Nana Visited Me Again

Yes, I know that sounds a bit crazy, but let me explain.

Two weeks ago, my mom, dad and I went to Crystal Beach to finish cleaning out Nana's house because we had just put it on the market and I wanted to be able to finish that project on my schedule, not a buyer's schedule. Plus, I thought it would sell better if it was empty. Oh, yes, you read that correctly. BOTH of my parents, who have been divorced for 30 years, went to Florida together to help me with this chore. But that's not what we're here to discuss.

One of the "must do's" while we were in Crystal Beach was to attend Sunday morning church at Crystal Beach Community Church. As a reminder, my step-grandfather was the first minister at CBCC, Nana was the second member of the church, the pews in the church are there due to Nana's efforts and sizable donation after my real grandfather died in 1961, my mom grew up in the church, my parents were married there in 1970, and I was baptized there in 1971.

As always, we sat in Nana's pew. It's actually the pew that has the plaque with my grandfather, Jesse Paulk's name on it, but I always refer to it as Nana's pew. It's the fifth pew from the front on the right side. I suppose there are other pews to sit in, but I've never sat in them. Ever.

Growing up, I remember attending church with Nana each Sunday when we visited. It wasn't optional. We just went. Nana never missed a Sunday and we never missed a Sunday with her. Without fail, at some point during the church service, she'd always reach over and take my hand. She'd wrap her little hand around mine and just hold it as long as I'd let her. Sometimes she'd pull my hand onto her lap and pat my hand with her free hand as she held it.

Nana's been gone for 3 1/2 years and in that time, I don't think I've ever felt her presence. I've seen her in dreams, but I've never felt her presence. Until that day two weeks ago.

The first hymn on Sunday was "Lord, I Want to be a Christian." As I was standing and attempting to sing along, I could see Nana and suddenly felt her presence. On my left side, I felt her right hand wrap around my left one. I could feel the softness of her skin, the delicateness of her hand, and the warmth and coolness that always permeated from her skin simultaneously.

My eyes welled up with tears, as I tried to subtly wipe them away. Needless to say, it didn't work. I spent most of the ceremony crying.

I cried because I miss Nana and because it was the last time I'll ever be in Crystal Beach. It was the last time I'll ever be in the only church I've ever felt comfortable in. Three and a half years after her death, it all felt really real and final and I just kept thinking about how soon, there would be no one in Crystal Beach who remembered her and it would be as though she never existed. I also cried because I felt guilty for having failed to take care of getting her name on one of the (almost) floor to ceiling windows on each of the walls.

Throughout the service, I couldn't shake the feeling of Nana's hand wrapped around mine. It was comforting as I dealt with the grief I still felt.

After the service was over, I was taking a picture of the plaque on Nana's pew and Mom was explaining the story of the pews to some new church members when the minister walked up to greet me.

The plaque on Nana's pew.

Pastor Susie welcomed me back to church, asked about the house, and then asked if I'd seen Nana's window.

What??? Nana's window?! No. I hadn't seen it.

And then she walked me over to it. Sure enough, there was Nana's name. Exactly as she'd want it.

In an instant, I was sobbing again. The only words I knew to say were "thank you." I can't remember the last time I felt so much gratitude.

I had dropped the ball and not gotten back to the church with how we wanted Nana's name on the window and when we'd be down to dedicate it, but there it was. Nana would never be forgotten. And she really was in church with us that morning, just as she would be forever. And she really held my hand.

The bottom pane of Nana's window.

It's Been 2 Years

This is how I'll always remember Nana.

I was standing in my friend Danica's living room when my phone rang. It was Sunday, July 12, 2009 at about 3:15pm. Danica had just asked me how Nana was doing and I was telling her that after a rough few weeks, where we never knew if she'd make it through the night, I believed Nana was stable and would hold on for just a few more days until I could arrive in Florida on July 15th to celebrate her 93rd birthday with her on the 18th.

I looked at caller id, realized it was Mom and ignored it. I'd spoken with Mom about 2 hours earlier and she was headed over to the nursing home. I'd asked her to call me so I could talk with Nana. Talk is not exactly the right word. She couldn't talk anymore. Thinking back, I'm not sure she'd spoken in a month or so at that point. So I'd do the talking. I'd tell her how much I loved her and couldn't wait to see her in just a few days. We'd celebrate her birthday with cake and candles.

As I pulled out of Danica's driveway, about 15 minutes later to head home, I called Mom back. She was at the nursing home, but I couldn't speak to Nana because she had passed away at 3:10pm ET (about 90 minutes earlier).

Nana had died.

Those words didn't really sink in. I just got to work. I knew what I had to do and I did it. At that point, real tears were probably a few days away. I had to work with Crystal Beach Community Church and Batesville Presbyterian Church to arrange two funeral services. I got the obituary edited and submitted to The Panolian (Batesville, Mississippi's newspaper), St. Petersburg Times and Tampa Tribune. I wrote the eulogy I would give twice. I worked with Dave to get him to Florida and then to Mississippi before returning to Michigan. I had to get Mom from Florida to Mississippi and back to Florida. And I had to get from Chicago to Florida to Dallas to Mississippi and finally home. I still owe my cousin Elesha huge for what she did to make it possible for me to attend Nana's burial.

The rest of the story is told elsewhere on Little Merry Sunshine (and here) and over at Remembering Frances. That's not really what this post is about.

Two years have at once flown by and dragged at a snail's pace.

I've closed Nana's estate. I've figured out how to get out of bed again, be happy, and not miss her every single waking moment. I've changed careers. Some days I don't miss her at all.

Don't misunderstand me, I miss her. A lot. I miss her smile. I miss her Southern drawl. I miss hearing "Jessica, you're my favorite granddaughter" even though I was her only granddaughter. I miss her pretty delicate hands. I miss her fingers intertwined with mine as she held my hand. I miss her remembering every single detail of life (yep, that's where I get it from). I miss receiving birthday cards that were made for little girls when I was in my 30s. I miss the boxes of grapefruit off her tree and the fruitcake she made with too much bourbon because she didn't drink and didn't understand that the axiom "if a little is more, a lot is better" wasn't really true, although when it came to bourbon in fruitcake, it actually was. I miss her weekly handwritten letters. I miss her telling me she loved me "a bushel and a peck." Holidays are different.

But she's not really gone. Well, she is. Obviously. But I feel her presence and sometimes even hear her voice. I can hear it now as I type. Sometimes I can even smell her. Once, I saw her. Feeling, hearing and even smelling her typically only lasts for a brief second before it disappears, but I'm certain in those moments, she's here. The time I saw her was in a dream, but I have no doubt she'd been here that night too.

I've thought a lot over the past two years about what I'd say to her if I had just one more minute with her. I've tried to figure out what one question I'd ask or what one profound thing I'd say one last time. But after giving it great thought, I'd tell her the same thing she said to us each night before bed or each time we'd get off the phone.

Good night. God Bless. I love you. Sweet dreams, Nana.

Happy 94th Birthday Nana!

Sunday would be Nana's 94th birthday.

If everything had gone as planned, I would be sitting in her pew at Crystal Beach Community Church feeling her presence next to me and remembering her reaching over to hold my hand as we sang hymns. Then I'd be enjoying lunch at Sam's Fresh Seafood with Mom. We'd end the day standing on the Crystal Beach Pier watching the sunset into the Gulf of Mexico.

Unfortunately, nothing went as planned this week and I'm in Arlington Heights.

So I'll be celebrating Nana's birthday by sitting in a pew in the church I grew up attending, the First Presbyterian Church of Arlington Heights. I don't know what else I'll do tomorrow, but I'm going to enjoy the dessert I remember Nana making more often than any other: Vanilla bean ice Cream and fresh peaches.

I remember cutting up peaches with her, scooping ice cream into the little Blue Willow china dessert bowls and sitting around the big dining room table while we all enjoyed the refreshing treat. After dinner, we'd wash and put away the dishes together and then walk down to the pier to watch the sunset.

Such a simple wonderful way to end the day. Just like Nana. Simple and wonderful.

In honor of Nana, here's her favorite hymn. We sang it at her Celebration of Life service on her birthday last year. It's hard to believe that a year ago I saw her for the last time. She looked so peaceful in her casket, although it was truly almost more than I could do to look at her. I just didn't want her to be gone. The truth is I still don't want her to be gone, but I'm doing better this year.

Crystal Beach Community Church & Me

On Sunday, Mom and I went to church at Crystal Beach Community Church. I don't attend church often and have many conflicts over what I believe religiously. For this reason, I haven't been a member of any church since I was in high school and had been confirmed at the First Presbyterian Church in Arlington Heights.

That said, I hate missing an opportunity to attend services at Crystal Beach Community Church. It just feels like home to me.

When I sit within its walls, I can feel the weight of the history of the church and my family.

My step-grandfather, Rev. C.W.A. Bredemeier was the founding minister and the first member.

My late Nana was the second member, taught Sunday School, and was the church secretary and treasurer. Nana also helped found the first CBCC Youth Fellowship, which met on Sunday nights for Bible Study at the church and every Saturday night down at former Seaside Hall for recreation and Christian fellowship. Obviously, Nana's Celebration of Life service was held at CBCC last month.

At Nana's Celebration of Life Service last month, a dozen people came up to me with the same story. "I'm a member of this church because of how your Nana greeted me and my husband 20 years ago when we first walked through the door. She invited us to sit with her and made us feel like we'd always been members." Wow. What a legacy. She will certainly live on for years and years. I felt her beside me on Sunday and as we sang her favorite hymn, "What A Friend We Have in Jesus," coincidentally one of the three hymns we sang.

Before he died in 1961, my grandfather, Jesse Paulk, also a member, taught Adult Sunday School, and sang in the choir. When he died in 1961, Nana brought all the money to the church that was donated to the family, saying "Jesse had been wanting us to start a Pew Fund so that we would have pews instead of the wooden folding Army chairs to sit on. Here is the money to buy the first pew." From that beginning, the church raised enough money to buy pews for the entire church and both choir lofts. Plus, there was enough money left over to have the church walls & concrete floor re-painted, as well as to build the current alter and lecterns, communion table and the tall wooden candle holders, all of which were designed by my step-grandfather and founding pastor, Rev. C.W.A. Bredemeier.

My mom sang in the choir, attended Sunday School and the Youth Fellowship Group, and was even married at CBCC to my dad in 1970 by Rev. Bredemeier.

I was baptized at CBCC by my step-grandfather Rev. Bredemeier on September 12, 1971, my mom's birthday, the anniversary of my grandfather's death, and just weeks after Rev. Bredemeier and Nana were married in the church . When I was a kid, I used to go over to the church and sit with the woman who was responsible for the chimes being played every night at 5:45 and could be heard all up and down the beach. Each night, she'd let me play the organ and let me believe that my playing was being heard throughout Crystal Beach, What I only learned last month is that the chimes had been automated since long before my days of playing them, so only the organist and I heard my "music."

No matter where I go, what I do, or even what my current internal struggle with religion, CBCC always feels like home and when I'm in Crystal Beach I have to go to church.