Tonight, your favorite restaurant –
“Five, please, with these two children.”
We came here often. You loved the sushi.
We always sat so Avery could perch between us,
Happy as a prince enthroned.
Julian, a baby, would slide down off his chair,
Toddle over underneath the table,
and play peek-a-boo, flirting with your eyes.
It always feels strange being here without you.
This was our family dining place.
The tables where we sit still have your chair,
The sixth place at table.
When we came tonight,
The sweet young hostess asked us,
“Where’s the nice lady who always came here with you?”
We looked at each other, and had to say, “She died.”
But I wondered if she didn’t feel you with us, after all this time.
Your spirit presence finds its brightest pitch
In all the places where you always were –
Your Eames chair, your place at meals,
The car’s passenger seat, Your side of the bed.
These will always be your places,
As long as they and we are here and we think of you with love.
Reflection:
Thanksgiving will be the day after tomorrow. Perhaps more than any other holiday, this day evokes family, clan, and having a place in society to call one’s own. The experience at the buffet tonight made me realize how tightly you and I together bonded with our shared family here – our roles defined and cemented by the children and their delight in “Grandma Ro” and “Nanny El” -- “the grandmas.” I see once in a while one of the photos of you with the children. You and they, alike, look supremely happy. You always told me how much you loved the little children whose paths had crossed yours – your young niece, Karen when you were in your late teens; the children who grew up next to your and Jeannine’s house in Connecticut; the children of your best friend Sandy, including your pride and joy, your godson Noah, whom I was so glad to have met in Hawaii when we were there together; little Ames who was barely two when you and I met, who lived in the loft next to yours, and who adored the line drawings of ducks and puppies that you created for him on command, with great glee. But these were other people’s children, with whom you grabbed a few moments of child-time now and then.
You deeply regretted, in older years, that you had not had the opportunity to have children. Finally, in your last years, Avery and Julian gave you the great joy of having your own grandchildren -- of being a real grandmother. You enriched their lives with your love, as they brightened your life with theirs. You are still loved and cherished here in your family, by all of us.
Nanny El with Avery, Age 1, in family room in Berkeley
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