April 12

April 12th
I was named for my grandmother, Caroline Weber White - Nannie to me. She gave birth to my mom when she was forty so was elderly by the time I was a teenager. Like many teenagers, I gave voice to unconventional, contrarian opinions - but only to Nannie. She would listen intently, seeming to take my adolescent pomposity seriously. Nannie was ninety-eight when I had a dream in which I was apologizing to her for those outbursts. “Oh Carolyn,” Nannie said, “you would not have spoken out like that if you didn’t trust my love for you. I was so glad you came to me.” When I awoke, I felt a comforting glow and a sense of amazement at that insight. Then the phone rang. It was my mom calling to tell me that Nannie had died in her sleep that night. When I arrived in Oklahoma City for Nannie’s funeral, my heart was full of a strange joy for her peaceful death - and her nocturnal visit to say good-bye. My mother interpreted my lack of crying at the funeral as a lack of caring. Her comments to that effect hurt. That afternoon, I learned three things that I have not forgotten. From one of women who met Nannie in their nursing home, I learned that Nannie had “a good appetite to her dying day.” From my mom, I learned that it is important to honor what is going on in a person’s life when interacting with that person. Once I saw that the source of my Mom’s comments was her grief, the comments lost their sting. Finally and most importantly, Nannie had already taught me a great deal about love - but that day I came to know that love is stronger than death.                                                                                                                              by Carolyn Goddard