Nurturing My Inner.... granddaughter

I'm a creative person.  Which is just a polite way of saying my random thoughts are all over the place, all the time.  Just like my hair.  At first I was going to liken it to a split personality, but then decided that wasn't quite right and made my gifting seem purposeless or like a mistake.  Then a picture popped into my head... disco ball.  Yep. That's right.  I'm like a disco ball.  They were very popular when I was just a wee one in an orange velour jumpsuit.  (No, I'm not kidding.  Picture for another time.)  Sure, we make fun of them, but they really are kinda cool - in a retro, takes me back to the campy old days, gosh did I really wear my hair like that in public and think I was hot stuff, kinda way.  A disco ball is covered with dozens and dozens of tiny reflective surfaces.  Mirrors.  And as it spins around, the light catches them one after the other and dazzling bits of rainbow colors splash all over the walls and floors in constantly changing patterns.  (*groan* It's my own fault for putting "You should be dancing, yeah...." in my head - and now yours.)  That really turned out to be a great way to visualize what I feel like on the inside.  As I spin through orbit every day, in countless circumstances of a fairly mundane life, different parts of me come to the surface, catch the light and beam all over the place.  Sometimes several mes in one day.

How this all began... So last night, I had a bunch of dreams.  I'm notorious for not only having very palpable dreams, but of remembering them.  In excruciating detail.  My Nana, mom's mother, was in them.  I remember my heart was so happy to see her that I thought it would burst in my chest as I was calling out, "I love you!"  She didn't answer back, which sort of ticked me off when I woke up.  After I fell back asleep, I actually had a second dream about her.  Practical as I am, I felt it was necessary to let her know that earlier I said, "I love you!" and she hadn't responded and to that I was not agreeable.  I asked her this time, "Do you love me?"  She paused and simply said one word - "Always."

Concetta Feducia Perez

Sure that's sweet and all, but there is much more to that word to me.  It's a song title as well.  My mom picked out this song and had someone sing it at my Nana's funeral.  My absolute favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's.  Whenever I play it, I think of my Nana.  And, well, I probably cry most times.

"I'll be loving you, always. With a love that's true, always.  When the things you planned, need a helping hand, I will understand, always.  Always.  Days may not be fair, always.  That's when I'll be there, always.  Not for just an hour. Not for just a day. Not for just a year, but always."

I suppose that part me just needed to be reminded today that I was loved by the most selfless person I've ever known.  Always.

It really made me sad to think that part of me was long gone for good.  Granddaughter no more.  My Nana was the one I had the longest out of all my grandparents.  Ten years more than I even had my father.  (We had her wake on my 32nd birthday because she died two days before.)  She was SO dear to me, that I am not sure I could find the right words to express the kind of love a unpopular, relentlessly teased and tormented child can have for her grandmother.  Someone who just loved her as is.

Nana - 1994

Just last week was the 9th anniversary of her passing, so I suppose she was on my mind even more so because of that.  Nearly 10 years out and I still terribly miss being a granddaughter.  Miss being her granddaughter.  There was so much to miss after all.  Childhood summers at the river in our small family cottage; sleeping with her on the pullout bed in the living room and rolling into the middle somewhere in the night because she was heavier than me; having gingersnaps and milk together for a nighttime snack.  My Nana was simple.  Never one for many words.  (Clearly not a trait I inherited.)  But I just loved being near her.  Hugging on her.  Holding her wrinkly, arthritic hands for as long as she'd let me.  Part of me aches for those days, is the best way I can say it.  Then I feel foolish for feeling that emotional as an adult.

It occurred to me this morning that I've been very wrong for a long time.  Those parts of me that I chalked up as ancient history aren't really gone forever.  They just don't stand out in the forefront of my mind every day.  Various parts of me are inspired for different reasons or emerge in unique circumstances.  They are not ever really lost for good.  As I laid there in bed in the stillness before the day launched, I wondered if anyone else felt this way.  Could there possibly be other women who felt the same crowd of people in their souls?  Or am I just a complete weirdo?  (Don't answer that quite yet.)

As I tried to rationalize how that little girl who loved her Nana that much could still remain inside of me thirty some years later, that's when it hit me.  The tiny mirrors on a disco ball.  One part of the many, innumerable really, sides of me.  All coexisting at the same time in my most inward insides, in a perpetual state of change and motion.  I don't have to ignore that complexity of my femaleness or dismiss the past as long buried.  I can free myself up to enjoy indulging in those sweet memories any time I want.  Finding peaceful moments in escaping to somewhere else in time.  To the younger me.  Allowing myself to feel all over again what it was like to be that awkward, little, scrawny-legged, very tan, curly-haired child with her most special Nana.

And that's exactly what I did today.  I stopped fighting it. Instead, I nurtured my inner granddaughter.  I played Ella Fitzgerald on my mp3 player, basked in the warm memories of all those summer days at the river with every detail I could muster and gave myself, void of practical excuse to the contrary, permission to miss someone I loved very much.

Tomorrow, I'm not sure what side or sides will catch the light.  Sometimes it's an adventurous part of a possible future me!  Other times, a melancholy sector takes hold.  My silly alter ego definitely gets some serious airtime, but cranky stuck-in-a-rut me pops up more than I care to admit.  Whatever side it is, I know there are hundreds and hundreds of facets to me that change daily, sometimes hourly, and together, without apology, create the beautiful richness that is uniquely me.

I truly hope as I nurture my inner me, both delightful and annoying sides, that you'll learn to do the same.  Because you have all the sweet depth and spicy complexity of hundreds of wonderful yous inside too.  And they make you the beautiful you that you are.