Nannie

Nannie

         "I will name her Helen after my first true love. I feel that Helen is the most beautiful name in the world." My grandmother told me that this is what her father told her mother when she was born. I feel that it wasn't as romantic as she portrayed. I'm sure that her mother wasn't too pleased to have her first-born daughter named after an old girl friend. Anyway, the name was chosen and from then on my grandmother was named Helen Copeland.
         She led a gentile life filled with stories of Royalty and privilege. Her family was descended from Royal Governors and large plantation owners with hundreds of slaves. She had brothers and sisters who had great adventures. One brother moved to Hollywood and had a small part in "The Hollywood Canteen", which was a movie about World War II and starred Joan Crawford, Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, and many other famous stars of the 1940's.
         He stayed in Hollywood for a short time, and ended up dating a young starlet named Martha Ray. Their romance was short-lived and soon ended. In the meantime, his mother, who was very controlling, did everything she could to get him to return home to the farm. In time, her sad letters of failing health convinced him to return home. After returning home, he told everyone that the reason he left Hollywood was because there were "too many fairies in Hollywood." Sadly, the real reason was because he was too afraid of his controlling mother.
         My grandmother had another brother who started working in wireless and was excellent at sending telegrams. He was offered a job in France and moved there soon after. He stayed in France for two years and then came down with an incurable case of Tuberculosis and died after the brief illness.
         She also had a sister who was very fashionable. Her sister married mostly for money and drove only the finest Cadillac’s and wore coats trimmed with mink fur and wore fancy jewels. She lived in large, fine city homes and led a life of leisure. My grandmother always looked up to her sister.
         Her sister was married several times. She outlived all of her husbands and often said as she glanced over the crowd of mourners at one of her husband's funerals, "All during the funeral, I was glancing around the crowd, picking out my next husband."
         My Grandmother attended Wake Forest University where she met my grandfather. He was a tall, dark haired handsome man named David Edgar Iles. From my Grandmother’s stories, it was love at first sight. They began an exciting 4-year courtship. He wrote her long flowing love letters, which she kept neatly filed away in a box. After completing College, they were married and she moved to his Dairy Farm in the small town of Thelma. Shortly afterwards they began their lives together
         Soon a daughter was born named Dorothy, then my mother who was named Elizabeth, then another daughter named Mary Ann, then a son named David Edgar, and lastly, the baby named Carrie Emma. Soon the two story Victorian house was filled with laughter and joy as my grandmother and grandfather raised their five wonderful children during the Great Depression and World War II.
         

                                                                                FLASH FORWARD TO 1959

         My mother attended East Carolina University where she received a Bachelor’s degree in Education. After graduating, she returned home and began teaching at a small middle school in her hometown. She soon began dating a man named Jimmy Hockaday. He was an architect and farmer and they dated for several years and finally married in 1959. A son named Jamie was born a few years later, followed by myself in 1965.
         My Grandmother cared for me while my mother taught school. I grew to love her like my second mother. Every morning my mother would wrap me up and take me to my grandmother’s huge Victorian farmhouse, where I would spend my days until she returned to take me home.
         I loved the time I spent with my Grandmother and Grandfather. I called my Grandmother “Nannie Muh” and my Grandfather “Papa”. Eventually I dropped the “Muh” and they became just “Nannie and Papa.”
         I would spend my days sitting in Papa’s lap while he read me stories and in the afternoons I would sleep on the couch while Nannie watched her “stories” like “Edge of Night”, “The Secret Storm” or “The Doctor’s”.
         Sometimes, my Uncle David would play his records on the stereo in the den. He was into all the  “Hippie Music” of the 1960’s and I would often awake to the sounds of Petula Clark, Judy Collins or “The Mama’s and the Papa’s.” I grew to love the music he played over and over.
         Time passed and soon my sister Nora Leigh was born. I was in First grade and no longer stayed at Nannie and Papa’s house anymore. I still visited them every week and Nannie and Papa came over for dinner every so often. We had a great time eating spaghetti, stroganoff or oysters. My mother was the greatest cook in the world, by the way. At least that was what Nannie and Papa told everyone.
         My life was a wonderful one, filled with food and fun, and in no time at all I was a fat unhappy teenager. My sister soon followed with weight problems as well.  Nannie said that we were just fine, big boned kids with healthy appetites.
         Around 1977, Papa started having small strokes and was soon confined to a hospital bed we set up in the master bedroom in their big farmhouse. The summer was so dry and hot we bought an AC unit to put in the window to keep him cool. I spent most of the summer sitting with Papa, reading him stories and holding his bony hands as he lay dying in his ancestral home.
         Papa eventually became too frail to stay at home and was taken to the hospital. All the family came down to stay at my grandfather’s house to be with Nannie. One night the huge walnut grandfather clock in the hallway of the big house began chiming without stopping. All the family members rushed downstairs to shut off the grandfather clock. The phone rang shortly thereafter. It was the hospital saying that Papa had passed away. The clock was Papa’s favorite thing he had ever owned and now it was chiming a final tribute to him.
         Nannie never got over Papa’s death. She pulled out the box of love letters and would read them every day. She soon immersed herself in the lives of her children and grandchildren. Almost every weekend we would pick Nannie up and bring her to our house for a weekend of good food and nights watching “ Hee Haw”, “Dallas”, “Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island.”
         Shortly after graduating high school in 1984, I moved to Rocky Mount, NC to attend college. I stayed in contact with Nannie through letters and phone calls. I would return home every chance I could to visit Nannie and the dairy farm where I had spent so many happy summers. I had lost all the baby fat and Nannie always commented that I was too skinny. I would just laugh at her remarks.
         My career in restaurant management soon steered me in the direction of Durham NC and I soon had yet to make another move. I stayed in Durham for 3 years, and then moved back to my hometown. Nannie was thrilled that I was back at home. I tried to visit her as much as possible.
She was still spry at 94, but was now walking with a cane. I began to worry about her. Often I would have to hold her hand as we walked around the farm. Several times we would pass the local funeral home on the way back from town and she would comment  “It won’t be too long before I’m going to be laying in a coffin in that funeral home.”
         We would just say, “Stop that nonsense Nannie, you’ll outlive all of us!”
         The last time I saw Nannie was when I stopped by to drop off a box of fried chicken for her dinner. She looked up at me with love in her eyes and said, “Charles, won’t you stay and chat for a while? I miss talking to you. Sit down and have something to eat.”
         She grabbed my hand and held it and did not want to let go. I slipped my hand away and smiled. “I’ve got to work early in the morning, but I’ll stop by and see you later, if that’s okay?”
         She smiled and said that was fine. She thanked me for the chicken and I headed home.
         The next morning she cooked breakfast for my two cousins and they left for school. My Uncle David lived next door to her house and she slept at his house because of her advanced age.
She helped with the housework and made the beds and washed the dishes. She always said she had to “earn her keep.”
         Sometime around 9am, Nannie was making up her bed when she had an aneurysm rupture in her abdomen and she fell across the bed. My uncle came to the house for lunch and discovered her unconscious body draped across the bed.  He made a frantic 911 call and attempted CPR, but it was too late. Nannie was gone. She was finally reunited with her beloved Edgar.
         The next few days were filled with sadness and confusion. The family picked out the coffin and the clothes that Nannie would wear. Finally, it came time to pick the music to play during her funeral. I remembered how much Nannie loved John Denver. Almost every time I would visit her she would say, “Charles, can you please put that record on the stereo? You know the one, Country Roads by John Denver. That is my favorite song in the whole world.”
         I would play it and she would just smile and comment how the song made her remember all the happy times in her life. I told all the cousins and aunts and uncles that “Country Roads” was the song that we should play. It was Nannie’s all time favorite song.
         My aunt Betty just glared at me. “That is not appropriate for a funeral,” she said.
“I know a fantastic singer that sings in the local theater and he is going to sing at mother’s funeral. It has already been decided.”
         My aunt Betty was Nannie’s favorite child and she seemed to think she was the only one capable of making any decisions about her mother. The other children were too distraught to say anything, so they all agreed to the live songs. I was still very upset that we couldn’t play “Country Roads.”
         The day of the funeral arrived and we all gathered around Nannie’s coffin for one last goodbye. Nannie was always a non-stop talker and we rarely could get a word in edgewise. It looked so strange to see her so still and peaceful.
         The nieces, nephews, sons, daughters and friends all hovered over her coffin. Everyone commented on the beautiful black velvet dress with the fancy lace collar. All the relatives noted that she looked so young for 95 and she looked so peaceful. There was only one small detail that did not seem quite right. Yes, something about her mouth was strange. We just couldn’t figure what it was. Her mouth just did not seem right.
         As we wiped away our tears, my Aunt Mary Ann peered down at her and said, “It’s not moving. That’s what’s wrong. We’ve never seen her mouth not moving!”
         We all looked at each other and burst into laughter. Our eyes were flowing with tears, but we were all laughing. How absurd to be laughing, but we all were laughing and hugging each other as we laughed and cried. It was such a pivotal moment in our lives. I just don’t think Nannie would have gotten the joke.
         Soon the funeral began and all the normal wonderful words were spoken. My Nannie was spoken of very highly, yet I didn’t hear a word because I was too distraught. Soon it came time for the singer to come out.
         The music began to play and he began to sing. The song started out fine, then halfway through, his voice cracked, like a 16-year-old boy. It got worse and worse and his voice continued to change tones and sound like a dying whale. I looked over at my mother and proclaimed, “Why in God’s name couldn’t we play  “Country Roads?” She just shook her head in disgust.
         Snickers could be heard all across the funeral home as the horrible singer totally destroyed “Nearer My God to Thee.” It was the most horrible 2 minutes of my life. At last the torturous shrieking ended and we were led out of the funeral home.
         Nannie was buried in a lovely graveyard next to Papa. I think she would be pleased with the stylish granite headstone. I knew she would be happy to be reunited with the only man she ever loved. Nannie and Papa were together at last.