I spent last Saturday morning planning our the framework of the wedding ceremony with our officiant and her husband. It was a wonderful morning and I felt about a million times better about the wedding once we were done. I now have to write the script and make a logistics list and then on to the other million and one things!
Such a great morning and great lunch. I feel so blessed to have these people in my life and I was especially happy to get to spend so much time with them that day.
Saturday afternoon, however, was a little different. I found out via a quick voice message from my mom that my Aunt Nancy was dead. Just like that. I couldn't call mom because she was already on her way down to the silver valley and her cell was out of working range and my dad didn't have much more info than what was in the voicemail. Of my aunts, I have three that I speak with on a semi regular basis and feel are on my side. My two Aunt Bunnies (Lola on my mom's side, Barbara on my dad's side) and then Nan. Mom called her Nanny Goat and, sometimes, Fancy Nancy.
She was quirky and tall and dressed like Dorothy from Golden girls. She didn't like reptiles but she loved my iguana. Her favorite treat was a bottle of ice cold Pepsi and a slice of Tillamook sharp cheddar. She was probably my greatest fan and even after my vocal nodes destroyed my chance of professional singing, she still found ways to force me to perform here and there, talking me up as if I were actually someone to talk about. And, dang, did she love her wild animal prints. Her bedroom motif was Africa. She was particular and there were times she was a downright turd. And for as wild and rebellious as she was, she was also a total prude.
She had eight children. One died shortly after birth. Born and died decades before my parents had even met. I visited his grave in Colorado. Another child died in a car accident. A grown man with two children of his own - that was the first horrific tragedy our family had known. We'd been lucky thus far. A third child of Nancy's died while hitchhiking between towns in the silver valley. The third child was a grown man who was so sick by the time he died that he looked older than his own mother. Of all her loses, though, the one that nearly killed her was losing her husband. She said losing a child is the worst thing you can imagine. But losing a mate is like losing your soul.
Nancy leaves behind five children and plethora of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Also her dog, Taffy, who came to her shortly after Nan lost her husband. This little doe-faced dog saved her life I think. For many, many years it's been Nanny and Taffy, the inseparable duo. They are separated now, though, and my mom told me that she held Taffy on Sunday and cuddled her and the dog cried. It was like she finally understood that mommy wasn't coming back.
Mom told me how Nancy went. She woke up Saturday to get ready to go to dialysis. Her neighbor had checked in on her. When the bus arrived to take her to the hospital, they waited and waited and no one came out. Finally they went in and she was asleep in her chair. Asleep forever. I thank the gods for her peaceful passing. This woman had spinal meningitis twice. She suffered from a myriad of medical problems and was a chain smoker for most of her life. She'd been on dialysis for years and years. She was no stranger to pain and had been in such pain once that she'd prayed for her god to take her. So for her to have passed as if she were sleeping is something I am eternally thankful for. Until we meet in another life: farewell, Nanny Goat.
