A Final Good Night
An heirloom sits safe in the cupboard; a twenty year old blanket that you knitted for my birth. Navy blue and white; still soft, but a little worn. I’ll give it to my children, to protect them in their sleep, and as they trail it along the floor or suck on the woolen corners, I’ll scoop them up and tell them of a woman and the family she created. You will always be talked of.
I found a picture the other day, I must be about four. You’re sitting in a deck chair, under the shade of a tree, with your knitting bag hanging from the armrest; another heirloom, perhaps. I’m there on your lap and you’re reading me a book. One hand holds the book open and the other is wrapped around my belly, keeping me close. My little legs are dangling over your knees and there’s a second book in my hand for when you finish the first. There’s no one else about, we’re solitary in the garden, completely unaware of a photographer. I’m enchanted by your voice, following the words with my eyes. You will always be enchanting.
Do you remember, Great Nan, that day in the living room? I’m standing next to you on your seat, balancing on the chair with a microphone in my hand. You’re holding my leg and we’re belting out “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” Alice and Sarah Alice, the two girls in wonderland. You will always be wonderful.
A tape recorder in the middle of the table in Nanny’s dining room: an interview for a school project and you talked for so long, telling me stories I never thought were possible. You sat across from me and told me experiences of the war; the bombs, the rations, the gas masks. You did not stumble, you did not falter. I sat in awe, asking question after question, as you recollected memories of the past. You will always be remembered.
Good morning Great Nan. Good morning dear. Buttered bacon sandwiches and sweet cups of tea, the sound of the streamers in the wind that hang from the kitchen door. Each morning of summer I would walk down the stairs, the second step creaking faithfully, and you, the first thing I’d see, leaning against the sink, peeling the potatoes, watching the trees outside. You stood in the radiance of the sun. You will always be radiant.
My final memory, last summer, kneeling before you and placing your slippers on your feet. A queen of so many hearts. I held your hand walking to the dinner table and you still made me smile; so quick and so witty. I thought you would last forever. I thought you would always be there in your colourful house coats, with a pen doing the crossword, the pearly white curls on your head.
You were there for my entire life and now you are gone.
You will always be the Alice of my Wonderland.
Every night we would end it this way, and so I will not deviate from tradition: a late hour kiss on your delicate cheek, the traces of cocoa still on my lips.
Good night, Great Nan.
Good night, Love.
