You Are My Special Angel

Today is my sweet sweet NaNa's birthday. I wish I could tell you how old she is, but I can't... basically because she stopped getting older when she was 55 and my grandfather was 65. And I can assure you this: that was many, many years ago. Funny thing how age works when you're a kid!

For those of you that don't know, my grandfather passed away on October 13. I was blessed to be in the hospital room with my NaNa, mom, uncle, aunt, and cousin when PaPa took his last breath. It was so incredibly peaceful, one of those moments where you know God just reached down and gently carried his soul away to heaven. I was heartbroken. I don't do funerals, not that anyone does, and PaPa's death was really only the second one I'd experienced in my life. I was a basketcase at the viewing, completely unable to control my tears as pictures of PaPa and I from back in the day scrolled across the tv while "Go Rest High On That Mountain" played in the background. I had so many people give me that "bless her heart" look and hug me tight, which only made matters worse. Watching those pictures, I remembered moments with PaPa. We lived near NaNa and PaPa or with them for a decent chunk of my childhood. PaPa was my favorite and I'm fairly certain I ranked pretty high up on his list. I loved spending the night at their house. I loved playing in their backyard. I was amazed doing crossword puzzles and word-finds with PaPa. I watched those pictures at the funeral home and saw the image of my daughter in me. I saw the faces I made and could relate them to Savannah. I saw a picture of me pushing PaPa on a porch swing, the swing much larger than I was, and thought back to earlier that day when Savannah was doing the exact same thing for me on the porch of the house where PaPa grew up.

My summer vacations were spent in Hinton, WV, where the average age of the population was 65 and I certainly never thought of our visits as a "vacations". We spent the week "visiting"... for those of you that didn't grow up in the South, "visiting" is just that... we literally went from house to house to house visiting relatives, doing nothing but sitting around talking. At Aunt Margie's house, some adults sat in the front room while some sat in the room behind the kitchen; the kid's often occupied the front porch or a room upstairs with games. At Aunt Frances' house, we sat on the back patio or played on the hill among the grapes. At Uncle Allen's house up on the creek, we fed cigarettes to the horse or stood in the kitchen admiring Aunt Macie's mad baking skills or played a game in the front room. At NaNa and PaPa's, we just sat in the living room of their little one bedroom apartment at "the highrise". Every now and then, we'd get excited about walking to Kroger for some Big K Red Cream Soda or the Majic Mart for a new swimsuit. The highlight of my summer vacations was the year they opened a water park... err, water slide... in town! These are moments I certainly didn't cherish as a child, yet they are such fond memories for me now.

Sitting up on the mountain, picking out PaPa's burial spot in the family cemetery, my cousin and I pulled up a piece of grass and admired the view. We sat there close to one another in perfect silence for quite some time. David had supported me the day before, as PaPa took his last breath and there was nowhere else to turn. He knows when to hug, he knows when to smile, and he knows when to merely be in your presence in peace and quiet. After we sat there looking over the edge of the mountain for a few minutes, the memories came flooding in. David said "do you remember when...", which was followed by my laughter and "absolutely, but do you remember when..." I guarantee that the two fo us have never been so solemn and serene in our lives. Nor had we truly realized the value of family... at least I hadn't.

My PaPa and I had a special bond in the early years of my childhood. I have very few memories that don't involve him. Yet sometime in my "I know everything" high school years, I fell out of the running for Granddaughter of the Year. I didn't call him on his birthday. I really dreaded those summer vacations. I didn't care to pick out personal Christmas presents. I was so ungrateful. NaNa and PaPa came down for my wedding in the spring of 2002, but I don't think I paid much attention to them. I remember NaNa watching me wrap presents and joking about a few things here and there, but I don't think anything really clicked with me. I certainly took my time with them for granted and didn't really see it as important. In the nearly six years since we got married, I can count on one hand the number of times I've talked to my grandparents. In those six years, we never once made the 7-hour drive to West Virginia to visit them. Worse yet, I have a three year old daughter that had never met her grandparents until the day before PaPa passed away. Again, not something that ranks high on my list of greatest achievements.

There's not much I can do about letting my teenage years control my relationship with PaPa. The good thing is that I know he loved me whole-heartedly and unconditionally, no matter how stubborn and hard-headed I am. My NaNa, on the other hand, is a different story. It's not too late. Tonight, on my NaNa's birthday, I did what any loving grandchild would do - I called to wish her a Happy Birthday. And I meant it. This is the first time in the two months since PaPa passed away that I've called her, despite my many mental notes to myself to call and see how she's doing. She said that I made her day. I. Made. Her. Day. One little phone call... 30 minutes spent talking to a woman who invested so much time and love in me in my childhood... a moment of conversation about how she makes it through each day... one call to a lady spending her first birthday as a widow. One call. That's all. And I can't tell you how many times I had to fight back tears during that conversation. I love that lady, plain and simple. And I honestly don't think I realized it until two months ago.

As we were ending the conversation and I promised to talk to her at Christmas, if not before, she said "you are my special angel... just like that song from back in the 50s". She's always referred to my brother as her "Tiger" and me as her "Angel", but I never really knew why. Now I know. As I told my NaNa tonight, through tears, hanging up the phone that I love her, she said "I love you, too, my special angel". Grandma's are special people. No doubt about that. And I am one lucky little girl that my NaNa still thinks I'm such an angel.

You are my special angel sent from up above.

The Lord smiled down on me and sent an angel to love.

You are my special angel, right from paradise.

I know you're an angel, Heaven is in your eyes .

The smile from your lips brings the summer sunshine.

Tears from your eyes bring the rain.

I feel your touch, your warm embrace, and I'm in heaven again.

You are my special angel;

Through eternity I'll have my special angel here to watch over me.

We love you, NaNa!