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Posts about gratitude (old posts, page 7)

A Eulogy for Nana


Abby lost her grandmother this week.
This is her eulogy to her.

She was Aunty Matty to other people, mummy to her children and countless other fond names to who knew her.

But she was my Nana.

I have memories of her cradling me, and taking care of me as a baby.
Vacations at Nana’s were the highlight of my childhood years.
She was a tireless, hard working woman who raised her large family to the best of her abilities.
And not just her family, but also (to me it seemed) the whole neighbourhood.
She was loved and appreciated, just by about everyone whose life she touched.

As the years flew by, Nana seemed very out of place.
In our fast paced, always connected, no time for any one age, Nana was a slow, deliberate, thoughtful, kind, gentle and gracious woman, like someone from a different, more altruistic age.

And it was here in her shadow years, while i was grew up and was beginning to work and could make my own trips to see her, that i really began to see her for the strong willed, tireless, hard working that she was, beyond just my nana who cossetted me and made me nice things.

And after all these years, the only theme i see that has rung true throughout Nana’s life was, Nana was there.

  • when i was a young bawling baby, Nana was there.
  • throughout my growing up years, Nana was there.
  • to cook me what my heart desired, Nana was there.
  • for everyone in her life, Nana was there.
  • to crack jokes and lighten up any room, Nana was there.
  • to empathise and have a compassionate ear to whatever was ailing you, Nana was there.
  • to gently, yet firmly correct you, Nana was there.
  • to remember you on your birthdays and anniversaries, Nana was there.
  • to worry about you and pick you up when you were down, Nana was there.

Since the day before, when Nana left us, I feel distraught and left alone, that Nana wasn’t there.
And yet, as i read this little note, i realise that this is not quite true.
Like the Little Prince tells the author,

I cannot carry this body with me. It is too heavy.
But it will be like an old abandoned shell.
There is nothing sad about old shells …

Nana was in pain, and she moved on beyond her body to her rest.
But that does not mean, she isn’t there anymore.
I will always carry Nana with me.
We all do.
Nana is here.


RIP Nana


You will always be my sweet sixteen, Nana!
I love you.

The Nicest Thank You Note, Ever

Thank you notes like these only make you fall in love with the folks who do the work.
And make you want to support them even more!

Thank you, Dan Carlin.
For all you do.

Brittany Durbin britt@dancarlin.com
5:26 AM (4 hours ago)
to me

Mario,

When people ask us how we fund our operations around here, I usually tell them about our “global street performer” business model.
A long time ago I realized that there's probably not a whole lot of meaningful difference between what I do and what a violin player who finds a nice location on a street corner somewhere, opens up his/her violin case and begins playing does.
We are both relying on “passers-by” throwing a few coins into the instrument case (or baseball cap as the case may be, haha) to keep us going.
Of course, I work a very busy, global “street corner” (virtually speaking, right?).

I want to thank you for taking the time to both listen to the work that we do, and to contribute to our ability to keep doing it. It's a cliché, but we really WOULDN'T be able to do this without the audience's help and support.
Not just in terms of finances, but also by telling others about the shows and spreading the word to help us grow the listenership. You all have been awesome.

So thank you from all of us (and from the other listeners who enjoy the work as well, but can't afford to help right now).
If everyone did as you did, we'd never have to stop doing this.

So, a thousand thanks. I hope we always live up to your expectations.

Warmly as Heck,

-Dan

P.S. If you enjoy what I write, go subscribe


76 & 40

Dad


This birthday is my first without Daddy.
And so this post today, because I want these words out of my head and heart, before they overwhelm me.

Dad & I have birthdays immediately following each other (the 25th & 26th.)
All my birthday memories are inextricably linked with him.
Him being indulgent with his firstborn.
Him holding me close and sharing his cake with me as I grew.
Him taking care of me and letting me crawl into his lap to say our prayers on cold mornings in our small drafty house.
Him being patient with me during my crazy headed years.
And always waiting for me, for our shared birthday cake.
Me loving the fact that I could share my cake with him as I grew.
That I could take care of him, like he did me.
That I was a sterner dad to him, than he ever was to me.

And now for the first time, in 40 years, I do not have a hand holding mine and I feel utterly bereft.
While the Bible and the Stoics remind me that dust indeed I am, I’ll forever be indebted to God, that my father was my rock.