Happy International Women's Day To The Women In My Life Past and Present

I found myself in an interesting situation growing up. Throughout my childhood, I suffered from a serious lack of positive male role models. It was hard for me to figure out what being a good man meant because I didn’t see it very often.

However, as much as I lacked male role models I had, and still have, an overabundance of female role models. In fact, they are the ones who truly made me who I am and continue to shape my life.

When I think of strong female role models I think first of my mother. She went to school full-time to be a nurse. This was while working full-time. Oh, and she did this all while raising 5 children. I could not do 2 of those 3, let alone all 3.

When I think of strong female role models I think of her mother, my grandmother, my Nina. She was the bedrock of her household. She did it all so that my Grampa could run his own business. She also was one of the people who brought women’s fitness to Cape Cod. Ever heard of the Gloria Stevens fitness centers? She was a part of that.

When I think of strong female role models I think of my other grandmother, my Nana. She had to be both mother and father to 4 children after the sudden death of my Grampa Johnny. She had to mend her broken heart and life while making sure her children didn’t fall to pieces.

It doesn’t end there though. I have so many more strong females in my family tree. My sisters Kate and Lindsay have become incredible mothers. My sister Ashley defeated her demons and got sober. She directly influenced my choice to do the same.

I have 2 nieces Kaleigh and Emma who are college graduates and wonderful people I’ve been blessed to watch grow up. I have a young niece Sylvie who lights up my world every moment she’s in it, and she has a mother who works hard basically raising her on her own.

But there’s more. I have so many inspirational female friends. I have friends who have started their own businesses. I have friends who are going to school and working full-time to craft a better life. I have friends who are battling serious illnesses. I have friends who worked hard to better themselves physically and are now helping others do the same.

Most of all though I have friends who are just good people that I am so lucky to have in my life. In a world where being a decent person seems like an exception and not a rule, I have been blessed to have so many positive female presences in my life.

To all of my female family and friends, I wish you a happy International Women’s Day. I hope you know the impact you have had on my life and how much you are appreciated. I would not be who I am without you.

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #45: Early Sunsets, Metal Pile Mayhem, Food Coma, etc.

 

1. It always makes me feel like I’m up to no good when sitting in my car in a beach parking lot after dark. Maybe because plenty of times I used to be up to no good. At this time of year though with the sunset at about 4:20(nice), it is possible to sit in a dark secluded beach parking lot at 5pm. That’s still a good chunk of daylight when in the summer. Yet there I am sitting in the parking lot wondering if I should move on before the cops come and yell. Part of me still feels like I’m 18.

2. There was a momentarily fun flashback this week in an unexpected way. I needed to finally throw away an old mini-fridge that had been sitting in a storage area where I live for years. Ripping the door off of it to be allowed to throw it away at the local dump was fun. When I got there to toss it I had flashbacks as I had to put the fridge body in one area. The door and any insides needed to be thrown into the neighboring metal pile. Way back in the 90s several friends and I used to frequent the metal pile. We lived nearby plus it was in a different area of the dump. We used to sneak through the woods and then perform acts of mayhem like whipping rocks into the televisions. You know, teenage boy crap. No, I didn’t try to smash any TVs this time but the memories did flood back.

Memories of mayhem.

3. It’s a bit disheartening when I share thoughts and problems in my life. Rather than friends and family being understanding and supportive it ends up being a pissing match. It seems to always be one of those ‘Oh you think that’s bad, well here’s what’s going on in my life.’ I typically end up as everyone’s sounding board but when it’s time for me to vent there’s no one to listen. I hate being so closed off as I feel now but it’s like why reach out when it seems like nobody is willing to give, only take. I am learning not to expect what you give in return.

4. A random question I needed to find an answer to was: Where do seagulls sleep? The reason why? I was at the beach shooting the sunset and the parking lot was packed with dozens of gulls hanging out. Even right after the sun went down they were like little white dots all over the pavement. Then seemingly out of nowhere, they all were gone. I figured after dark they all go to a more secluded spot and sleep while a few stand guard. That’s kind of true as I found in my research. I just found it interesting that the beach went from seagull party to empty in a snap. As my Uncle Steve would say, they all did their ‘Irish goodbyes.’ That just means leaving quietly before anyone notices.

5. It’s amazing and a bit overwhelming to stop and think about how different your life would be had you made different choices. For me, I can think off the top of my head of at least a dozen pivotal moments in my life where if I’d gone left instead of right my life would look so different. These choices could be certain people, jobs, or things that were said. Also, not all of these choices necessarily would have made my life better. Some of them I think would have led to other multiple choice questions. It’s kind of like standing on a road and the road splinters off, and again, and again, until it’s like a huge spiderweb.

So many different roads.

6. A change of scenery can really lead to a change of mind. I always find that going to the college library to write and work on content is a far more rewarding experience than doing it at home. I don’t know if it’s because I associate the library with my time there as a student so I know when I’m in the library it’s work time? Maybe I feel I need to step my game up when surrounded by people there trying to better themselves? Whatever it is I do enjoy it and need to make it more of a part of my habit like it was years ago.

7. For 15 years since my Nana died I had owned several of her belongings because I wanted things to remember her. I have her old crossword puzzle pen, her old gigantic television, and the stand it came on that my Uncle Eric had to saw parts of the sides off of so the TV would fit. I also had her microwave. Finally this week I decided to upgrade and get a new microwave. There were loads of Black Friday deals so I got a good price. I went to Best Buy in the Cape Cod Mall. The funny thing was that the microwave was too small to need help bringing it out to my car but too big for it to be a simple task. I ended up heaving it up onto my shoulder and walking out like that, keeping one hand free to show the employee at the front my receipt so they didn’t think I was just stealing microwaves.

8. I don’t know what is more crowded. Is it the local stores on Black Friday? Or is it the local gym on Black Friday filled with people feeling guilty about how much food they ate on Thanksgiving? I’d think you’d be safer being at the crowded gym where you can only get a dumbbell dropped on your foot. In a crowded store, you might get stabbed by some crazy parent who wants the last doll on a shelf. I’ll stick to online shopping thank you.

9. Fun fact, it takes roughly 20-30 minutes of eating before your brain recognizes it’s full. Another fun fact, on Thanksgiving I did not heed this warning from my mother. When I say it was the most painful type of being full I’d ever experienced I am not lying. It felt like I had a cinder block lodged in my ribs and stomach. It was almost comical how terrible I felt, more so after I started feeling better a few hours later. I had to stand outside on my mom’s deck for a while trying to stay upright until my body could start digesting. Believe me, all of the food my mom made was amazing. That’s the main reason I was stuffed like a beached whale.

How I felt on Thanksgiving.

10. The places might change, and the guest list might change, but the feelings of thankfulness and gratefulness don’t change for me. The older I get I appreciate even more having those times to get together with family and friends. Thanksgiving is of course a day of food as you could tell from the entry above. However, I’d take just hanging with family and friends with no food over eating until I can’t move by myself. Of course, a mix of both is always good as well.

The Power of My Nana's Life

“Ain’t it funny how time slips away.”

14 years is a long time. It’s 5,113 days. Yet in that time period from December 29, 2009, to December 29, 2023, I never took the time to actually tell this story. It was one of those ‘everybody kind of already knows’ types of things. For me though, as a way to remember, I think now is a good time to share, better late than never.

I had never dealt with death really in my life up until my Nana died. Sure, there were family members who had passed, some of them pretty close. However, there hadn’t been a member of my inner circle that had left. That’s what made my Nana’s death a true watershed moment in my life, and likely why all of this is still so clear 14 years later.

High School Graduation 1996

Looking back with 20/20 hindsight my Nana was declining pretty rapidly during the later summer into the fall of 2009. I visited her usually once a week and had noticed the changes. Her mind was still pretty sharp, but there would be moments of quiet and confusion. Nothing like what I dealt with when my Grampa started declining ten years later but still it would perk up my antennae.

I noticed Nana walking less and shuffling more. She sat in her favorite chair more and was up and about less. There were even times that I’d come to visit and she preferred to stay down the hallway watching television in another room. It was hiding in plain sight but things were turbulent in my own life at the time, so I think I registered what I saw but didn’t talk about it.

Visiting my Nana for my 32^nd birthday was the last real moment we had together. At least the way I remember things. It was early November and we sat in the living room at Boxberry Lane, the house I had spent as much time in as any other place on earth.

I can’t remember exactly what we spoke of, likely how much I hated cooking and wanted to be a writer. I am sure we talked about family, old times, and funny stories, those were the things that distracted me from my own life. Even at 32, I felt like I was behind where I should have been in life, but that’s for another day.

I vividly remember leaving in the early afternoon, before sunset. Nana was basically in her pajamas still sitting in her chair. I bent down and gave her a kiss and a gentle hug, told her I loved her, and left. I don’t remember if I saw her again before things hit the tipping point but at my age now I prefer to remember that time as the true end.

One of the last photos of Nana, she hated having her picture taken.

A few weeks later came word that she had fallen at home. Nobody had been there, well except for her cat Mittens. Nana lay on the floor for several hours before my father showed up and she was taken to the hospital. She was still with it enough to make the joke that Mittens had walked around her and stuck her butt in Nana’s face, but once she realized she wasn’t going to be fed Mittens left to go sleep in another room.

It was only a few days before Thanksgiving. I was living at home and the stress was overwhelming. In my mind, Nana would recover and be home as good as new relatively soon. There was no need to go and visit when I could just see her at her house when she got back.

On Thanksgiving, my Uncle Eric led a prayer for my Nana that she would have a swift and full recovery. It was the first holiday that she wasn’t at that I had any memory of. It was different, but once the food and stories started it felt like any other holiday on that side of the family.

I remember as the evening was dying down my Uncle Eric and Aunt Emma asked to talk to me. They had noticed what was going on with me and the stress of my home life. Out of the goodness of their hearts, they offered me their spare bedroom to move into for a while which I gladly accepted.

I didn’t leave home with anger or malice toward my family. I just knew that I needed some sort of change in my own life and had to do something about it. Little did I know moving would be the smallest change coming.

December came and my Nana didn’t return home. She seemed to be improving so it felt like it was just delaying things. Her going home would be the ultimate Christmas present for us all. A friend of the family worked at the rehab center that she was sent to so we all got routine updates on how she was doing. Then something seemingly innocuous happened that ended up being the turning point in this whole story.

They lost her teeth. Yes, it sounds like a bit from a comedy show and I wish it was, but it ended up being far too symbolic. I don’t know if my Nana took it as a sign, or if things were just headed in that direction regardless of outside circumstances. From the moment that her teeth were lost her decline sped up.

In my mind still, it was just delaying her coming home. Things would go back to normal, they always did. Despite being 32 like I said I had never dealt truly with death so I didn’t know the signs. If I had known then, in mid-December 2009, that my Nana wasn’t ever coming home I would have gone to visit her while she was still Nana.

When it became apparent to my Uncle Eric and Aunt Emma that Nana was getting close to the end they brought me and my cousin Patrick to the rehab center to see her. We had not gone and they knew this was likely the only time we’d go.

What I saw when entering her room was something that still haunts me to this day. My Nana was not my Nana anymore. She looked withered and wasted away, almost sunken into the pillows behind her head. Her eyes were closed and when we spoke to her all that we got were whispers barely audible above the room ambiance.

In that moment reality broke through my rose-tinted glasses. In that moment I finally saw that things were not going to go back to normal. When looking at my Nana’s barely recognizable face I felt the child in me wanting to scream and beg for someone to wake me from this nightmare. However, we were all a part of this and we would all have to deal with it.

Patrick and I held on to each other in stunned and horrified silence. Aunt Emma asked us to kiss Nana goodbye so we did. At that moment, as I slowly exited my Nana’s room, never to see her again, memories flooded my head. I didn’t know when the end would be, only that the end was coming. When we all got back into the truck to leave Aunt Emma said we didn’t have to go back again if we didn’t want to. She had seen our faces and knew at the very least we had said our goodbyes.

Christmas Eve 2009 was the first year of a tradition I have kept to this day. My Nana’s favorite place to be was Englewood Beach in West Yarmouth, MA. If ever I went to her house and she wasn’t there I had a pretty good feeling she was at Englewood doing her crossword puzzles and enjoying the scenery.

I knew how much she loved it there so I went to Englewood on Christmas Eve for a little while because I knew she couldn’t. I took a photo of the sunset with the naive thought that maybe I could show it to Nana someday. On Christmas Eve 2023, I went to Englewood for a little while for the 14^th straight year. I consider it my sunset date with my Nana so that even after all this time we can still spend time together on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve sunset at Englewood in 2019

Christmas passed and I can remember there wasn’t a conversation about Nana’s impending death. I don’t think we really talked about it, but I know it was in our thoughts. We hoped that she would at least make it through Christmas. I also hoped that she would make it past December 30^th as that was my Uncle Bob’s birthday and that would have been a terrible trauma to have to cope with every year.

Then the day came. December 29, 2009. I was sitting in a rocking chair, my Dell laptop in my lap as I was posting something irrelevant to Facebook about why I felt I could never find ‘the one.’ My Aunt Emma came in and broke the news that Nana had died. We exchanged a hug but I felt numb and hollow.

I sat back down by myself. I stared out the window trying to feel for anything to hold on to in that moment. On the sloped roof of the house next door, I watched as crows began to gather. One turned to two, three, then four. They all perched in a spot where they would be visible to me. Depending on what you believe crows have very deep spiritual meaning when it comes to death and change in general. I felt their presence, but I also felt my Nana’s.

I was sad, but not for the reasons you might think. I was sad selfishly because I knew part of my life was over. Although I had thousands of memories with my Nana I had always thought there would be one more. I was also sad because I should have been there more when she was nearing the end. It is one of the biggest regrets I’ve ever had in my life. In fact, when my Grampa was rapidly declining with Alzheimer’s in 2019 I made it a point to be there every excruciating step of the way because I hadn’t done it for my Nana. Grampa’s final weeks are a trauma that I still haven’t fully recovered from.

Nana's cat Mittens sitting in her chair the day after she had passed away.

The changes only continued. With Nana gone next to go was the house on Boxberry Lane where we had all gathered for countless holidays, cookouts, and random days of just living. The house was sold before winter turned to spring in 2010. We had one last get-together there. I still remember ordering Giardino’s pizza because she always enjoyed it, and always had coupons. We shared stories, laughed, and cried. It was truly an all-encompassing celebration of life.

I felt then, and still do now, that I didn’t allow myself to fully grieve for Nana. Partially due to wanting to be a rock for the others in the family, and partially due to fear and not wanting to accept life had changed forever. Over the ensuing months, the grief would manifest. I would have numerous vivid dreams with my Nana in them, her face, her voice, the way I remembered.

The fact that I was staying at the time with my Uncle Eric and Aunt Emma was no accident. Emma’s mother Neta who lived there too became a surrogate Nana to me. I was laid off from work for the winter which luckily(or unluckily) gave me ample time to think about what was happening. I can remember many times that I sat and had lunch with Neta and just talked. I didn’t confide feelings of grief, or look for profound answers on the meaning of life. No, I just enjoyed her company. In the years that have passed, I look at Neta as a Godsend. I know I thanked her, but hope I thanked her enough for just being who she was at such an important time in my life.

My final time inside the walls of my Nana’s house was in early February 2010 when I had to get anything of mine that had been stored in her attic. For the most part, I was by myself in the quiet of the house. My father who had lived there into his 50s had used Nana’s death as a catalyst to move to Florida. He also took her cat Mittens with him. He would return mere weeks later, Mittens though, would die at some point during the trip.

The house on Boxberry Lane years after it was sold.

The house was silent as I grabbed boxes to take to my car. I amerced myself in the quiet, hoping that there might be some sort of sign from Nana. It wasn’t to be on that day. However not too long after I had a vivid dream of me entering her house and calling out to her. Clear as day she spoke from the end of the hallway as she often did when she was alive. She said, “I’m okay, I’m alright.” I can hear it still 14 years later.

They say a person dies twice, once when their life ends, and again when their name is spoken for the last time. I have made it a point to keep my Nana alive with things like this, and remembering her on her birthday. I do the same for the numerous others that I have lost since my Nana.

I remember my Grampa, my Nina, my friend from age 7 Matt Medeiros, my friend from high school Pete Machon, our family friend I considered my aunt Brenda, and most recently my Uncle Eric. Their memories are still alive in me.

Today marks 14 years since my Aunt Emma told me my Nana had died. She, my Uncle Eric, cousin Patrick, and Neta all kept me afloat during those times, and I hope that I did the same for them in some small way.

In the years since the family on that side has splintered. With no home base on Boxberry Lane, it became harder to get together. When Uncle Eric and Aunt Emma moved back to Las Vegas the gatherings on the Setterlund side stopped altogether. If I am lucky I bump into my Uncle Bob every once in a while which is always a welcomed interaction. Sadly, the last big family get-together was in the spring of 2023 as we had a celebration of life for my Uncle Eric after he passed in January 2023.

It’s interesting, as I write this I feel like a narrator of a film. These words have my voice, but my mind is filled with scenes of joy and laughter with so many people both here and gone. That is the power of a life. Even after someone is gone they can leave you with smiles, and tears, for endless years. After 14 years that is the power of my Nana’s life.

In My Footsteps: Sundays at Nana's

    It’s a funny thing how you can still miss a person tremendously even if you had spent as much time as you possibly could with them. It’s incredible the mark someone can leave on you and your life that you can have thousands of unique memories and moments with them, a literal infinite field of flowers, and yet they still leave you thinking it was not enough. I still have so many vivid memories of my Nana, even twelve years after her death because I was around her so much.

    She was a saint of a woman. All 5-feet of Portuguese and English blood who had been forced to raise four kids on her own after a cruel twist took the life of her husband at the young age of forty-three. It had to have been rough being both mother and father to kids between the ages of eight and sixteen. She did it though, all while also being the bread winner of the family. There was no stay at home parenting, no day care, no babysitting. My Nana became tough and unflappable because life gave her no other option.

    Despite everyone knowing that the family’s success or failure fell squarely on her shoulders she never lost her cool or became overwhelmed by the pressure. If she did feel any of those things she kept them hidden away from prying eyes. Being raised as a child during the Great Depression must have made persevering through life’s struggles as instinctual a trait as breathing. Crying about the hand one was dealt did not change the hand.

    My Nana had to make all of the tough choices when it came to parenting. She did not have a tag team partner to bounce ideas off of. By the time she was forty-three she had lost her husband and her mother leaving very little in the way of immediate family for emotional support. She was good cop and bad cop in the name of raising well adjusted kids. She had to console grieving children who had lost their father, all the while doing her own grieving of her husband and mother in private.

    These challenges of being a child during the Great Depression, college-aged during World War II, and a widowed single-mother in her forties, all shaped my Nana into the person I got to know starting in her fifties. She was fifty-three when I was born. By that point her youngest child was now twenty. Although I’d love to say that my being born allowed her to step back and let her guard down a little the truth is that it was just a coincidence. She had done her job of raising her kids and now it was time to take a breath.

    I don’t have any concrete memories of my Nana until about the age of five. There are however countless photos of things before they left an imprint on my young mind. Some photos might have her head cut out by her own hand, but they all show that she was a constant presence in my life from Day One.

    I never knew the woman named Doris. I never knew the woman lovingly referred to as ‘Ma.’ I only knew Nana. She was the person with the roaring infectious laughter that everybody who came into contact with her tried to bring to the surface. Her laugh made us laugh until tears streamed down all of our faces. It was as much a tradition as turkey on Thanksgiving and lights on the Christmas tree. Nana was the straight man in the venerable nut house that was Boxberry Lane during family gatherings.

    Despite her home being ground zero for all types of gatherings throughout childhood it is Sunday that always stood out for me. In some ways Sunday is still Nana Day in my mind. Those days of visiting her began with being picked up at home, many times by Nana herself. In the early days it was a black Ford Escort (that I took my first driving lessons in), later on it was a red Dodge Dynasty.

    Most Sunday’s consisted of watching television, Three Stooges and WWF All-American Wrestling stand out. If it was warm there was ample time in the backyard either playing Wiffle ball before the neighbors put up a fence in their backyard, or lying in the hammock. If it was cold or rainy we’d be inside. We’d play board games like Chutes and Ladders or going through the old family albums and getting a kick out of the different hair and clothing styles. I can still hear the crinkling sounds the protective plastic made with each turn of those old albums.

    The biggest question was always what was for dinner. During the summer we’d have as many cookouts on Nana’s old red-topped charcoal grill. However Nana could make a lot of dishes. A few of her favorites to share with us were American Chop Suey, Inside-Out Ravioli, New England boiled dinner (ham or corned beef, potatoes, cabbage, carrots), and the classic franks, beans, and brown bread. If she wasn’t feeling like cooking it was pizza from Giardino’s or Taki’s, or a buffet from China Inn.

    Nana was the one who loved her birds (especially Goldfinches), loved her crossword puzzles, and loved her grandkids. That was why if of one Nana’s four kids gave some good-natured ribbing about her being some sort of strict disciplinarian when they were younger we grandkids would just shake our heads in disbelief. That was not our Nana, hell I don’t think that could have been Ma, or even Doris. She was someone who always saw the good in everyone and everything.

    Nana was always the one who seemed truly proud of you for whatever you had done. No matter how small or insignificant it might have been her pride was evident. She was always the one who was genuinely happy to see you even as her life grew painful and her light grew dimmer. As a child and a teenager these Sundays with Nana were written in ink on the schedule of my life. An obligation not a choice, though that does not mean they were any less enjoyable. It just means that as I became a young man in my twenties with my own life and own means of transportation I made it my choice to continue the visits because I wanted to.

    I can sit here now and recall literally hundreds and hundreds of Sundays with Nana. From ones that happened before my memory held on to them to the last one in November 2009 each and every one of them had special moments which, like grains of sand, fill the pristine beach that was my Nana’s life.

    I was blessed to have my Nana in my life until I was thirty-two. This allowed me the ability to see her not only as my loving grandmother but also later on to be able to speak and learn from her as an adult. It allowed me to appreciate the person behind my Nana so much more. It gave me the opportunity to do things like trace her family tree back hundreds of years, or to write a children’s book based around her and her cat Mittens.

    Part of me held on to the belief that as long as I had living grandparents I was still a child. Therefore I was a child until I turned forty-three. Still, as much as I’d love to have one more Sunday with my Nana it gives me peace to know that I had as many as I possibly could and likely more than most people have with their grandparents. I miss those days and can picture all of it so clearly. I miss the old phonograph in the den with the Edison record that we always wanted to play. I miss the cigarette smoke damaged painting above the fireplace. I miss the eclectic collection of glass bottles that lined the mantle. I miss sun tea and Horse’s Necks. I miss climbing up to the attic on a ladder that seemed to be one step from collapse. I miss the rose bush that swallowed a fence, or the giant puddle that formed in the street after it rained.

    Yes I miss all of what made Sundays at Nana’s so special and fun. However there is one thing that above all else I wish I had the opportunity to relive one more time. When we would be driven home after dinner on Sundays Nana would stand in the front door and wave to us as the car drove away. I remember watching her wave and fade from sight as we pulled away. She never closed the door until long after we had vanished, like she wanted to see us for as long as she could as much as we wanted to see her. Even near the end when it was too painful to see me off at the door I could picture her sitting in her favorite chair and waving as she heard my car leave, even if she knew I couldn't see it.

    I find that ending of a typical Sunday, the vision of Nana waving to us slowly growing smaller until she faded away, being a perfect metaphor for her final years. She never closed the door she simply faded away until we could not see her anymore. But if I close my eyes and think hard enough I can see her again, I can hear her again, and despite being gone for twelve years the fact that she remains such a powerful and important part of my life I believe is the greatest compliment I could pay her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Previous Blog Posts:

In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - The Unsolved Murder of Clarence Parker

In Their Footsteps: Cape Cod History - Kemp's of America Restaurant

Be sure to check out my website: Christopher Setterlund.com

Zazzle Store: Cape Cod Living

Celebrating the Life of My Nina - In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 15

In My Footsteps: Nina Finds Grampa In Heaven

(Based on a vivid dream I had the night my Nina died. I'm presenting this like an illustrated short story. All photos used are my own, or creative commons/public domain. I hope it brings you hope and happiness)

    A bright shapeless entity floats toward the gates of heaven. It is Nina in her spirit form. She moves toward the gates but is beckoned toward a small building to the right. She enters and a man behind a counter welcomes her to heaven. His only distinguishing features are that he is thin with short dark hair.

    The interior of the building is very similar to a dry cleaning business. There are countless outfits in garment bags on hangars that seem to go on forever despite the building not have appeared to be so big from the outside. He explains that before she enters heaven she has a choice to make. As it is heaven for everyone Nina is allowed to choose the exact appearance that she takes upon entering.

    The man presents her with a digital book. Inside it are images of Nina from every possible time of her life. He explains that she gets to flip through the images, much like swiping through photos on a smartphone. Once she gets to one that she likes he will retrieve that outfit for her. Nina swipes along, eventually settling on a the version of herself that she wants to wear for eternity. It is difficult to know the exact age she has chosen but it is likely sometime in her 30's or 40's.

    The man behind the counter asks her if she is sure and Nina says yes. Once in agreement he thanks her and says he'll be right back. He returns with the garment bag that matches the form Nina chose. She enters the outfit much like entering a sleeping bag. The man 'zips' it up essentially allowing Nina's spirit to begin running the body. After this she is told that now she may enter heaven. She exits the building as the gates to heaven slowly open.

    Immediately we are taken to a narrow, slightly curvy cobblestone street. It feels similar to England in the 1880's. It is dusk and it is misty but not in an eerie way. The street is lined with lamp posts that give the surrounding area an orange glow due to the mist.

    Nina walks down this street as if she already knows where she is going. There is no looking around in wonder at this street in heaven. After rounding a slight curve she stops at what must be a nightclub as there is the faint sound of music from inside. A large imposing bouncer stands outside a heavy wooden door with a thick vertical handle. Nina stops and before even saying hello the bouncer breaks his menacing stare and smiles.

    'We've been expecting you,' he says. At this point he swings the heavy wooden door out toward the street allowing the searing energy of the music to fill the street. It is a up-tempo jazz song with a man singing. Nina enters and stands at the back of the club. It is packed with people dancing.

    People look at Nina and slowly a chatter builds among them and it heads toward the stage. By the time the up-tempo song ends the singer on stage has been told of who has just entered the club. He smiles and looks off into the dark crowded club. It is Grampa. He knows Nina is there and begins to sing a slower song, one that he knows she wants to hear him sing.

    As Grampa sings very slowly the crowd of people begins to part like the sea. Nina is beaming with a bright smile and she nods in thanks to those allowing her to move toward the stage. Her walk is more of a float as she makes it across this massive dance floor near the end of Grampa's song to her. They stare at each other as the vocals end and the music slowly fades.

    Grampa steps down from the stage and takes Nina by the hands. They speak softly to each other but the words are not clear. Grampa looks back toward the band on the stage and gives them a nod. They break into a mid-tempo song as Nina and Grampa begin to dance. Slowly we pull back from them as the crowd begins to fill in around them.

In My Footsteps: For My Nina

    Sometimes if you stand on the beach and watch the tide go out it can feel as if it takes an eternity, until it is out and you wonder where the time went. My grandparents were married for 73 years. When my Grampa passed nearly 2 years ago my Nina's tide began to go out. She spent the better part of the last 22 months in a nursing home and virtually isolated from family due to Covid-19. It was sad and unfair for that to be her final chapter. I could only apologize to her when seeing her one of the last times and say that this was not the way we all expected it to go. Her last words she spoke to me were 'I love you too' and for me it was a perfect bow on our 43 year relationship as grandmother and grandson. As I sit here trying to unload a lot of emotion I keep coming back to a few feelings: gratitude, sadness, and joy. I'd rather remember my Nina in those ways and that is what will follow.

    My Grampa was very much a larger than life human. World War II vet, Olympic caliber swimmer and sprinter, friends with icons like Rocky Marciano, jazz singer, and successful business owner. The thing is that all of those achievements and accolades paled in comparison to my Nina as far as he was concerned. She was his everything, and she was indeed the glue that held together the patchwork quilt that became our huge family.

Jo-Anna Drive 1983

    Grampa worked, and worked hard, so it was Nina that became the face of the family as I knew it. She was style and class before I knew what those words meant. I laugh now because I never told her, but growing up in the 1980's she reminded me of Tina Turner. Strong legs, high heels, big hair, and most of all a toughness that earned respect. She raised five children to be loving, kind, and caring adults with those traits being passed along to her grandchildren. She was at the forefront of the women's fitness boom of the late 1960's in Brockton, Massachusetts and again in the early 1970's when moving to Cape Cod. She taught classes and knew how to command a room by being one-part hard and one-part caring. This was evident to the very end like when she gave my Aunt Kelly double middle-fingers during one of our final Zoom calls and then following it up by sweetly saying what a lovely visit it was.

    You see I'll miss my Nina terribly, she represents the end of a chapter as my last grandparent has now passed. However she is always around me because I see her in all of the women in my family over several generations. They have all taken bits of who she was, whether they even realize it or not, and made it part of their own life's quilt. That is the gratitude I have, is that she has scattered pieces of herself all across this family like so many Tiger Lily seeds, and they are in full bloom.

Christmas 1977

    Nina was the one that brought me out for lunch and toy shopping growing up because Grampa was working. I can close my eyes and hear the jazz music playing in her Oldsmobile Tornado and the clicking of her long fingernails on the faux wood that lined the steering wheel and dashboard. Nina was the one that had certain movies and shows on VHS on a little bookshelf behind the front door because she knew I liked them. Godzilla and the Three Stooges? No way she watched those ever. Nina was the one with the anisette toast by Stella-Doro that remind me so much of being a kid. She encouraged me to sit and play with the water games on her deck because at least I was outside. She was the one that demanded I eat something every time I visited her, even in the last few years, that was the Italian in her. I always remember that the leather interior to her cars made me carsick, nearly every time, but I dealt with it anyway because I loved being with her. It was a small price to pay for memories that are so important to me now.

The deck at Jo-Anna Drive 1978

    Selfishly I am sad that Nina is gone. It speaks to me and my own life. The longer I was blessed to have grandparents in my life the more chances I had to make them proud of me. I love my entire family, but nobody in my life was ever a bigger fan of me than Nina, Grampa, and my Nana. Still when it comes to Nina I am beyond happy that she has been reunited with Grampa. She met him when she was an age when most people are just starting high school and they remained together until they were both in their 90's. She was never whole once he left. I am grateful that she remained as long as she did but she needed to go be with him again.

Together again, where they belong.

    It's hard to sum up a life so long and full which had an impact felt by so many. She was the glue that held things together allowing my Grampa the chance to run those businesses. Her legacy lives on in all of us that were raised by her or raised by her teachings. We all are her legacy. We will all do our best to take care of that legacy she left behind. We will hear her in things we say. We will see her in things we do. We are all the Tiger Lily seeds she spread throughout her 9 decades on this earth. I am filled with gratitude, sadness, and joy. Even forever goodbye's are not forever though. I love you Nina and I will see you again in a place far better than this.

For My Nana

Sleep now, as your long day is over. You’ve been chasing the sunset for so long now. Rest now, in the arms of the angels. I can feel your pain slipping away. Dry your eyes, life is not over. The sunrise of another day is born in pink and blue. Your peace is here, our peace is near. Your peace is here, our peace is near. You’re an angel now.

-I love you Nana.