Repeat after she: The cow was in the barn,

the pig was in the pen, and the chickens were in the coop

It has been a fair while since I wrote about my Nanny.

This isn’t due to a lack of visiting her.

I see her regularly.

And the stories she tells me?

They have a pattern as well. It’s as though she’s holding on to something that she knows.

The cow was in the barn. The pig was in the pen and the chickens were in the coop.

She always told me about her childhood. I’ve heard those words so many times.

She was reciting them from memory.

I hung on every word.

I made a bit of a mistake the last time I saw her. I asked her about some of the antics that my grandfather used to get up to.

She paused and she grimaced, her face contorted with hollow, sinking confusion. Then she went still.

We sat there suspended together in silent tears.

But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

I’m not sure if she was in a painful memory or if the question made her realize that she’s in the process of forgetting.

I remember when I last visited my big Nanny D over at Camp Hill - in the veterans unit. It was Christmas.

When she saw me she asked:

Why did you come and visit me?

I replied:

Because it’s Christmas. Merry Christmas Nanny!

Then?

Then she’d get mad:

You should have told me that you were coming. I didn’t get you a gift.

My cheeky reply?

Your presence is the gift, Nanny.

Then?

Then she’d hug me.

In half an hour we had this conversation four times.

So with my remaining Nanny?

She’s not there, but she’s on her way.

Instead?

I just sat there with her for a bit and imagined what it’s like to be over ninety years old.