I wake up before sunrise to the aroma of home-made pasta sauce and fresh garlic bread. I hear Nana Nana banging pots and pans. She cranks the radio when Jimmy Buffet “Fins” comes on. I can picture her dancing around the kitchen with her hands in fin shapes atop her head. I go out to the kitchen. The air is filled with cigarette smoke and laughter. The tiny kitchen table is surrounded by Nana Nana, Uncle David, and my mother. Nana Nana (my mother’s mother) is on the right. She’s is always well dressed and wouldn’t be caught dead without her bright red lipstick. Uncle David (Ma’s brother) to her left is always wearing his best sweat shirt and shorts regardless of the weather. Ma, across from Nana Nana, in her denim coat with matching denim pants. Uncle David is smearing ricotta cheese between layers of pasta for lasagna. Ma is preparing the tomato gravy. Nana Nana has made so many cavatelli, she has to lay them across her Queen bed on baking sheets. Sunday dinner is very important to Nana Nana, she has made that clear to us all. She felt it made us a closer family, coming together as one, stronger.
Nana Nana was the matriarch of the Covells. She was a 1st generation Italian immigrant and held on deeply to her beliefs. She had olive skin, pitch black hair (that never seemed to gray), and a captivating smile. Don’t let her 4’7, petite stature fool you. She had an Italian temper to accompany it. It all started slowly with her. First COPD, then becoming dependent on oxygen tanks. The hospital visits became more and more frequent. Seeing your strongest family member become weak and ill is beyond what anything can prepare you for. After 2 years, she was no longer strong enough to fight. The family had Hospice involved. From then on, it was comfort measures only. Uncle David, Ma, and I rotated shifts staying with her, giving her medications around the clock, listening to her delusional stories from the Ativan and Morphine. I felt important. Nana Nana had 6 children, 4 of which wouldn’t help, so I was there when she need someone. She needed me. There were days filled with anger that no one saw she needed them. Other days I felt like the Grimm Reaper was literally next to me on the couch watching her fade. Waiting. The day she passed away hit me so hard, even though I knew it was coming. I got the call while at work. There was nothing more I could do. She was at peace now, although her passing forever changed the shape of our family. No one made sure to call everyone on their birthday. On Thanksgiving, I couldn’t hear her say “Gobble, gobble. Happy Turkey Day.” There were no more Sunday dinners. It was no longer the one family unit, rather each family’s own unit. Broken apart far from the puzzle Nana Nana once fit each piece perfectly into.
I most likely learned selflessness from Uncle David. Nana Nana’s only son who helped care for her when she needed her children most. Uncle David, the cool uncle. David was always the life of the party. He brought me to a Bryan Adams concert for doing well on my 2nd grade report card. Being so close to him, I considered him like a second father. I was his “Cookie”. “Alycia’s 21!”, we all yelled from the limo he had rented for my birthday. Between Maggiano’s in Boston and the comedy club, I swore I would never drink again! Uncle David got me my first real job at the dialysis unit he worked at. To this day, I can go to any dialysis unit and hear how well liked he was and known to all the patients. David helped me so much in my life, I wish he asked for my help when he needed it most. We had fallen apart for about two years until my son was born. Unfortunately, he kept his cancer hush hush until it was too late. The family called for Hospice. Ma, myself, and my fiance took shifts to help David’s girlfriend care for him. His passing taught me not to hold onto regret. We had our ups and downs. I wish I had mended our relationship sooner. In his last days, none of that mattered, I still loved him like a father.
Ma was the youngest and only girl out of 6 children! Needless to say, she was Nana Nana’s princess and my best friend. Soon after David’s passing as if it were a horror movie, my mother started coughing up blood. After countless tests, procedures, and too many doctors to keep count, we had our answer. Non small cell lung cancer. Ma has a special case that is inoperable with a survival rate of 20% after 5 years. Living after 5 years is unheard of. Ma went through rigorous chemo treatments three times a week for twelve weeks and radiation for four weeks. Losing her hair was the least of her concerns. She wants to beat this. Ma is 4’9, dark brown hair, loves to eat, and has Nana Nana’s Italian temper! We are on year 2! Caring for her is different from caring for Nana Nana and Uncle David. I feel strong and in control. I feel important, not because she needs me, but I need her.
Caring for loved ones who are terminally ill has taught me lessons that nothing else could. Patience. Not to hold grudges or regret. Live life to the fullest everyday. Family is who is there in the long run, when life gets tough. Had I known the valuable lessons years ago, would things have changed? No. The outcomes would have been the same. Would I have reacted differently? No. I’m still this person who cares, who carries on even when I feel I can’t. I have learned who my true family is. It’s not the people who text “I’m here for you” at the time of diagnosis. It’s the people who come and sit with Ma, bathe her, make sure she’s eating. It all sounds cliche, until you live it. When there are no words, you have family. Nana Nana taught us all this from the beginning; only some learned the lesson.
