This evening, I’ve been at the Royal Adelaide Hospital visiting my Nanny. Above is a photo of the flowers I sent her last Friday before I went to Alice Springs. I love flowers, and so does Nanny; in particular, we both like chrysanthemums, which are the orange ones. They are usually dyed bright colours, and if you leave them in a glass vase, you can see the colour seep out into the water. I actually find that quite disturbing, because it makes me think about the colour I put in my hair—is it coming out into my blood in the same way chrysanthemum dye does to water?
Nanny is no blood relation to me; she is my actual Nanny. She has been my Nanny since the day I was born. She has looked after my brother and me since we were children. She looked after us on a day to day basis, and my parents would also leave us at her house—with her and her husband—for long periods of time when they would go to Canberra or overseas.
Nanny came to Australia from Lithuania after the Second World War as a 16 year old. She worked in various jobs—as a nurse, at Balfours, and in a deli—before she came to us in her mid-forties. She has three children, one of whom recently died, and she has four biological grandchildren. She also considers—and calls—my brother and me her grandchildren. Nanny has three great-grandchildren as well.
In addition to nannying us, she would clean the house, and after my brother and I became adults, she continued to come and clean twice a week—even working with us up until her 90th birthday, which was just last year. Nanny and I are very close. Her husband died around 13 years ago, and after he passed, I used to call her twice a day: once to wish her good morning and once to wish her good night. I visited her often and would also drive her to places like the cemetery to see her husband and mother, to visit friends in a nursing home, and to the Lithuanian church.
I like to go down to Outer Harbour to watch cruise ships dock and depart, so I recently took her down to see one because I wanted to share the experience with her. Below are two photos of Brilliance of the Seas, which was circumnavigating Australia—coming from Western Australia and heading to Victoria.
The trip to Outer Harbour could be the last trip like that we ever do, because two weeks ago she had a number of strokes. It’s just a terrible, terrible thing, and it is deeply upsetting to see her now. She can’t talk properly or walk, and she just sits there all day at the RAH watching TV. She gets very upset when she tries to talk about the prospect of never going home, and I’m not sure what is going to happen to her in terms of rehab, but for now, I go in as much as I can just to sit with her.
It’s been a bit of an awkward time with her family, actually. Nanny’s husband was involved with the Nazi party in Germany and was not a good person all around. When he was dying, my brother and I went to his hospital bed. Nanny invited us, but we weren’t made to feel welcome by her children or grandchildren, so we didn’t stay long. My brother was quite upset and cried a little bit, but I didn’t shed a tear. He treated Nanny, me, and I’m sure everyone else in his life like shit. But I’ve never expressed myself to anyone about him because I don’t want to upset Nanny.
Nanny is the most forthright person I have ever met. She can be incredibly racist, homophobic, judgmental, and rude—but beneath all of that, she has the kindest heart and soul of any person I have ever met. She has worked hard all her life, but the most important role she has ever had is as the matriarch of her family. She calls me her granddaughter and her best friend. She really is my best friend, and I’m actually finding it quite a shock to the system not speaking to her every day or watching Escape to the Country with her on Saturday nights.
Her daughter and her husband recently moved into a retirement village-type place, and she is talking about selling her house and buying somewhere big enough for Nanny to live with them. That is none of my business, but I couldn’t help but wonder if that is practical. At the moment, she needs 24 hour care, and it would be the kinder thing to do to see if they can get her into one of those beautiful nursing homes, where she will be in good company every day and very well looked after.
My mother and I cared for my father with dementia for five years at home until it became impossible to look after him—in terms of personal care and his own safety—so we got him a bed at a nice nursing home, where he still is today.
It’s funny—Nanny will be 91 next month, and if my father makes it to November, he will be 96. I really think both of those ages are quite an achievement.
If you think about all the things that can physically end—or incapacitate—your life on the road to 91 and 96, they both pretty much avoided them all.
Now, they both have severe cognitive impairments, and they—and everyone around them—are completely powerless to do anything about it.
