Nana

My nana gives me a hug and says, "Don't forget me," as she pulls back to look in my eyes. "I won't Nana," I say pausing to kiss her wrinkly cheek. And I wonder, like many visits, if this will be the last time I see her, as it is fall, the season of transitions, and she and my grandpa have gone in and out of the hospital a fair amount and it begins that game of is this it? The last time? My other grandma passed away in the fall, and I think about her as the leaves fall, about me sitting in the house in New Hampshire; it wasn't an easy year for me and it hasn't been an easy one this year either. It seems those years find me at my Nana's house a fair bit, piling into the car with my mom and plunking down on their plaid couch, listening to Mom banter with her own mother about silly things, Nana pretending to be mad at one thing or another.
"And who are you again?" Nana asked me as I sit crammed up against her--a walker squishing us in the backseat. "I'm Molly. I'm the second daughter of Shirley, you know, Roger, Susan, Nancy..." I start the list of her children's names and to her, it is like the alphabet, stored in some far away place that Alzheimer's can't reach. "Oh, yes, Shirley. Shirley, Dottie, Janet..." she finishes it off.
"Now what did you do to your jeans?" She pokes at the patch I just sewed in that morning. "I patched them up." "Well that's just terrible!" she says. And I laugh. "Nana, you're going to have to start giving me compliments because if you leave this world just insulting me all day you're going to feel real guilty," I chuckle, having teased her over hating my hair too. "Well," she huffs, "I'll just have to fit them all in first."
The four of us move about Kohls, Grandpa's excitement glowing on his face as he prides himself in the two coupons for discounts dangling from his pocket, his slow pace supported by the stroller basket that temporarily replaces his walker. "I'd like to look for a watch," he says, moving over to the fancy arrangement in the middle of the aisle. "Can't see anything anymore," he mutters, which is true, as his once 20/20 pilot eyes have since clouded over requiring a magnifying glass and a bright flashlight for him to read print of any sort. But with Mom holding his arm, and myself toting Nana around by hers, we find him a watch and off we go. As we stand in line Nana turns and says, "You have nice teeth." "Nice teeth? Really? That's your first compliment?" I stretch my smile wide, "Well, okay, that's a place to start..." The lady behind us is laughing, as my Nana, a good four inches shorter, threatens to kick me. The three of us sit on a bench outside of Kohls waiting for Mom to pull up, none of us stellar walkers--myself, the 29-year-old, Nana 87 and Grandpa rounding us out at 90. "What's the matter with you?" Nana argues with me. "Remember Nana, they really can't figure it out? I just can't stand for more than twenty minutes." "Oh that's horrible." "It's not too bad. It's getting better," I say, and we three stand, arms looped as Mom's car pulls up.
 Back at the assisted living facility, Nana, Grandpa and I all lay down for naps, while Mom runs out to finish up the errands. I am glad Mom is here for many reasons, but as I fall rapidly asleep on the couch I am aware how absolutely wiped out I am--glad she is there to drive us home.
 I wake to hear Nana asking, "Is that the girl I hung out with all day?" as Mom is showing them pictures of their latest great grandbaby. "No, Mum, that's her older sister, Kate." She turns and points at me on the couch, I wave, "She's still here; that's Molly." "She's fun. You should bring her back again," Nana says. I smile. I don't mind if she doesn't know who I am as long as she's having a good time with me. And so when she kisses me goodbye I am surprised it is she who asks me not to forget her. "I haven't forgotten you yet, Nana," I say, give her another squeeze and slip out the door.