My nana....different with me than anyone. She wasn’t the cuddly sort - I had Granny for that. But her love was so much there. I always wanted to make her proud of me. And she was ALWAYS on my side - even when I was a brat of a teenager. I used to think at that age, that she “got” me more than my mom did. And I think it’s because (clarity with age), I was so much like her. She used to say I was the spitting image of her grandmother. But I look at the pictures of her, and I’m the image of her. And like her, I’ve found myself 20 years after my peers. Happiness on my own, goals achieved in later years. I do believe I have made her proud. I am the lady she wished me to be.
But what do I remember my nana for. Reading together, taystee wheat, cooking, her sense of humour which is as kooky as mine (and Connor’s), road trips and culture. Traipsing around material shops. Her making her own birthday cake...and always thinking she deserved more than that. But she enjoyed it. And how much she adored Connor. Even when she was coming to the end of her life. She was all about us.
And then we have Nhandi. I loved that they shared a birthday. That they got on so well. That Nana used to centre a meal plan around Nhandi’s religion. Even at Christmas time.
My Nhandi. I can never thank her enough for choosing me. And choose me she did, because I was far too awkward to make the first friend move. And she was sooooo confident to the eye...a total sham as she wasn’t, but played it well.
She was the sister I chose. Even when we irrated the crap out of each other...we still knew we were each other’s “person”. In 24 years, that never changed. She understood.
So on this day, 23 December, I raise a glass and remember the two remarkable women who I love and miss so dearly.
Happy birthday Nana and Nhandi.
Xx
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