Needing Nine Lives for Nana

No, Nana is not a cat, she is very much human

She loves cats, dogs and wee fussy children

I just wish that she had at least nine lives

So she could remember all of the good times

that we had when she could remember.

Nine Lives for Nana needed

for the woman who smilingly knew us

better than we knew ourselves

I wish you were a cat, Nana...well, kind of...

not for the whiskers or the purring,

but for the nine chances

to restart your remembering ... again

and again

and again

in the rooms where laughter

still echoes like wind chimes...

in your tea-scented kitchen.

One life for the garden,

where your hands taught roses to bloom.

One for the stories you told

with your eyes closed,

as if memory were a lantern

lit from within.

Another for the Sunday songs,

your voice a soft thread

pulling heaven closer.

And one for the way you said my name

like it was a secret between us

the stars the only others who knew.

Nine lives...all squished together

like unending flowering kisses

just to remember the good times...

like the way we danced in the hallway,

how you called the rain 'a blessing',

how you forgot the troubles of the world

but never forgot love.

But you are not a cat, dear Nana,

you are very much human

and memory, cruel as it is,

slips through your fingers

like flour dust

on a baking day.

Nana...if only you could remember

those loving birthday envelopes you once

tucked beneath pillows, slipped into shoes,

each one a happy giggle of joy

wrapped in paper and your looping script.

A five-dollar note, a sticker,

sometimes just a folded heart

drawn in colorful ink.

But now a new stanza folds gently into life’s rhythm,

with love now flowing in reverse

as we now honor Nana’s quiet rituals...

Now it’s our turn.

We bring envelopes of love and cheer,

not for birthdays,

but for the days she forgets

what day it is.

We fill them with laughter,

with songs she once hummed,

with the scent of lavender

and the warmth of old photographs.

We place them gently on her bedside table,

like offerings to memory,

hoping one might open a door she’s forgotten

but still holds the key to enlightenment...

And she will remember, all of our expectant faces

her eyes lit with joyful recognition....

recalling us by name.

Still, we hold you dear, Nana

in all your lives...even the ones

you no longer recall.

But thankfully...We still do.