My Nana

What I remember most about my Nana is how she made me feel. Being around her felt like a big hug, a warm cup of tea, like sitting in the sun. “She was very maternal,” my mother says of her. “I know all her kids and grandchildren felt close to her.”

Nana used to say I was her “last baby” because I lived with her as a toddler while my mother was working and finishing college. There are photographs of her putting my hair in curlers, reading me books, and watching me pick flowers in her yard.

On the Farm

Nana was born to Irish immigrant parents who owned a large working farm. She was petite with curly red hair and doll-like features. Her mother died in childbirth when she was only three years old, and Nana was raised, in large part, by her slightly older sisters.

“You would think Nana would have been scrambled, being brought up by other children, but she was always very grounded, very steady,” my mother says.

As the daughter of an Irish farmer, Nana was picking potatoes as soon as she was old enough to stand. “There were just potatoes and potatoes as far as the eye could see,” she would grimace, recalling the chore. It felt like a major upgrade when, at age 11, Nana was put in charge of cooking breakfast and lunch for the men in her family as well as the laborers who worked their farm. Before and after school, she harvested eggs, boiled root vegetables, and skinned and roasted chickens.

She was in her late teens when she met my Grandpa. One of her older sisters had a date with a tall boy from a Ukrainian family. He was waiting awkwardly outside their front stoop, holding a bouquet of flowers, when my great-aunt abruptly changed her mind and pleaded with Nana to cancel on him. Covered in cooking grease from cleaning the stove, Nana opened the door and asked if he’d like to go out with her instead. She just needed to change first. They were married for 60 years.

Family Life

My Nana and grandfather went on to have four children and eleven grandchildren. Nana loved to cook and entertain, and my whole family fondly remembers parties at Nana’s house. She would prepare trays of delicious casseroles and meats and platters with dozens of desserts—éclairs, donuts, cream puffs, cheesecakes, pecan tarts, cherry tarts, turnovers, and my personal favorite, buttery croissants.

My mom recalls parties from her childhood where Nana’s extended family would descend on their modest home, and her twenty-two cousins would race across the yard, laughing and playing games. “It was a blast,” my mother remembers. If someone came over unannounced, Nana was always ready with a hot cup of tea and a pastry or two. Everyone always left Nana’s having enjoyed something sweet.

“Over the years, I had so many people tell me they wished my mother was their mother,” my mom said. “She was reserved, but very warm and sincere. She had this cute, giggly laugh. When you were with her, you felt like you had her full attention—that she cared about you and wanted the best for you.”

It’s interesting to me now that the little girl who lost her mother grew up to be everyone’s mother.

Faith & Career

Nana gained a lot of strength from her Catholic faith. In her retirement, she watched the Catholic Mass on television every morning and prayed several times a day, closing her eyes and moving her rosary beads along in her hands. Her favorite TV show starred Mother Angelica, a nun with a wry sense of humor. As a mother, she felt a strong kinship with the Virgin Mary. “Intercede for me with your son,” she would say aloud to herself on bad days.

Nana’s favorite holiday and her birthday fell on the same day: Christmas. Unsurprisingly, she and our Lord shared the same special day.

A talented painter, Nana won a scholarship to art school in her early 20s. Her time in the art world ended abruptly, however, when a nude male model sauntered into her figure drawing class. Nana averted her gaze, collected her things, and headed for the door. She was too Catholic for the avant-garde, though she always enjoyed art and took up ceramics in her retirement.

Nana worked at an insurance company for over 20 years, processing claims and interfacing with customers. She was known as a warm, friendly presence in the office and a dependable, hard worker. Her manager entrusted her with training all of the new employees who started at the company. She was proud of her job and her ability to support herself and her family.

Nana spent her lunch breaks with her colleague and best friend Mary. The two would walk to the Filene’s Basement cafeteria in their high heels and pencil skirts. They would chat over sandwiches and do some quick shopping. “This friendship was really important to her,” my mom reflects. “Like any working-class family, we had our struggles, and I think having a best friend she could confide in was really meaningful.”

Leaving a Legacy 🦋

I always liked to think of myself as Nana’s favorite grandchild. All her grandchildren probably felt that way. I loved how she smelled like Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds perfume, how her house was covered in butterfly-themed decor (her favorite animal), and how it felt to give her a hug.

One Christmas, when I was a teenager and Nana was experiencing signs of dementia, we were opening presents at her house when each and every gift from Nana was addressed to the same person. “Another gift from Nana to… Maisie?” my uncle read aloud from under the tree. My Nana smiled and looked pleased as I opened my tenth present. Her gifts were always Catholic-themed: rosary beads, books about the saints, and DVDs of the Catholic Mass. I was either Nana’s favorite—or she thought I needed to be saved.

Nana passed away when I was 17 years old. Her last words were, “Isn’t that wonderful?” in response to a story my cousin had shared about her baby, my Nana’s first great-grandchild. “I always think of Nana as a saint,” my mother says. “I feel like she’s up there watching and looking out for us.”

A few years ago, I was looking at old photographs with my mother, and we came across one of Nana. She was in her early 20s, lying in the grass with her hand on her hip, striking a flirty pose. “I never saw this side of Nana,” my mom said. “It would be interesting if there was a business that could interview elderly people about what they were like when they were young. I think families would enjoy that.”

This exchange was the beginning of Pennsylvania Legacy Video. This business is inspired by and a tribute to my Nana, who meant so much to me, my family, and those who were lucky enough to know her. It’s my hope that I can help other families capture the stories and wisdom of their loved ones for future generations.