My Nana Willy

BY KERRY WILLIAMSON

It's something I was always meaning to do. And now it's too late.

My grandmother died early yesterday morning. She was 91, and simply decided that that was enough. She went to sleep on Tuesday night, and never woke up.

As always, it was her decision. She decided that she was sick of being old and that she didn't want to fight anymore.

She was stubborn to the end.

I'm pretty sad about it, as you'd expect. She was my last surviving grandparent and she was a cool old lady. While we didn't see a lot of each other, we'd always had a bit of a connection, and I'll miss her.

But the thing that upsets me the most is that I never quite got around to introducing her to the boy.

My Nana Willy lived in Mosgiel, not far from Dunedin. She was a Southerner through and through. Because of the distance, and because of my procrastination, we never took the boy that far south.

I'd always planned to. And each time I spoke to her, she asked when we might bring him down for a visit. I know she would have absolutely loved to have met her first great-grandson.

She should have had that chance.

But we were always too busy, had other things going on, or simply couldn't afford to fly the family south.

And so they never met.

I know they would have got on great. My Nana Willy had a wicked sense of humour, a mischievous grin and a twinkle in her eye.

She still rode her motor-scooter to the pub, and played bowls well into her 80s. She was as independent and pig-headed as they come.

She didn't suffer fools gladly, and she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. But she loved to have fun, and she loved her family to bits.

I admire all of those traits, and I hope that I've inherited some of them. I wouldn't mind one bit if I've passed them on to the boy.

He's already showing signs that that's happened. He's as stubborn as a mule, has a wild independent streak and almost always has a smile on his face. That's typical Williamson fare.

In fact, one of my cousins remarked just yesterday that he sees our grandmother's cheeky grin in the boy.

I'd never thought about it, but now I see it too.

I wish the boy could have had the opportunity to clamber all over his Great-Nana, to run his fingers over her wrinkly face and giggle while she laughed.

That sort of thing is important - his family, his heritage - but now all he'll have of her is photos and stories.

And, of course, his big yellow teddy bear.

The boy might not know it, but that big yellow teddy bear that takes pride of place in his room is now one of his most precious possessions.

When he's old enough we'll explain to him that it's the one his Great-Nana-Willy sent him. It was the first gift that arrived at the hospital, a day after the boy was born.

That's the sort of person my Nana Willy was.

In a way, she did get to meet the boy, at the same time that I got to say goodbye.

The Williamson clan converged in Mosgiel for her 90^th birthday in June last year, the first time we'd all gathered together in who knows how long.

The stories flowed as rapidly as the Speights went down, and my Nana was made to feel like a queen. Rightly so.

The next day the rest of the family headed home, but we had some time on hour hands before our flight back north. So the wife, my sister, the niece and I picked Nana Willy up from her hated resthome and took her for a drive.

We drove around the coast then went up to Larnach Castle, in the hills above Dunedin. We shared tea and scones filled with jam, and walked around the gardens.

It was a gorgeous Otago day - one of those days the rest of New Zealand just can't match - and Nana Willy loved it. We all did. It was special.

It was also the closest Nana Willy got to her great-grandson, because of course the wife was a couple of months pregnant. My Nana was thrilled to bits when she heard our news.

I'm pretty sure I made a promise to her that day that we'd be back down soon and we'd bring the boy with us.

I'm gutted that it's a promise I didn't keep.

I'm heading down to Mosgiel again tomorrow, this time for my Nana's funeral. Like last year, the family will gather at Uncle Noo and Aunty Avis' house and the stories will start up again.

We'll give each other shit, reminisce about old times, and rant about the useless yet beloved Otago rugby team. Uncle Noo will do his special potatoes, us cousins will mock our greying elders and Dad will take us to his old rugby club . . . again.

It will be strange to do all of that without Nana Willy around to keep us in line, or to egg us on.

The boy won't be coming with me - he'll stay home with the wife. It's a trip we should have made together months ago.

Of course we didn't. And now it's too late.

- © Fairfax NZ News