Most of us had heroes and heroines when we were young.  People such as the Lone Ranger, Penny from Sky King, move stars, presidents, etc.  I know I adored Doris Day.  I loved her freckles, her voice and her musicals.  Back in my day, there were movie magazines.  I remember cutting out pictures of my favorite stars.  I also liked Ike - I actually shook his hand as a child, at a rally by our town hall.  I was thrilled and declared I would never wash my hand.

My most important heroine, however, was my maternal grandmother, Nana, who lived with us.  She was a bright light in my life and the memories I have of her are both cherished and forever in my mind and heart.  She passed away when I was 12 years old but the time I had with her was golden.

My childhood was not the happiest time of my life.  I had a mother who was abusive but not at home much.  My father, although another light in my life, was wrapped up in his job and even worked on Saturdays.  I did have an older brother but he, of course, had his life and friends and I could not count on him to be there when I was lonely and afraid.

Nana was there for me and probably was the one who kept me from being a lost little girl. More often than not, she was the one who greeted me when I returned home from school.  I was always grateful to find her there and not my mother.  I was happy and felt secure when she, in her quiet but secure way, gave me a hug and offered me my afternoon snack.  She would sit at the kitchen table with me and inquire about my day, examine my drawings and work with great enthusiasm and even if I had not done well in some test or homework, she encouraged me and made me feel better.  After I changed my school clothes and donned my playthings, I would go to her room and settle in for whatever school work I had and then we would either read together or I would listen while she spun the most wonderful fairy stories or tales of her childhood.

Nana's room was magical to me.  She had the most wonderful possessions and would often let me play with things and admire her knick knacks.  Her room had a delicious aroma of lavender and even today, the scent will take me back to that sunny room.  There were several windows that had sheer curtains hanging but they were pulled back so I could sit and watch out the window.  We lived on the fifth floor of an apartment house giving us a marvelous view of the busy street below.  Nana had a big armchair from which she could sit and watch the traffic and passing and I would pull a smaller chair over to join her there.  Often we would see the same people coming home from work, getting on and off from the frequent buses stopping right below where we were perched.

There was a wonderful view and it gave us a glimpse of our neighborhood and its inhabitants.  On warm afternoons or in the summer vacation times, we would often go out of doors and sit in the little park behind the building.  Most of the people there were older retirees and I would sit with them and listen to their conversations. They always tried to include me and I felt very grown-up and a part of the group.  They fussed over me and made me feel very important. Nana seemed to be very popular with her peers and I felt pride in that.  My Nana was not only precious to me; others enjoyed her company as well.

I was not always sure that my Nana was a well liked person since my mother and she did not get along well.  No reflection on my grandmother.  My mother had a mean streak and often took her ill temper out on her mother.  It upset me terribly and I always had angry thoughts about my mother when she mistreated my heroine.  When I was very young, I was afraid other people felt the same way.

Having a vivid imagination, I would spin tales about fairy princesses and far off lands.  Nana loved to hear these and at my urging, would participate and play parts.  Then too, I loved playing with my many dolls.  I had a whole family of babies but was lacking a husband due to "his" tragic death while fighting in WW II.  I would visit Nana who was a pretend neighbor taking my children with me.  My name was Mrs. Uppington and I was an active member in the community and even was a member of my pretend club, Pink Gates.  I have no recollection of the function of this club but I do know I would dress up in some of Nana's fine dresses and clump around in her high heels. 

Nana suffered from a stroke when I was ten years old.  I will never forget it since she fell outside of my room during the night and I found her helpless on the floor.  I ran to my parents and she was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.  As my parents were not one to discuss ill health in the family, I was not told what had occurred and I had terrible worries that I would never see her.  Children were not allowed to visit people in the hospital.  So I was left to imagine what had occurred in that hallway.  Later I was told she was coming home but that she was not the same.  I was to discover that "not the same" meant she had trouble with her speech and was partially paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair needing a great deal of care.  I think my mother could have been the one to administer some of that care but nurses were hired to be there from early morning till bedtime.  I grew to love those nurses.  They were wonderful people and attended to my grandmother with the utmost of dignity and love.  I learned early on that Nana could speak fairly well if she tried hard and spoke slowly.  My mother had no patience with her and would get exasperated when trying to converse with her. I hated that behavior and was always pleased when she would leave the room.  My father had a great deal of compassion for his mother-in-law and would often sit with her in the evening after the nurse left for the night.  He would hold her hand and talk quietly with her, listening intently to her slow speech and often causing a brief smile when he told her something funny. I would sit with them until my bedtime and enjoy those quiet moments with my two favorite people.

In the good weather, the nurse would take my Nana out of doors for some air.  I liked to walk along and even pushed the wheel chair a bit and felt so helpful.  I carried Nana's bag with her tissues and necessaries, which was the word she used for whatever was in her handbag. It bothered me that she was not able to do so many things like crochet, feed herself well or tend to other personal needs, but I loved her so and accepted her disabilities.  I wanted to spend as much time as I could with her and she never asked me to leave the room nor did the nurse scoot me away.  I think she realized we both needed those times together. 

Nana suffered another stroke when I was twelve and again she was taken to the hospital.  I was devastated and missed her so much.  I did not know the severity of this stroke and waited patiently for her to return home.  She never did and it was not until the day after she passed that I was told I would never see her again.  Similar to my mother's views on ill health, she had the idea that children didn't need to know about death so it wasn't explained to me and I did not attend her wake or funeral.

So my beloved Nana was gone from my life and I did not quite understand what that really meant.  I dreamt for years that she returned to life and was there for me once again.

It was not until later in my teens that I could fully grasp the finality of death.