Eldredge

Nana, Grammy, me, and Mum. Notice the absolutely unambiguous red hair. That is sadly lost in my children! Notice also the measuring spoons with which I am fascinated. That’s my kind of toy. I fear I may have taken my adamant anti-spoiling stance too far when yesterday afternoon’s treat was a Star Market trip where Grace and Whit were each thrilled to pick out a can of Campbell’s soup (on sale). Ohhhkay. Perhaps time to take the entertaining-of-children up a notch.

But I digress. I have had Nana (my Nana) on the brain all weekend. Yesterday as Grace and Whit and I ambled around Boston and on and off the T I had “Simple Gifts” in my head. I was humming and tunelessly singing it to myself and Grace asked what I was singing. I taught her the first few lines and told her her Nana (Mum) would be touched to hear her sing it. So she did, last night at dinner. Nana/Mum was visibly moved and I’ve been thinking all day long about the incredible rightness of this song, this tune, these words.

In 1997 we lost both my grandmother (Nana) and my mother’s best friend/closest thing I had to a surrogate mother, Susie (both to pancreatic cancer, which somehow makes every mention of Steve Jobs’ health more poignant for me). It is still a very dark period in my memory, but also one marked with the clarity of focus that tragedy and the concentration that living through a really difficult thing can impart. At both memorial services we sang “Simple Gifts.” It is no surprise that two of the women closest to my own mother were celebrated with a song so moving in its very simplicity. Mum, you’ve taught me a million things, and I realize new ones every day, but among the most powerful is the lesson in the words to this song: