For Nana

Hind (Nana) Matthews died yesterday. My heart hurts.

Since I only ever knew one of my grandparents, Nana and Tom were the perfect surrogate pair. Nana herself was a funny and amazing woman. She was born in Baghdad, grew up in Beirut, lived in India, Egypt, Turkey, and Switzerland (among other places), went to college in Paris, and finally moved to California to do her doctorate at Stanford. From there she and Tom somehow landed in Elmira, NY where they met my parents. And when Nana was offered a job as a school psychologist in Williamsport, PA she recommended my father for the same position.

So I guess in a way my whole life was shaped by Nana.

I remember her as a foundation to every aspect of growing up. From the fact that my mother had dinner at her house the night she went into labor with me (and incidentally my sister as well), to me not eating from either my mom or dad so Nana would come over every day and feed me, to having Nana and Tom a part of every family occasion and being a part of every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner (Nana had a habit of falling asleep at the table after a big meal), they were an integral part of our family structure.

There are little things as well, things that have infinitely changed and molded me and I’ll never be able to fully verbalize or understand. And there are things which will always be a part of me on such a deep and profound level that I will never forget them.

Nana and Tom were travlers, and up until a few years ago would always go to an exotic location between trips to Iraq or Seattle to visit their respective families. It was common knowledge that they were world afficiados and a very common question from mutual friends would be, "Where did Hind and Tom go this year?" Most of these trips brought home small memento for my sister and me as well as evenings sitting infront of the slide projectors reliving their experiences.

One of my most comforting memories of Nana was at my father’s funeral. We had a service in Williamsport and then we drove to Pine Grove (2 hours away) to bury him. When we returned from the long drive we were greeted with the eerie quiet of the house, the first time we had been there alone since my father had died several days before. We all sat at the dining room table (Mom, Nan, Shawna, and me) with Nana and Tom where we had shared so many dinners and time together. And we just sat in silence and reverie. But having them there took away the loneliness and anxiety of entering a new phase of life in that house and made us remember our friends would always be near.

Nana had sharp wit and usually made comments that would send an entire room into hysterics. However, my favorite memories of Nana circled around food. She was an amazing cook and would create these middle eastern feasts of Moussaka, Kibi, Kheema, Taboleh, and other middle eastern delicacies. She made this green bean dish that was to die for and everyone who ate it could not believe how good it tasted. No matter how many times you made it though it never tasted the way the recipe was written. So finally I asked her, “Nana, can you teach me this recipe?” She said, “what’s to teach, it’s easy.” So I said, ok, let’s go through the ingredients. Beans, onions, tomatoes, garlic?” She said, "Yes, that’s it." “That’s all Nana? Nothing else?” “No nothing else.” “So do you add any spices?”

To which her head snapped at me with an incredulous look. “Of COURSE you add Spices!” She almost shouted.

“Err, okay, like what?” I asked shyly.

“Well…OBVIOUSLY, you would add Cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, cloves…” I smiled in spite of her serious tone while furiously writing down the long list of 'obvious' ingredients.

I'll miss you Nana. I'm so sorry I can't be there to properly say goodbye to you.