Nana 

This was my nana. Her name was Geraldine, and she was the only grandparent I knew. She unexpectedly passed away in a car accident when she was only sixty-two years old. I was seven. I remember attending the viewing and hiding underneath her casket waiting for her to tell me to get out from under there, but she never did. Even during the funeral, I was so confused and didn’t understand exactly what was going on.  

A couple of weeks later, I received this photograph in the mail from my aunt. And for the past twenty-five years I have had it in my possession.  

To this day, when I look at this photograph it’s as if I’m looking right at her. Nana loved sitting in the carport to escape the intense Georgia heat. We would spend hours doing crafts such as tie-dying shirts or painting seashells I’d bring her. But the best time was when we would simply sit there and listen to the sounds of cows and horses in the distance with the faint smell of freshly cut grass in the air.  

My nana was more than just my grandparent, she was my hero; she still is today. Her kindness was incomparable, almost angelic. She would always ask for “sweet baby sugar” as soon as she laid eyes on me. Her warm embrace was like no other and her smile felt like sunshine.  

My nana was truly the best and I’m forever grateful for the memories that I do have of her, and I’ll be able to cherish them for the rest of my life.  



 

– M.S.

Relationship:  Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more Great-grandchild of im/migrant or more