Healthy You
Dear Nanny,
Did it all go so fast? Much faster than you imagined on the day you said “I do,” sporting the pressed periwinkle dress with the flowers pinned to your bonnet? Much faster than you thought as you gripped PawPaw’s hand and clutched the bouquet of ribbon-wrapped flowers in the other?
Was it faster than you ever imagined when you were growing one baby in your womb while you cradled another and tended to toddlers and preschoolers wrapped around your legs?
Much faster than how long the days seemed when the dishes piled high and the clothes needed washing and the floor needed mopping and you had to get dinner in the oven?
If you could talk now, you’d probably tell me that those years in the trenches were some of the sweetest of your life.
Nanny, they say your time is nearly here. That you won’t be with us much longer.
And as she watches my eyes well with tears, your little namesake Emma reminds me, “Mama, we should be happy for Nanny. She will be with Jesus soon. And we will all be with Jesus one day.”
You’ve lived nearly 90 years, Nanny. Ninety!
You and PawPaw have been married nearly 70. The two of you met as children, married after he got back from World War II and raised six babies together.
Today, you slipped into a coma-like state.
We have said over goodbyes. We were 12 hours away visiting family in Mississippi, and we drove straight to the nursing home to see you. Mama texted Will on Christmas Eve and said there wasn’t much time left.
He didn’t tell me, but I saw it on his phone.
Really? Could this be it?
During our visit, you opened your eyes for me. Blazing blue eyes–just like mine, just like little Emma’s.
I kissed your forehead, and I told you stories. I brought the girls in–my three little redheaded girls–and you lit up a little.
I wondered if they reminded you of your little redheaded sisters. You will see them soon, Nanny!
You opened your mouth and tried to tell me something, too. I’m not sure what, but I know you love me. And I love you so much, too. So, so much, Nanny.
I felt prompted to sing you “Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling,” which is funny because I can’t sing well at all. It just came to me, and I was reminded of all those times singing from the Baptist hymnal beside you, before Paw Paw got up to preach.
I’m so thankful for that sweet, sweet time the other night.
I didn’t get to say goodbye when my childhood friend was killed in a car wreck. And that was the only other time that death has tasted so bitter.
She was taken from us in an instant. There were no preparations.
Your departure has been slow. Hard. Tiring.
But there has been a sweetness in the slowness, still.
This waiting. This watching you fade a little more each day. This pound of the heart every time the phone rings.
And yet, we keep on living. And just as I looked out the window the day that Courtney died and wondered how in the world this world could keep going with her not in it, we keep on breathing now.
We keep washing the dishes and bathing our babies and doing the laundry and writing…
All while you are lying in a nursing home bed breathing your last.
This waiting for someone to die, it’s the strangest thing, Nanny. We’re waiting for something to happen that we really don’t want to happen but knowing it will happen regardless.
It’s an odd phenomenon–this advent of death.
But aren’t we all just waiting anyway?
Your going, Nanny, it has reminded me that this life is but a vapor–even when it’s a life that’s full and long.
As a teenager, I had a quote taped to the dresser by my bed: “Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.”
That is your legacy, Nanny.
Even in the bitterness, there is beauty.
When I sat with you the other night, you looked tired and weak, but, yes, you also looked beautiful.
As you looked at me from that bed and held my hand tightly, I didn’t see a wrinkled face or sparse gray hair or sinking eyes.
I saw my Nanny–my beautiful, funny, strong, caring Nanny. And for the first time ever, perhaps, I also saw the young girl from Gauley Bridge and Kanawha Falls. The 9th of 15 children born to Harry Bruce and Celia Rae. The sister to eight girls and six boys. The teenager waiting for her beau who was off protecting our country during World War II. The young bride. The nervous first-time mother. The homemaker. The pastor’s wife. The mama in her 30s in a house full of babies. The older mother in a house full of teenagers. The first-time grandma. And then the grandma for the 14th time. And the great-grandmother to 20.
I saw one who had lived long, lived well. I saw one who had dreamed dreams–had seen some realized and some not. I saw one who loved God and her family fiercely.
I saw more than a grandmother, Nanny. I saw you.
And as to our relationship, I am forever grateful for having loved you these 34 years.
There is beauty in the knowing that you were the one to rock and hold and feed me while Mama worked part-time at the Sears Department Store. And maybe it’s those early bonding moments that made us so close.
Or maybe it’s because others told me I was like you. Extended family called me Little Emma.
I think they meant it as a tease, but I took it as a compliment.
And I told you that one day, if God ever gave me a daughter, I would name her after you. When I called to tell you I was expecting my first, you held me to it.
And Emma it was.
You fell and broke your hip the day she was born, Nanny. As I pushed her out in a great big hospital in Memphis, Tennessee, they carried you to a tiny hospital in Elkin, North Carolina.
When it was all over, and I cradled my swaddled newborn, Mom and Daddy Skyped us from your hospital room. I was confused at first as to why they were there. But despite your pain, you smiled anyway, and you said: “Finally, I have a namesake.”
We all laughed.
Your namesake will always know about you Nanny. Always.
My earliest memory is of you, Nanny. Yes, it is fuzzy because the best I can gather is that I must have been between 18 and 24 months old. But it was me, and it was you, and we were playing in the your side yard at Kempsville, and you were rolling me a little red ball.
When I was older–old enough for real, tangible memories–you taught me how to sew and how to fry chicken tenders.
I remember you buying me orange slice candies because you knew they were one of my favorites.
When I came to stay with you some weekends when I was a teenager and then when I was in college, you let me lie on the bed in your back bedroom and devour your journals.
I remember just looking for a hint of your love story. But most of what you wrote was just the facts: “We went to the store.” “I got my hair cut.” “The neighbors visited.”
But those journals: They hold the stuff of life. The everyday. The mundane.
And when all is said and done, those simple, non-grandiose moments are what make up this messy, beautiful life.
When I married, you made sure the very first piece of mail I received as MRS. Erin Odom was a card from you.
For the past few weeks, we’ve been sleeping under the wedding ring quilt you gave us on our wedding day. The fabric you sewed together when your fingers still surged with life has dried my tears as you enter into death.
And, Nanny, right now I’m curled up under that patchwork quilt you finished for me and my little sister, Shannon–the one that sat on the white wicker chair in our bedroom for years. Somehow, I inherited it.
I say finish because part of its novelty is that my paternal grandmother–my Granny, who left us back in 2002–purchased the unfinished blanket at a yard sale. She was ever the thrifter, but she did not know how to sew.
And so you, an avid quilter, picked up the pieces and finished it. You sewed mostly by hand, and each stitch is a reminder of your love for us, your little granddaughters.
My three girls now picnic on it, use it to build forts and cuddle on my lap underneath it.
Nanny, your little great-granddaughters will always know what a special heirloom this is.
Right now I’m looking at the square of royal blue and white-flowered fabric. It takes me back to when I was a little girl and we used that very same fabric to sew dresses for my Barbie dolls–you and me together, sewing by hand.
It’s been a long time since I’ve sewn, Nanny. After becoming a mother, I said I didn’t have time for it anymore. But little Emma, now 6 1/2, has been begging me to pick up my old machine. She even said she would learn and re-teach me since I told her I’m not good at it.
We gave her a little sewing kit for Christmas, and teaching her how to thread the needle, pull the thread in and out of the fabric and turn fabric swatches and buttons into little stuffed animal masterpieces takes me back to those days of doing it with you.
Perhaps teaching her to sew will be a sweet balm to my grief, as we say goodbye to you.
It’s hard for me to even write to you of my sorrow because I fear that your sensing of all of our mourning it why you still have not let go.
And I confess that I’ve been drafting this letter to you all week–not able to finish, not able to bring it all together.
The other night, Nanny, as I held your hand, you grasped it so tightly. It was as if you didn’t want to let go. And Nanny, I’ll be honest: I haven’t wanted to let go either.
I’ve wanted to keep on feeling the warmth of your hand. I remember holding that hand during church, as PawPaw was preaching, turning the rings on your fingers, rubbing the tips of your finger nails that held just a hint of polish.
I’ve wanted to keep on looking into those clear blue eyes. Those same eyes that my Mama has. That I have. That my little Emma has now too.
I’ve wanted to keep on stroking those permed, hair-sprayed curls. You always kept your hair so nice.
I’ve wanted to keep on listening to you holler at PawPaw: “Oh, Charlie!”
And for him to holler back: “Emma!!”
I’ve wanted to keep on laughing–like how we laughed that time you had tucked your silky green dress into your slip.
I’ve wanted to keep on hearing your stories–of life with your sisters when you were a little girl, of how you fell in love with PawPaw, of how my mama got into lots of messes as a child. I’m so glad you told me stories.
But you can go.
You can go now.
It’s OK. We’re all going to be just fine.
It’s OK to go on Home.
The family asked me to write your obituary. And for several days, I just couldn’t. I’ve been writing since I could barely read, but I just couldn’t put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and do it. It was the hardest writing assignment I’ve ever had.
But tonight I finally did it, Nanny. I did it! I wrote the obituary for you–a grandmother I have dearly loved.
It was my honor and a privilege and my joy to do so. I just hope I scratched the service of the woman you have been.
You’ve lived a good, long life, Nanny. And I bet if you could talk to me now, you’d say you were just going to be over yonder–not too, too far away. And with Jesus, no less.
I love you, Nanny. To have known you for these 34 years has been one of life’s greatest blessings.
You let the angels dance around the throne
And who can say when, but they’ll dance again
When I am free and finally headed home
I will be weak, unable to speak
Still I will call You by name
Creator, Maker, Life Sustainer, Comforter, Healer, my Redeemer
Lord and King, Beginning and the End
I Am
Yes, I Am
~Nicole Nordman, “I Am”
Courtney
What an absolutely beautiful & touching tribute to your sweet Nanny. May God comfort & strengthen you, your daughters and your entire family for this sad time. What a blessing it will be knowing that you will one day be reunited with this wonderful woman again one glad day! In the meantime, God be with your grieving hearts! Bless you, Erin— you are a gifted writer. What a wonderful legacy this is.
Erin
Thank you so much, Courtney! <3
tish
I am praying for God to comfort and strengthen you at this time. I have lost a beloved grandmother. And I do not want to sound critical at this tender time of need, but a woman who clearly meant so much to you, to her family- why did she have to spend her last time in a nursing home? I am just curious why a family member- a homemaker, could not have kept her out of an environment of strange caretakers?
Karen
You’re kidding me! At this time of loss you dare to criticize?!
Erin, beautifully written expression of your love. May God comfort you in your loss.
Is. 43:1-3
And I KNOW you remember this one: Ps. 139:16b
You were there when God comforted me with these….
Erin
Thank you for your kinds words and Scripture, Karen.
Sara
I agree criticizing is not okay. My grandma passed two years ago. My youngest has her name. She passed way in a full care facility. She was loved like no tomorrow. Her health made it that she had to have 24 doctor care. Don’t judge till you wear and walk on there shoes.
Erin
Thank you, Sara. My grandmother is in the same boat–needing full 24-hour care.
Erin
Tish, I do appreciate your prayers. However, I do feel that your other questions are inappropriate for this time. There are many reasons I could give for the difficult choices that were made, but it’s not something I care to discuss right now, especially since they were not my decisions to make. She was well taken care of and visited everyday (usually multiple times) by my grandfather. I greatly appreciate your concern and prayers, but please be considerate of my family as this time. Thank you.
Su
I am sorry for your loss and will pray for you and your family. As to the comment above, I will pray that you are able to ignore it all. I’ve been through this too and I understand.
Erin
Thank you so much, Su. I really appreciate your thoughts and prayers!
Claire
I’m so sorry, Erin. I too had a special relationship with my beloved grandmother, and she too had to spend the last year of her life in a nursing home. Without going into all the reasons, it was the last resort and only choice we had a the time, as I’m sure is the case in your family as well. This is beautifully written and a wonderful tribute to your grandmother. You are so blessed that she made you that quilt.
Erin
Thank you so much, Claire!
DavetteB
What a beautiful tribute to your Nanny! Even though it was hard to right, you’ll be glad you did. I wished I had spoke @ my maternal grandmother’s memorial service, but I was so numb with grief I didn’t think of it until after the fact. (It was sudden, and my mom missed a message letting her know where I was, so I missed the last few hours that I could have had).
I pray that God gives you peace and comfort with your memories. (((HUGS)))
John 11:25 (Jesus speaking to Mary, Lazarus’ sister) “Jesus said to her: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who exercises faith in me, even though he dies, will come to life;'”
Erin
Thank you so much, Davette! What an honor to speak at her service!
Kirsten
This was beautiful, and brought me to tears.
Your Nanny sounds much like mine. And yes, we called her Nanny also! I remember in school, kids thinking I was rich, because I had a ‘nanny’. 😉
“I saw one who had lived long, lived well. I saw one who had dreamed dreams–had seen some realized and some not. I saw one who loved God and her family fiercely.” This description you gave, THIS was my Nanny.
She went to be Jesus this past June. Hardest thing I have ever gone through. It still hurts, obviously, why I cried when reading this.
I even relate to you, that when my youngest daughter was born. Nanny was unable to be there, because of being in an automobile accident the day before. She was in a hospital in MD , as I was in a hospital in PA. She always was there at big events. She apologized for not being there. What a lady.
My pap pap was also a preacher, and yes, I too remember sitting beside my Nanny in church, just rubbing her soft hands….we would take turns stroking each other’s arms. It was always a fight between me and my sisters over who would sit beside Nanny. Ha ha!
So many precious memories, of a beautiful person, that I could go on and on….I’m sure you can relate. She left a legacy that I pray I can carry out to my little girls.
I miss her so…
Prayers for you during this time.
Thank you for sharing,
Kirsten
Erin
Thank you so much for commenting, Kirsten! I am amazed at the similarities between your Nanny and mine! I am so sorry for your loss as well, but what a comfort we have in seeing our nannies again one day!
Amber
While I’ll admit that probably wasn’t the best thing to read while pregnant and hormonal (currently ugly crying) I have to tell you it was TRULY beautiful and reminded me so much of my own Nan. I pray that you have peace in the upcoming days. Thank you for sharing that.
Erin
Thank you, Amber!! And CONGRATS on your pregnancy!!!
Cathy Broadway
Your tribute to your grandmother is so absolutely moving! You are so blessed to have such an amazing woman to look up to. I’m sure she was so very proud of you.
Erin
Thank you so much, Cathy! I am so blessed!
LaurieS
What a beautiful tribute to you Nanny. I have to go back and read it again because I couldn’t see through my tears.
The pictures you posted remind me of my childhood and my wonderful Grandmother.
Thank you for sharing.
Erin
Thank you, Laurie.
Allison
Erin – I’m very sorry for your loss.
You are a wonderful and beautiful writer, such poise and grace (not just this post but all your posts. Thank you for sharing.
Erin
Thank you so much, Allison.
Evette
I’m so sorry to hear about your Nanny! I don’t normally comment on blogs but this one really touched my heart. I’m in tears. What a beautiful and well written tribute. I love the pictures too!! You are so blessed to have experienced such wonderful years with your grandmother. Thank you for sharing the sweet memories. God bless you and your family as your Nanny’s legacy continues .
Erin
Thank you so much, Evette!
Heather @ My Overflowing Cup
Thank you, Erin, for sharing your beautiful words and this very touching tribute to your Nanny. I just lost my Grandmother almost 2 years ago, so much of this resonated with me profoundly.
I also lost a precious aunt, who was like a mother to me, 10 years ago. I remember like it was yesterday, telling her that it was okay to go. In that moment, the moment of wanting her to be free, but hoping with all that I had in me that she would stay, I felt the love of God more profoundly than ever in my life.
This is such a difficult time, and I will be praying for your family. I am incredibly blessed, however, to know not only of your faith, but to see you share it that others might be helped while you are hurting.
Praying for you and yours….
Erin
Thank you so much, Heather! I am so sorry for your losses as well!
Lila
Dear Erin, I am sorry for your loss. I am 34 and have lost all of my grandparents and wanted to tell you how blessed I felt reading your memories of your Nanny. Thank you for the privilege of reading such loving and intimate things. It made me realize the memories I want my family to have of me, and helped me release some tears. God bless you and your family.
Erin
Thank you so much, Lila. She is still hanging on. I just visited her and got to read her this letter. She actually opened her eyes and tried to mouth something to me. These are precious times.
Pamela
Precious memories and treasured pictures. It brought back memories of my sweet grandma. Praying for you and your family as you face this hard time. ~Pamela
Erin
Thanks so much, Pamela!
miriam
My heartfelt sorrow for your whole family. Such a beautiful beautiful tribute to a wonderful lady. Could not stop the tears while i was reading. Will be tough but the Lord himself will give you the strength for this very sad time. May he open his arms and comfort you all. To loose someone so important to us is hard i am eleven years down that road and it is still not easy at times. The memories and the love your nanny gave to you are as the bible says a precious gem. I feel honored to have been allowed to read about such a lady as your nanny. She is an example to us all. God Bless and thank you for sharing. Your Nanny has so much to be proud of with a grandchild like yourself Erin xo
Erin
Thank you so much for your kind words, Miriam! My heart is heavy, but I know the Lord will get us through!
Cindy
Oh, I so enjoyed this intimate, tender letter! I look forward to meeting your precious Nanny one day in Heaven. May God comfort your heart and give you peace today, and in the coming weeks and months ahead.
Erin
Thank you so much, Cindy…and your comment about meeting her in heaven one day made me smile!
Stacey Hugo
As I sat reading this…I felt guilty for thinking about myself a lot and my relationship with my Grannies, instead of thinking about you and your family. I would guess that was maybe an unsaid part of your message. Appreciate the time you have with loved ones, don’t waste it and cherish and share the memories. This tribute was beautiful. It made me cry and laugh and reminisce about how much I miss both of my grandmother’s, especially their sweet voices. Thanks for sharing. I will now be thinking of you and your family. 🙂
Erin
Thank you so much, Stacey. I do want people to take this and reminisce about their own families–and also to just savor the time we have together. She finally passed last night. Thanks for the comments!
Jill@JillsHomeRemedies
You have such a beautiful way with words. I lost my dear grandmother (my last living grandparent) a few years ago. She too was 89. How I miss them talks of years gone by around her kitchen table; how she gathered greens outside as a child for supper and fixed her famous biscuits and gravy for the men on the farm every morning. My mom still talks of her amazing Sunday afternoon fried chicken (after attending Baptist services) freshly plucked and dressed from the chicken house. There is a code of character and way of. living that the older generation knows of that our generation never will. We must treasure the memories and pass them to our children. How I sat and wept at her funeral for the years I would miss. Praying for you, Erin. We shall see them in Heaven.
Erin
Thank you so much, Jill, and thank you for sharing your sweet memories. She finally passed last night, and I know both our grandmothers are rejoicing in Heaven with Jesus right now! I enjoyed reading about your memories of your grandmother. I call their generation the “greatest” generation. Oh for us to have simpler times like the time in which they lived! Thank you!
Claire
I’m so sorry for your loss, Erin. I am amazed at how many people God has called home this week. You and your family are in my prayers.
Erin
Thanks so much, Claire! My husband had a co-worker–a mom in her 30s with two elementary-age children–pass yesterday as well (from cancer). Lots of prayers needed this week!
Claire
Oh, how tragic! Of all the deaths I’ve heard about this week, that is definitely the saddest.
Erin
It is so sad, Claire. We have been praying for her for at least a year. Thankfully, she knew the Lord and is with him now.
Claire
That’s a blessing. I feel so awful for her husband and kids, though. It certainly puts things in perspective.
Erin
It does, for sure.
Diana
Thankful it’s only ‘goodbye’ for now! The more people that wait for us in heaven, the sweeter it seems. And thanks for sharing her wonderful life. It’s a privilege for you to have had such a wonderful woman as your grandmother, and I know your daughters will grow up knowing her through your stories 🙂
Erin
Thank you, Diana–yes…that makes it so much easier!!
Linda
Erin what a beautiful post. It makes me remember my Grandma whom I believe was an angel. She took me in when my mother was unable to care for me due to a lifelong illness. I would not be the person I am today without the influence of her and my Grandfather. I had 5 siblings and we still argue (lovingly) over who she loved most. “Me” of course was our answer as we all had such loving memories of her. Even as a teenager I chose to spend my school breaks at her home. I agree that her generation was one that would be so wonderful to get back but am quite sure for the most part is long gone. She worked cooking, canning, baking, sewing my clothes, and answering all of my questions as I was hanging onto her skirt tails all day without a complaint. I felt only love there.
Erin your Nanny sounds alot like mine. I even have a quilt that she made.
May the Lord give you and your family peace during this time, knowing you will be reunited with her when your time her is done.
Thank you so much for sharing this tribute to such a wonderful lady.
Erin
Thank you, Linda! And I am so glad it brought back such wonderful memories of your own! As I write this, I am sitting under that quilt again!
Abigail
I know that this is an older post, but I came across it today and thought it was absolutely beautiful. It really touched me heart, and even now as I write this I am wiping away tears from my eyes. Right now I am 20 years old and very blessed to be carrying my husband and I’s first child. I have always loved the “Only One Life” saying, and this article was a great reminder to me to live simply, love those around (and in) me, and to love God the most. That is how I will leave a lasting legacy that matters, sows peace in my heart, and counts for eternity rather than today. Thank you so much for publishing this.
With love,
Abigail
Erin
Thank you so much, Abigail. You sounds mature beyond your years. Congrats on your first baby!!
Monna
I read this today. I lost Grandma Jonesie nearly 25 years ago. Your article brought back all those loving memories. Thank you. Thank you.
Laura
I enjoyed reading this, and it made me miss my two precious West Virginia grandmothers so much! I lost them both in 2010 a few months apart, when I was pregnant with our second child. And do I get bonus points for knowing exactly where Gauley Bridge and Kanawha Falls are? I grew up about 10 minutes from there. 🙂
Erin
That is so neat that you grew up there, Laura! I bet our families knew each other! I have one great aunt left from this grandmother’s side (there were 15 kids in all!). Her name is Sue Kirby. Her maiden name was Clark. My grandmother and her 14 siblings grew up in a big house right between the river and railroad tracks. It’s a really lovely place. I haven’t been since I was around 19 (and I’m 35 now), but I hope to return one day and show my husband.