This is my nana’s hieroglyphics, as we used to joke. She had the most unique handwriting, impossible to read at times, but somehow, we always managed to figure out what she meant. She was my favorite person, my best friend. Colleen Regina Doyle Wynne was my father’s mother, a little Irish lady who was incredibly proud of her heritage. Both her mother and father’s families had immigrated from Ireland, and she was born in Brooklyn, NY. She was one of 13 children, but sadly, at the age of 7, she was placed in an orphanage. The pain of that experience stayed with her throughout her life, and though she reconnected with her siblings in her teenage years, the scars from that trauma never fully healed. Yet, in spite of it all, she was filled with love—a love that she freely and generously shared with everyone around her.

Her famous Irish soda bread was something I always begged her to make, not just on St. Patrick’s Day but any chance I could get. The recipe had been passed down from her mother-in-law, and it was the best I’ve ever tasted. It wasn’t just the bread itself, though—it was the warmth, the laughter, and the sense of family that filled the room whenever she made it. Nana gave us more than just memories; she gave us a legacy of love, resilience, and the importance of family.

– KW

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