Thoughts on Nana...

And so, it was the last time I saw Nana.

Tamar woke me up at 7.15am to tell me that my Nana had died overnight.

Yesterday, my Nana was transported by ambulance from the hospital and given "hours" to live.

And the assessment was accurate.

Apparently, when she came home, she began opening her mail, paying bills, and instructing my mom to "make sure the maid's W-2 gets to her before the end of January."

In the days preceding her death, she had dicated 20 pages of notes to my mother about what her wishes were regarding the funeral and the shiva period. Some of these included, "move the coffee table in the living room so there's more room to sit," "don't allow waiters to serve drinks walking around the apartment," and the nature of the casket she preferred.

If there was one thing that was a hallmark of my Nana from day one, it was dignity. She lived with dignity and that was how she died. She was determined to not be on a ventilator or like a "vegetable." She was emotional, but realistic.

I like to listen to music when I work from home and I didn't know what genre was an appropriate choice for this morning, so I chose "Oldies." As it turns out, Frank Sinatra is singing "My Way," which, if anything, is an appropriate song for a woman who, after being told by the doctor that they were out of options, commented to my mom, "a doctor should dress better."

When I was in 9th grade, I had a teacher, Rabbi Diament who was diagnosed with a brain tumor. A group of students, my brother included, went to see him on the day before Yom Kippur. I was invited to go. I demured, saying, "I will see him on Monday." You know how this ends.

Before going to Dallas, Tamar said to me...."you need to go see your Nana before you leave." I did, and it was Tamar's email that ensured all of us getting back before the worst of the snowstorm on Sunday night, so each of us could say our final goodbyes.

When I visited Poppy on Sunday night and he began to cry, I said "I can't imagine how you are feeling now. I imagine it's difficult, but I can't imagine how."

This morning, when Tamar woke me to tell me, I got a glimpse of it.

Through the last few days, Tamar's entire focus has been on my emotional well-being. Tamar didn't have a chance to say her goodbyes to Nana. Instead, she selflessly sacrificed her time to care for our kids and make sure that I had a chance to do so.

I fast forwarded 60 years (hopefully!) and thought..."wow, take all of the selflessness and compound it and you get a hint of the love that Nana and Poppy felt for each other. If we get anywhere near that level, the amount of emotional pain that I would feel would be immeasurable."

And so, in Nana's death, I obtained a different view of my wife, my marriage, and my own marriage. The dignity that is and was Nana is the same dignity that my wife carries with her daily.

In 60 years, it's not going to matter too much what I did at work today or whether I saved a dollar on a gallon of gasoline, but it will matter that I am surrounded by people who love me because of the way I have treated them and what I have done for them and having lived a life with dignity.

On the one hand, feeling that emotional pain is terrifying, but I imagine, when all is said and done, it's as good a measure as any of the quality of life you have lived.

In 6 years of marriage, Tamar and I have helped each other through the deaths of three grandmothers. Out of 8, only one remains (Poppy).

A few years ago, I started a project in a document called "Nana and Poppy Eulogy." I didn't get very far, but here's what I did accomplish.

Today is June 12th, 2004 and though I hate to think about it, I've started
writing the eulogy for Nana and Poppy.

Why? Well, this morning, Tamar, Calanit, and I attended the funeral of Tamar's paternal grandmother. The words spoken there were beautiful and as I sat listening to the speakers, I felt an appreciation growing for Nana and Poppy with each moment, particularly as I appreciated the fact that they are still both alive and well right now.

I became motivated to start a periodic journal of my feelings and thoughts about Nana and Poppy while they are alive so that when the moment I
hope never comes inevitably does-and must-come, I will have captured their essence over the course of time and perhaps shed a different perspective on each
of them than if I had to gather my thoughts immediately upon hearing the sad news.

Nana
So I called Nana tonight when I got in the car on the way from BWI to our apartment after the funeral. Nana asked me how it went.

I said, "you know, Nana, it really made me appreciate you and Poppy much more."

I could tell Nana appreciated it and then she said, "well you know, she was very old, she was 95 and a half!"

And this coming from a woman who is 82. "Yeah, you're right Nana, you're pretty young after all."

Poppy
Poppy called me about two weeks ago on a Wed. night and said, "you know, I'd like to go to lunch with you tomorrow."'Ugh, pop, that's the one day I can't do it.""What about next week?" he asks.

I start mumbling, "hmmmm, let me see. well, maybe I can move this...""You know, Jer, I'm at the age where I don't buy green bananas," he says. [Of course, he's been saying that for 15 years, but I get the idea]

"Ok, Pop, how about Tuesday."

I don't know how many times I've heard that line, but he sure loves it.

Part of me is upset that I didn't capture more anecdotes, but part of me says that it doesn't matter.

There was a night when I lived in Frankfurt in 1996, when my sister Dina (who was visiting) and I were up until 4am crying about the thought of Nana and Poppy dying. Like this past Sunday night in the hospital and then at the apartment, it was one of those surreal moments when your senses are acutely heightened.

Since that night, I never looked at interaction with Poppy or Nana in the same light. I always appreciated hearing their voices or seeing them and was fully engaged. Though I have been crying off and on while composing this, it's not because I feel like I "missed" something with Nana or "have regrets."

My grandfather flew 75 bombing missions over China in WWII as a member of the Flying Tigers. His was the one crew where every single member survived without a scratch. After that experience, he developed and often repeated a mantra. You would ask him, "how are you doing?" and he'd say "Every Day Is A Bonus Day."

That's how I feel about the last 11 years with Nana (and, unfortunately, in the not too distant future about Poppy).

Whatever it was that was the catalyst for Dina and me to have that chat in Frankfurt, it focused me on the priorities and though I am sad, I am "at peace."

I think the realistic approach to life...and death...contributed to a different level of relationship.

About a year ago, my mom and I were driving back from the memorial service of the mother of a grade-school classmater of mine. We called Nana to check in.

The woman who had died had a severe form of cancer and was in tremendous pain.

Nana said, "if I ever get like that, I'm just going to put a gun to my head."

My mom didn't know what to say.

So I piped up...."Nana, if you're going to kill yourself, there are a lot better ways than a gun."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, a gun is just so messy. I mean, think about it. Someone's going to have clean that all up. If you're going to do that, maybe you could just do something that doesn't take as much work afterwards?"

My mom was in shock, but Nana was cracking up.

(If you are up to here, you are one dedicated blog reader, that much I'll say.)

I think I'll wrap it up now. I'm kind of spent and my thoughts are a bit disjointed now. I'm sure there will be more later, but I'll tell you one thing....if I can go in the way that Nana did, with head held high, with dignity, with grace (and a 20 page project plan!), then that's what I'm going to do.