NANNY

“Nanny” was the name her five granddaughters and five great-grandsons called her. She was always “Nanny” to me as well, from the first time I met her almost 35 years ago until she passed away three days ago at 99. She lived a long and full life surviving, if that is the word, the Great Depression and World War II when life was really difficult. Those of us who think the restrictions we had to endure during the pandemic were hard don’t know what hard is. Those were tough times.

She raised two sons and a daughter while working fulltime. Both sons, tragically, as far as a mother is concerned, proceeded her in death, as did both of her husbands. Both of them were PTSD victims of the War in the Pacific and made her life sometimes not so pleasant and certainly not easy. What made it worse was back then there was no notion of PTSD. They just called it Battle Shock or something, as if the sights you saw were supposed to be forgotten when they never could be. When they were haunted by those memories and images and acted out, she paid part of the price. It wasn’t easy.

Even though I called her Nanny, she always regarded me as another son. I still remember the time when we showed up and she yelled at her husband, “Bill, the kids are here.” At that time I was a kid of about 65. At 79 I was still a kid in her eyes, a big kid who did for her what her sons who had passed away could no longer do for her what I could and, of course, did lovingly and thankfully.

She lived a full life almost to the end. She only stopped driving two years ago, albeit no more than two miles to Kroger, only because her arthritis had gotten so bad that she could not turn the ignition in her big Lincoln Town Car. (God does work in mysterious ways.) But that arthritis did not stop her from doing fantastic needle work. In her closet are dozens of quilts she made over the years. Her daughter has carried on that legacy.

If you could ask her, she would tell you that she indeed lived a full life and had few regrets, the biggest ones certainly being the loss of her sons before their time. Even during those times of loss, she was a trooper. It had to be what we call Those Lighthtner Genes: the women in that family seemed to live forever and, more importantly, took and continue to take no guff from anyone, especially any man, son-in-law included.

She will be missed but she will always be remembered. And she will live on especially in her granddaughters who have inherited those Lightner Genes. They have her spunk and determination and, as I am well aware and as the men in their lives are quite aware, they take no guff from them either.

We give thanks for the life she lived and give thanks for all she was for us. We rejoice now with her knowing that she is now rejoicing with all those she loved who proceeded her in death. Rest in peace, Nanny.