Good Grief: Remembering My Nana

I’ve never really understood the expression of ‘good grief’.  

According to Merriam-Webster, it is defined as:

• an expression used to express surprise or annoyance <“He’s burned the toast.” “Good grief! Can’t he do anything right?”>

But separately,  good is defined as:

•  of a favorable character or tendency

•  bountiful, fertile

•  handsome, attractive

And grief as:

•  grievance

•  deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement

•  a cause of such suffering

So why does a phrase basically meaning favorable distress mean you are surprised or annoyed?  I thought about this turn of phrase this past week as I went through a grieving process.  On Sunday, March 13th, I got a call from my dad telling me my Nana had passed away.

 It came as somewhat of a surprise as I knew she wasn’t doing well, but it wasn’t expected to happen this quickly.  I remember hitting pause on my music and then sitting on the kitchen floor, full of bewilderment and overcome by sadness.  

My Nana was one special lady: a sweet, 100% Italian New Yorker with sass and class like no one’s business.  She knew no stranger and she taught me how to love people so well. If there was anyone that exemplified what it meant to have the gift of hospitality, it was Nana.  She could out cook, clean, and entertain the best of them. She taught me how to mix humor and sophistication to charm anyone around, and boy was she a charmer! If you think I have a lot of friends, you should have seen her.  She always encouraged me, challenged me, and supported me in everything I put my mind to. She was sharp as a tick.

Unfortunately, my Nana had her fair share of physical disabilities.  I don’t remember a time she wasn’t hunched over a walker because of her back.  Even so, she kept her head high and stayed as independent as she always had been until just a few years ago.  After my Pop passed in 2010, she slowly started declining physically and mentally.  At first, it was mostly physical and she just need more help to get around, change, etc and so we moved her into a home in an elderly neighborhood. Soon after, she had a stroke and became confined to a wheelchair.  This was when I started to notice the mental decline.  She would get easily frustrated by little things, try to convince us she hadn’t taken her medication 5 minutes ago, or try to do things on her own that she couldn’t anymore and hate to ask for help.  This was how I remember her from before the race.

When I arrived home and went to see her for the first and last time.  I was warned she was much different from when I left, and it was a fair warning. I could tell dementia was setting in, and it wasn’t easy. The harder part was noticing she had started to lose her fight.  She listened to what we said happened and didn’t argue, she let us do things for her and didn’t try to do it on her own.. She was ready.  

 

For the last couple of years, she confessed that she was looking forward to the day she would wake up next to Pop again.  And last Sunday, she did.

I cried. A lot.  And I asked God why even when I knew the answer.

I knew she was ready. I knew it was her time, but it still didn’t seem fair.

The next morning at staff worship, as I sang my heart out, I started bawling.  Sobbing. Ugly crying.  At first, it was all tears of sadness and being brokenhearted. And I asked God why again… Then the worship band started to play “Let It Happen” by United Pursuit.

So take me back

Back to the beginning

When I was young

Running through the fields with you

And he calls each one of us

By our names to come away

And he whispers to your heart

To let it go and to be alive

Be alive

Come alive

To come alive

You’re full of life now

And full of passion

It’s how he made you

Just let it happen

 

And I saw a picture of my Nana and Pop running, dancing, laughing, and holding each other close.  My sad tears turned to happy ones and I rejoiced that my Nana was no longer confined to an infirmed body, ravaged by old age. She was in a new body, full of life, full of passion: her spirit is fully alive in the death of her earthly flesh.  

 

“For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 2 Corinthians 5:1

 

And I experienced good grief. Not surprise or dismay, but I sobbed tears of joy with a heart full of grief.  

 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

 

Phyllis (Nana) and Vincenzo (Pop) Staraci, together again.