A peaceful goodbye

Nanny died just before 7am this morning. Her daughters and some beloved nurses were there, and her passing was a peaceful one. I feel extraordinarily grateful for the way things came together at the end. Mom was helped at every step of her journey home from Greece, so that she could make it. The flight attendants charged her phone for her and brought her fresh fruit plates from first class; one even used her credit card to pay for Mom's call to Nanny because Mom's own card wasn't reading. Can you believe the unbelievable kindness that can come from strangers?! They ushered her off the plane first, and she spent a good twelve hours with Nanny before laying next to her as she took her final breaths. I think this is magical really; at the very least it's amazingly ideal. As far as deaths go! We are just all so happy that Nanny is not suffering anymore, that she is at peace. When I told the boys this morning, tears began to stream down Jack's face, and he said, "But Mom, I promised Nanny that I would see her at Christmas." Can you believe the presence and beauty in that statement?! I was overwhelmed and just held him tight. He is such a special person, and I am lucky to be his mother.

I do not want death to be frightening or mysterious to the boys. I want to teach them that it is simply the final aspect of living, that our own finality makes our time here all the more meaningful and special and because it isn't bottomless, we should appreciate it. I don't believe in Heaven or any such afterlife, and I'm utterly OK with that. Immortality, in any form except memory, sounds wretched to me; I want to live well and then make room for others to do the same.

And so I just held my darling tight and we called Mom together, and life pushes on.

It is such a rainy, grim day here, and so I am looking forward to the date I have with Oliver after school today (Jack stays for comic book creation): we are going to find some satin gloves to accompany the Cinderella dress. As I said, life pushes on.