Nana, 1913 – 2006

I guess one of the benefits of having a relatively new and rather under-trafficked blog is that you can pretty much write about whatever you want and not worry about affecting too many daily routines. With that in mind, and apologies in advance to those who came here for something a little less somber, I am going to shift gears today to honor my grandmother—“Nana,” to us—who passed away late Friday, at age 92.

I am now out in Los Angeles for the funeral, where, later today, I will be saying a few words in her memory. Those words will probably go something like this:

It is probably a good sign of the rich life you’ve lived when it doesn’t really fit neatly into a short little speech. Looking over Nana’s long life, filled with stories, too many of which I never took the time to fully learn, I can’t find one that I know that somehow symbolizes all 92 years.

It is easy to focus on tragedy and loss, and when I think about it, I am staggered by the number of really tough and sad moments Nana had to endure. Maybe life, for each of us, is more like that than any of us think while passing through it; maybe it is only when it comes time to take stock that you look at all the hurdles and struggles and you shake your head in utter amazement—how is it possible, after the early loss of both parents, or a brother, or a son, or a husband, or a sister, to see your way through to the next day? When looking back, when feeling the cumulative weight, how do you even summon the strength to lift yourself up out of bed and face the world fresh and, in spite of what has come to those around you, still alive?

I said it was easy to focus on the tragedy and loss, but I did not say that Nana went for the easy way. That’s not the way the Nana I knew chose to live her life.

We are blessed with many, many photographs of Nana, covering almost the entire span of her life, and, as many of us sat around looking at them over the weekend, we remarked at how many of these photos were of parties and celebrations. We were a bit awed by the amount of fun it looked like everyone was having—the fabulous clothes and impeccable hairdos, the dancing and clowning around, the formal tables with the countless champagne bottles and cocktail glasses. . . the wide smiles on everyone’s faces. Nana was there in those pictures, bright, happy, and full of life, and now, 60 or 70 years removed from these birthdays, and anniversaries, and holidays, traditional and invented, it is still easy to see how much it meant to be there, and how much it meant to be happy to be there.

And that’s the message, right? No one event or story tells of an entire life, but neither does any one kind of story. Life is not just about the battles any more then it is about one really good day. A life spent dwelling on either of those would be hard to move through—the pull of the past, happy or sad, would be too strong for even the best of us to maintain a life in the present. Life is lived through and between the sad times, sure, but I think Nana showed us that life is to be celebrated every day. Honor those you have lost, but then turn to the people you have, dance with them, sing a song with them, put on a nice dress or a silly hat, open a bottle of champagne, smile, laugh, and celebrate what is here and what is now.

I will miss Nana and what she has meant to the past 43 years of my life, and I will miss the connection she provided to the years before my time. I will miss her stuffed cabbage and her chopped liver, and I will now, of course, even miss her occasional nagging. I will miss Nana, but I will try to honor Nana, not through the sadness of her passing, but through the message in her memory: no matter what the ups and downs of the everyday bring, live, laugh, love, as best you can. . . because you can.