Nanna

Unknowingly to me at the time, the first complexity which created a fissure in our relationship was not our age difference or a boy – it was our grandmother, and the triangle-type relationship between her, B and me. Nanna, as we called her, was my father’s mother and she had come to stay with us following our Mum’s cancer diagnosis. Pregnant at the time, Mum lost her baby; had a full hysterectomy; and had to undergo radiation therapy. Nanna was there to help care for us and, following the death of her husband (my grandfather), she either lived with us or close by to us for most of the remainder of our teenage years. She became like a second mother to us and was in many ways closer to us than our own Mum at the time due to the simple fact that she was always there when we needed her. 

Riding bikes, singing, music, reading, dress-ups, cooking delicious treats, education, imagination, fun, love. These are the words, and memories, that fill my mind when I think of Nanna. She was with me, urging me on and pushing me forward through every event of my early life – always expecting the best for me, and the best from me. She is either a central or peripheral part of every childhood memory that I have. She never said, ‘I love you’, but I always knew that she loved me fiercely. She taught me to read and to love books. My sister and I would climb into bed with her every morning at about 5am when I’m sure that my parents were still happily asleep, and Nanna would already be awake listening to the radio. However, she never turned us away, but instead read us all types of childhood books – rhymes, biblical stories, and many of the classics. She would sing with us too, and tape us singing nursery rhymes. When I look back, I can’t believe how much patience she had for us, although she certainly lost her patience at times. One of my funniest memories is of me being chased by Nanna, and her tennis racquet, after I’d spoken back. On the other hand, I also remember when I ran away from home at about 8 years old. I walked for several kilometres alone along a highway when I decided that I wanted to live with her. 

She was also my greatest teacher and my greatest supporter. Nanna not only taught me to read music and play the keyboard, she taught me to appreciate music and to form a life-long love affair with it. After a year of also having played the recorder at primary school, I auditioned for – and was accepted into – the school concert band because of her encouragement and guidance. She wanted me to play the clarinet, so I did. She listened to me squeak terrible noises out of that instrument until I’d practiced enough to have something come out that sounded like an actual note. She sat with me as I practiced every day, and if she could have she would have watched me proudly as I performed with my classmates at the Sydney Opera House after winning a state competition. She also pushed me hard to study for every exam that I went through at school. Although she had four grandchildren whom she loved very much, I always knew that she had her softest spot for me. She once told me that she could see herself in me, though I have no idea why, as I have never felt as strong or as self-assured as she appeared to me. 

However, while I had a very easy and close relationship with Nanna, my sister did not. Although I believe that my closeness with her was due in part to my grandmother and I sharing a bond through our mutual love and talent for music and musical instruments, and a love of books and learning in general, I do not believe that these were the only reasons for our closeness. l also had the disease to please back then – which my sister did not have – whereby I wanted and strived to be loved and accepted by everyone, and to avoid conflict. What my sister shared with Nanna was a character that could be strong-willed, opinionated, and at times confrontational. Hence, I am not surprised that the occasional clashing of characters kept a distance between them over those early years. Still, it was only many years later that I learned the extent to which B had resented both Nanna and me for our relationship and the fact that she felt she was never accepted, or loved, to the same degree. I knew even then though that Nanna loved her tremendously.