She doesn’t know that the things Nanny sends is going to stop.
She doesn’t understand that there will be no more facetime calls on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
She told me we could still go sit at the door at the nursing home, but she won’t really know why Nanny isn’t on the other side.
When we make her famous pecan cookies this year… Heaven will be too far away to deliver them to.
We will buy one less Christmas gift.
There won’t be anymore lunches after school at nannies.
Her voice will be much quieter and harder to hear. All of those “this little piggy went to the market” and those old southern hymns while rocking in that burgundy leather chair will slowly fade away.
All we have left of Nanny now are memories from the past.
She doesn’t understand why you can’t drive to Heaven for a visit or facetime the people that are there. She has a hard time processing the vastness of eternity and living forever in a place that none of us can get to yet.
we laid Nanny to rest today.
and I had a hard time leaving her knowing that I would have to continue life without her.
But for today, Nanny sent her a flower. And even though Nanny wasn’t here she was still putting smiles on my little girls face.