The morning that we got on the road to Wyoming, I came out of the gas station to where B was putting gas in my car, he said “your phone was ringing.” I checked my missed calls and saw that it was Nana J. (one of my most favorite people on earth) who hasn’t called in months. My chest tightened in fear. I panicked a bit and quickly dialed her number. It took me back to the last time we set out to move across the country and I received a phone call from B’s family.
When I was pregnant, we lived in Richmond, Virginia where B was born and raised. I was a bit concerned with how we’d ever get time alone in our home once the baby came. I knew we’d be surrounded by friends and B’s large family and that my mother-in-law would spend every moment that we’d let her in our home. There ended up being no need for that worry because the day after we brought Red Baby home for the first time, my mother-in-law, Nana B., went into the hospital, never to come out. Her heart was in AFib. Most options for treatment and medication were not available to her due to other health issues.
When she was in intensive care, doctors told us that the baby shouldn’t even be in the waiting room because of the other highly contagious illnesses being treated in the ICU. Even though Red Baby wasn’t allowed back to see his grandmother, the doctor worried that we might carry infection from the ICU to the waiting room on our clothing, hands and feet, so I didn’t take him back up there. Once she was released from the hospital and sent to rehab, I worked hard to get Red Baby up to visit her as often as possible. He was a month old. I would feed him, dress him, dress myself, load him up in the car, drive for 45 minutes, unload him and get him inside the rehab facility just in time to feed him again. She was awake and responsive and we were able to get a few pictures of the two of them together.
We had to break the news to her in her rehab bed that B, her only son who had always lived within 15 minutes of her, had a job interview in Texas. She loved us so much that even while sick, she was encouraging and supportive. After he received a job offer, we flew back out to Austin for an unsuccessful house hunt. We saw too many properties to count, hauling a two month old in and out of each one. When we got back to Richmond, I took Red Baby to visit Nana B, and when she asked if we were able to find a home with a downstairs guest room that she’d be able to stay in, it didn’t occur to me to soften the blow of our unsuccessful trip. I want to blame exhaustion, but it could have just been my lack of social graces.
We moved from Richmond, Virginia to Austin, Texas when Red Baby was three months old. After three months back and forth between the hospital and rehab, the day that we left, Nana B went back into the hospital. On the second day of our three-day trip to Austin, we received a call from family letting us know that she wasn’t doing well and that they were going to stop all heroic measures and let her go. B was afraid to hop on a plane and leave the baby and I to finish the drive on our own so we drove on towards Texas. The day after we arrived in Austin, we met the movers at the new house and while they were unloading, got the call that she had passed.
The next day, B went to his first day of work to get on payroll, and more importantly, health insurance. We got on a plane back to Richmond the next day. Sleep deprived from the baby and the multiple trips between Virginia and Texas, I was exhausted at her funeral. I followed my mother’s lead of “when in doubt, smile and be pleasant” and walked the narrow line between caring for my newborn and my grieving husband.
Now, with rest and time, I look back and worry that I took away her will to live. I regret that I didn’t let her know how important it was to us that she have a place in our home whenever she wanted to visit. And then I beat myself up more by worrying that by “smiling and being pleasant,” I looked happy at her funeral, leaving questions with people who were important to her of how special she was to me.
It makes me sad to not be able to compare notes with her on my son’s development in relation to his father’s. When did B walk? How much did he weigh at three-years-old? How did you get him to settle down and go to sleep? I do however feel like she’s working in our lives from beyond the grave. In our home, I love blues and purples. Somehow, my decor is full of red…Nana B’s favorite color. It didn’t happen deliberately, but little by little, it sneaked in one piece at a time. A large wooden “W” for the mantle found on the clearance shelf at Hobby Lobby…in red. A picture frame from my mother with red accents. Discounted floor models of our washer and dryer…in red. And, most recently, here in Wyoming, a groovy casserole pan shaped crock-pot (since our rental house doesn’t have one)…in red.
I remind myself that it isn’t healthy to spend a lot of time looking back and questioning myself. I can’t change things. So, to honor her, I try to keep the last promise I made to her, over the phone in her final days, to make sure that Red Baby knows who she is and how much she loved him from the moment she knew he was on his way. As I prepared to post this article, I showed Red Baby the pictures. I asked him who it was and without hesitation, he said “Nana.”
When I called Nana J back (Nana B’s sister) and she offered some potty training advice, I teared up with joy and relief.
