every night.  Sad thing is, after just a few short weeks, even that is slowly starting to fade away.

KA