Nana is no longer "Nana." She's still a person, a human being that matters, important, but my Nana too has faded away. And I'm not quite sure when it happened, when the last little bit left. I wasn't expecting it to happen so soon. Her memory is dying (deteriorating if you'd prefer a word less morbid), yes, but she still remembers who people are, still remembers where she lives and how to get home. But she -- who she was -- is gone from me.
And all I want to do is curl up in Abba's lap and have a good cry about it. I want to go to Nana and Grandpa's old house in Roanoke and sit in a chair, but the house isn't the same anymore. Or go to Sue's house and curl up in a bed and have a good long nap, but it isn't "mine" anymore.
Gone. All gone. Lost.
I cling desperately to every last memory and sensation, but it is gone. And can be no more.
I've thought often lately of Neil Diamond's song "I Am I Said." One line goes: "L.A.'s fine but it ain't home/ New York's home, but it ain't mine no more." Making that line my own, I could say, San Diego's fine, but it ain't home; Virginia's home, but it ain't mine no more.
Like the Duplicitous Forest, my childhood screams but is not heard -- waiting for the Messengers to come and tell the story true, I suppose.
I really must finish that story (cr "Heads or Tails" posts).