Many of you have been following my cancer journey, and there is nothing new to report. I am still in the dark about the final option of brachytherapy, but I am working on getting answers, and hope to have this chapter resolved soon. Many thanks to all who have reached out, I am so grateful.
One day in my early teens, I was walking home from school, an unaccustomed lightness in my step. I had a lot to look forward to: Nan, my maternal grandmother, (aka Jeanette St. John) was coming for a visit
We never knew exactly when she would arrive. Sometimes, my grandfather Archie would drive her from Cincinnati (an eight hour trip to Milwaukee), drop her off, and leave right away. Sometimes he would stay too. It was the 1960’s, and long distance calls were expensive, so often they would come to Wisconsin with very little warning, which in my mind was heaven; life went from barely tolerable to magical in an instant with Nan in the house.
I saw the familiar old car in the driveway and knew; she was here! I ran the rest of the way, in the front door, through the small dining room to the kitchen, where she was perched on a linoleum chair.
“Well, hello, darling!” she called out, her eyes warm and delighted at my arrival, holding out both her hands. She would lean over conspiratorially. “Come tell me everything,” she whispered, and I knew everything would be okay for a while.
Nan (whose given name was Jeanette) was my childhood heroine. I probably didn’t understand her history until I became more mature, but I didn’t care; all I knew was, I adored her. The truth was, as I learned later however, pretty remarkable. She had attended Vassar in 1910, gotten her degree in bacteriology, and treated soldiers at Woods Hole. In 1917, she graduated from Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons, having earned an M.D.
She married Archie and became President of Cincinnati’s Consumer Conference, a volunteer post she held for many years. She was a talented musician and vocalist, organizing and appearing in many stage productions, and had a lovely voice.
Nan was not a pretty woman, but she was incredibly elegant, and that’s what I saw. She was large boned and kept her steel colored hair in a hairnet. When I knew her, she was buxom and meaty; probably not one for exercise, although she loved to swim, and was good at it. (I followed suit and took lessons, earning my Senior Lifeguard badge.) She had learned to work around her looks with her ample supply of charm and grace. My grandfather, Archie, fell under her spell immediately upon meeting her, and they were devoted to each other until the end of their lives.
Archie was quite a character, though I never grew to know him well. I believe he thought children were a great mystery, or nuisance, or both, and best left to the women. He was an excellent chess player, and he and my older brother Rick spent hours studying the chess board when he was visiting, slowly moving their pieces around until, inevitably, Archie would win. He was a chemist by trade, but not a businessman, so had chalked up many failed companies trying to make the family fortune. I believe he may have had some form of Asperger's Syndrome, as the only person he could significantly relate to in my limited experience with him, was Nan. I don’t remember him ever making eye contact with and/or touching me.
Archie, who we called Ba, was also interested in aviation, and bought an airplane and taught himself how to fly. In their cramped Cincinnati apartment sat his chemistry experiments, winemaking apparatus, as well as books on thousands (or so it seemed to me as a child) of topics no one but he could possibly be interested in. In short, my grandfather was a very bright eccentric.
My painful shyness vanished in Nan’s presence. We had a relationship where we would tell each other secrets, which included writing to each other in French. She only let me down once, interfering with my choices only to appease my mother, when I showed no interest in marrying the boy who had won my parents’ approval. On the contrary, she seemed amazed at every small victory I would relate to her. We mutually admired one another, and had each other’s backs.
When I was twenty-nine, I decided it was time for me to get to know the world better, and I booked a flight to France. By now a widow, Nan got wind of this, and having never been to Europe at the age of eighty-nine, declared that she would come along. My bassoon buddy from the Milwaukee Symphony, where I played as a substitute violinist/violist, and future husband Larry also decided to join the quest, and the three of us spent several days in Paris together.
As I look at my own grandson today, I hope I can be that person that Nan was for me, someone who will love unconditionally, and treasure time spent together, ultimately confident that he is exactly the person I want and need him to be.
Photo by Lawrence D'Attilio.
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