When your mini skirt wearing, F-Bomb dropping, booze drinking, (ironically classy AF), hard as nails, strong as an ox, “Crying doesnt help anything” Nana dies at 90 years young, you don’t sit around mourning her death. You have a nice cold beer and some greasy fried food at one her old favorite bars and celebrate her whirlwind life, the hilarious and heart warming memories, the epic stories that will never die, her life long love and unwavering devotion to my Papap and the women she raised us to be. Better or worse- I blame her for this.
My parents divorced when I was really young. Like, a baby young and we lived right next door to my grandparents. My dad raised me solo with the help of my grandparents for several years before he met, and lived happily ever after, with my step mom. While her advice may not have always been solicited and her methods may not have always been the best, her intentions were undoubtedly good and pure and kind. She taught me so many things about life, about love and about perseverance. She and my grandfather were my surrogate parents for many stages of my life and they quite literally saved me more times than I could even count. She loved me and my boys and even though she hated to admit it, my mother and my little sister, beyond all measure. I am, and always will be, forever grateful for my time with her on this earth. Her legacy and legend will life on for eternity through each and every person who knew and loved her.
Bottoms up, to you Nana. All the way up to heaven. You did good, Nana. You did really good. I’ll be seeing you around.