~ Written by Danielle N. Bilski ~
Seven weeks ago, my Nana passed away at the incredible age of 96. She was one of the closest and most important people in my life and I will never be able to put into words how much I miss her. In keeping her memory alive, I present to you some of the most special words I have ever written! This is the tribute I wrote for my Nana and read at her funeral, along with her poem, 137. Yellow Rose, in December 2020.
9 December, 2020:
Buona sera. Mi chiamo Danielle e sono una nipotina di Rose.
Good afternoon. My name is Danielle and I am one of Rose’s granddaughters.
I started speaking Italian with Nana, Auntie N and Mum over the last five years or so, in an attempt to carry on the memory of Nana’s parents, my great grandparents who I never got to meet.
Nana always said to me, even the last time I saw her ‘you’re a good girl.’ I have always believed that is because I am a reflection of your goodness, Nana and the values you instilled not only in me, but all of your children and grandchildren. I have never wanted to disappoint you and of course, today is no exception.
Sandra has talked about your life growing up and I have no illusions about how incredibly blessed I have been to have spent 36 years with you. As such a constant, safe and warm presence in my entire life, while I was reflecting on what I would like to say today, I found myself overflowing with more memories than I could possibly share in such a limited amount of time here with everyone. Nevertheless, there are some things it would be remiss of me to not mention.
So Nana, this is for you. Before I go any further, you always carried a handkerchief with you and would often misplace it. ‘Where did I put my handkerchief?’ you’d ask us all. Today, I would offer you mine, but I’m sorry I think I am going to need it myself.
One thing I really loved about you was that although you were shy around others, you were strong, brave and would always give something a try. For us grandchildren, you would do anything to make us feel seen, loved and happy. Even letting C, S and I pile into yours and Papa’s bed in the morning and playing the game I think we used to call ‘Jail’. This involved our cold feet kicking around the bottom of the bed and you catching our legs, trapping them in between yours or ‘in jail’.
Often, you would take us for a walk up to the shops to run errands with you or to the pictures. Inspiring movies featuring beautiful animals were some of your favourites and we talked about for years seeing ‘Free Willy’ and ‘The Lion King’ on the big screen. You didn’t really like the smell of the popcorn, but you sure enjoyed a choc top ice-cream. A special day out that us girls shared was seeing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ on stage in the 90s, and S and I will always cherish that experience with you and our mums. The last film I saw with you was this time last Christmas when you, Mum, N and I saw ‘Ride Like a Girl’ full of beautiful racehorses. When I thought it would be funny for all of us to have a group photo taken with Santa, to match the one you and I had in 2009, the only condition was that you wanted to make sure your hair was combed nicely.
Then, after dinner with us grandchildren, you would always offer us a bowl of ice-cream which I loved with bright and chocolate sprinkles. C would always eat all of the strawberry ice-cream if you bought Neopolitan, but you taught him to share it with us. Thank you.
Food was a way you took care of yourself by eating healthy and rarely indulging. But you did enjoy it and always shared it with your family. You didn’t eat much dairy, but you loved tasty cheese, eating mangos over the sink with the juice dripping down your chin, cherries and Cherry Ripe chocolate bars for a long time, and mandarins but like me you would sit and peel all of the pith off each piece before eating it. You taught me how to cook roast dinners, to bake Anzac biscuits and your special jam and coconut slice that was often in your pantry when we visited. You would proudly take it to share at events with our extended family too, who also enjoyed it. You made lots of fruit cakes and every birthday you would lovingly present a homemade sponge cake filled with cream (even though you didn’t eat cream yourself and would take it off your slice before enjoying it) and either fresh passionfruit or chocolate icing with desiccated coconut. And of course, our much loved chicken sketties with grated pecorino cheese savoured in every mouthful. ‘Stinky cheese’ J now calls it, which always made you laugh.
You had the best laugh and that is one thing I will miss hearing the most. I know how much you enjoyed playing ‘Whispers’ around the camp fire every Easter with your brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and our cousins while toasting marshmallows and unshelling peanuts. Laughing and having fun during the egg and spoon, three-legged and sack races on Easter Sunday with everyone. For many years, I remember you having a go. Every Boxing Day, it was always important for you to spend time with your extended family too and mark these occasions with everyone you loved as often as possible.
Christmas was always such a special time with you, particularly in the last few years when you, Mum and I would make our traditional Christmas pudding from the recipe of your late sister-in-law. You would count out the thruppence and sixpence before we added them to the mix that Mum would always over-sherry to our amusement and later, our enjoyment when it came time to eat it. On Christmas Day, you would collect the money in a serviette as each person delightedly found some in their pudding, ready to be sterilised and kept safe for the next year. Like I promised, I will continue to make that Christmas pudding for our family, but it will never be the same without you here with me.
You were so proud when C and C got married in October 2015, and S and M got married in April 2018. These are more treasured milestones we all shared with you and it was no secret that during those years you couldn’t wait to become a great grandma.
Your own 50th wedding anniversary celebration in 1997 was a significant moment in my memories of how unique your love story with Papa was, which no doubt came with its share of challenges as every relationship does, especially over the 57 years that you were married. But there is one photo of you and Papa captured in a candid moment together where you are cuddled into him and are both smiling so brightly. For me, that is the epitome of devotion, loyalty and unconditional love. You found it in each other, and look at the family and friends who also love you very much, here today and those not so far away.
Nana, you were one person I always rang after an important event in my life that you might not have been able to be there for, like my first day and last day of school, the day I submitted my final university assignment, when I got offered new jobs, when I wrote something that I was proud of and wanted to share with you, and any other time I wanted to speak to you, just because.
This would be one of those times in my life that I would ring you and talk to you about how it’s making us feel and how we’ll be alright. And then I remember that I can’t ring you anymore. Not in the way I always have, anyway.
I can’t express how incredible the last day I saw you was. Even that day, I knew how epic it was, being present at yours and Papa’s home, with four generations of our family in the same room, especially after a year of being told to stay away in order to keep everyone healthy and safe. I had caught up with you and Mum twice in the park in the couple of weeks before, wearing our masks in the Spring sunshine, cloud-gazing, watching bees buzz around the purple flowers and listening to rosellas sing in the nearby trees. I showed you Ooshies and my journal. But on Wednesday 4th November, the day you saw C, J and met baby L and baby N for the first time was sacred. You cuddled them and held all of their hands. It’s a day I will never forget and I’m sure they will come to treasure it just as much. They got to be with you, their Little Nana.
Like Uncle T, holding your soft yet strong hands is another thing I will miss very much. I would hug you goodbye and stand for a little while just holding your hand while you gently rubbed circles on mine. You were never in a hurry to let go.
The last conversation we had the night before the stroke, you told me about your cuddles with baby L that day and spending the afternoon with N, S and Mum. You were happy, but tired. One of the last things you said to was ‘come over anytime’ as I mentioned I’d try to visit the following week sometime. You would welcome me and everyone with open arms and share whatever you had to give. You took care of the things you had, but you were never materialistic. And you’d say ‘waste not, want not’ and donate anything that could be reused to the local opportunity shops.
You were selfless to the end. Always doing whatever you could to make the pages of other people’s books, or the pieces of other people’s unfinished puzzles as love-filled and happy as you could during the time you shared with them. None of us are ready let you go.
I would tell you, ‘You have to live to 100 Nana’ and you would laugh and say ‘I’ll do my best, Sweetheart.’ Last year, you were blowing out your birthday candles and when you got to the last candle, you just couldn’t blow it out. In the video I was recording, I have counted 20 attempts you made and we are all laughing in the background, which made you laugh and made it even more difficult to distinguish the final candle. S and I joked, ‘You’re going to live forever, Nana’ and S said ‘This is great, Nana keep going.’ If I could have you with me until I reach 96 myself I would, but that would obviously make you 156!
But honestly, I want to share one last demonstration of your unwavering love to me personally. As a little girl, I always admired these two shells that you had in a glass cabinet in your lounge room. One of them was rainbow and curled around on itself. Every time I visited I would work up the courage to politely ask you, ‘Nana, can I please hold your shell?’ You would come over, make me cup my hands together and gently place the shell on them, which you let me hold for about five minutes until I was ready to hand it back to you. I would stand at the glass for a long time afterwards just admiring the beauty in the shell. The colourful light it reflected. You obviously observed all of those years how much I cherished and took care of it. On my twenty first birthday, you surprised me by giving me that shell. Your faith in me has remained unsurpassed, even when I have doubted myself. I can’t promise you that I will always hang up my clothes as you suggested or iron my handkerchiefs.
I will be brave, carry you safely in the curl of my heart that you made strong in me and I will continue to speak your name. All of these things will remind me of you and I know you will not be so far away, in the Garden of No Distant Place with your beloved, our Papa – the last page of your love story. Rest in peace now.
Thank you for everything you gave to me and to all of us.
Nana… Ti amo sempre moltissimo.
I love you very much, always.
This is how we would often end our phone calls.
Then one of us would say, ‘see you later, alligator…’
©2021 My Time With You