My aana. A fun gal. She's decided that she can say whatever she wants to you. I guess if you've lived through what she's lived through you're entitled. She frequently says to us, "did you get fat?" "Howcome you cut your hair?" "Don't be bossy." haha.
She has told many stories to whoever will listen. I try to record her as much as I can now that we have video functions on our phones, just so I can continue to feel close to her while she's away.
Away in a nursing home. 600 air miles separate her from home.
She's doing OK considering the circumstances. Doctors told us to come visit, and our entire family came in swarms. My sisters and I, my cousins, her children, her sisters, and friends.
She lives in a little house on front street, usually. And when it's time for birthdays, anniversaries or Christmas, we all squish into that little house with adults on the chairs, kids on the floor. (And even though I'm 34, I'm still "a kid.") and babies wandering around eating like little birds from everyones plates.
Her room at the Nursing Home feels like that. When I first arrived, my mom was on the floor doing a crossword puzzle, her oldest brother sitting on a chair reading. My aana was eating dinner and my cousin and her two kids were on the floor and on the wheelchair. Just like being at her regular house. Only the constant beep of monitors and nurses coming in and out sort of ruined my fantasy.
We all want her to come home. We all know she should be here. We all have been sharing stories. We all are hopeful.
My aunt Fannie and her family live in Anchorage, so they are able to visit the most often. They hang out, watch TV, play cards, share stories, etc. Those of us who live in Kotzebue come as often as we can. Work trips are scheduled around her Dialysis, Vacations are taken with an extra few days in Anchorage so we can visit. PFD tickets are bought so we can visit.
This was the first summer at camp without her. It was hard. Really, really hard. As a matter of fact, for the first time in a long time, I spent only ONE night at camp this summer. One night. After years of spending every Friday-Sunday there, picking berries, visiting aana, eating hotcakes. It was hard. Really, really hard.
I'm going to see her Saturday night when I go to Anchorage once again. I hope to bring her good news about camp, some strained berries, and maybe listen to some more stories.