“Is That You My Love?”
I have only flicks and fleets of memories of her. I remember her tiny kitchen. She was always bustling about in it. I remember that we could do no wrong. She thought we had hung the moon. I remember her love for fresh flowers and her garden swing. The tiny postage stamp back yard. The tall fences and watching her have chats with the neighbors. I remember her buying me new shoes and clothes. I remember her giving me a necklace. Also little dainty pottery that was her mothers. She loved life. And loved EVERYBODY who danced in and out of hers. In was better then out.
The last time I saw her was when I was 8 3/4 months pregnant with Aubrey. Over 15 years ago. She had bravely come to America to visit. We walked on the beach. She worried and fretted over me in my pregnant state and assured me over and over again, “It will be over soon, my love”, speaking of the quickly approaching labor.
When people act so surprised that I am British….I love to tell them that I still have a living grandmother there. Along with many Aunts, Uncles, and cousins. I have ALWAYS wanted to return to England and see my Nanny, but I have never made it.
And now she lays in a hospital bed. Just a shadow of her former self. Life has almost ebbed out it’s last spark. My parents fly tomorrow to spend moments with her.
As the tears fall down my face I can hear her say, “Is that you my love?” “Yes, Nanny it is.”