Some of my fondest memories of Nana are of me and her looking over my drawings. She would take them and coo over them, telling me how talented I was and how much she loved them. It didn’t matter what the subject, matter of the drawing was, she loved it and was immensely proud.
She would take those drawings and send them off to be featured in the local paper.
She would boast about me and my talent to anyone who would listen.
Of course, as it turns out, she was absolutely right 🤗 but how many of those underlying principles she fed into me, make me the man I am today and underpinned my formative years with her unconditional and blind love?
I remember always going to Nana and Grandads on a Saturday, the house was small, albeit like I live in today, but it was always busy and overflowing with love.
Grandad with his Woodbines that stank, but you forgave him his filthy habit anyway. Nana, always pottering about filling every stomach that walked through the door.
The Strawberries, always home grown, freshly picked and dunked in sugar.
The Sunday roast and the homemade Yorkshire’s. Nobody could touch that meal. I can still taste the Yorkshire’s to this day.
As I grew up and moved out of my family home, I didn’t visit Nana as much as I should have, life has a funny way of getting in the way, but it was never a problem. The door was always open and she welcomed all of us lovingly. Every single time.
She never ever stopped believing in me.
Looking back I never saw her resting, she was always on her feet fussing over someone, generally preparing food - she was most definitely a feeder.
If you ever visited my Nana with me or any of my massive family, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Dementia came and took a hold of her before many of us grandchildren could proudly show off our children to her, before we could show off Malachy to her, but with some repeated visits, we would occasionally get her on a good day and she would give me a look that said everything.
Shane
05/08/2020
