Nana Helen

When I was a little girl—maybe 10 years old—I spent the night at my grandmother’s house.

My parents dropped me off, and Nana Helen and I sat in her living room in silence for what seemed like an eternity. When I finally glanced in her direction, I saw that she had dozed off.

I looked at her gray, short hair, and her gray-tinted eyeglasses. She was frail, and her pale skin seemed translucent.

A car horn startled her awake, and she looked in my direction.

“Who’s there?” she growled.

“It’s me, Nana.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to stay with you tonight.”

“Well, nobody told me anything about that. I should have at least been consulted!”

Nana Helen became blind at an early age, soon after marrying my grandfather. After he passed away, she lived alone.

Before this day, I had few memories of her, and the ones I did have were not pleasant. She rarely talked at family get-togethers and, when she did, she barked orders at anyone in the room.

Nana stood up and expertly felt her way into the kitchen. She was the only blind person I had ever seen up close, and I was fascinated with her skills in knowing where everything was.

After I was seated at her small kitchen table, she carefully poured cereal into two bowls, added milk to each, and placed one bowl in front of me.

We sat with the light off, and the only sound I heard was our chewing.

Suddenly, she asked, “Do you know how I became blind?”

“No, Nana.”

“Detached retina. No money for a doctor.”

Nana let out a big sigh and turned her head to face me.

“After I lost my sight, I became bitter, sad, afraid, and mad at the world. I never used to be this way. I used to have fun. I was kind to people. My favorite thing in life was giving my love to others. I guess that’s why your grandfather fell in love with me.”

I had never seen this side of her.

“Why can’t you be like you were before?”

She took off her dark glasses and wiped away the tears.

“Well, dear, I guess I forgot how.”

“I’ll teach you, Nana!”

The rest of the night was wonderful. We laughed, told jokes, sang songs, and gave our hearts to each other.

When my parents came to pick me up the next morning, they said, “Go and say goodbye to your grandmother.”

I approached Nana and touched her arm. She reached in her pocket, pulled out a locket that belonged to her mother, and gave it to me.

Pulling me close to her, she whispered, “I love you, dear. Thank you.”

After that day, the family noticed something different about Nana, but no one knew what it was or what had caused it.

I haven’t told anyone about it until now.

From Carpet Creatures: Tales from the Deep Pile 
(Catalog #72-1)

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