Nana has a way of...

saying she’s proud of me. She says so every phone conversation we have. As the phone call of pleasantries and catching up comes to natural close she ends the call telling me she’s proud of me. She’s eloquent and purposeful in her prose, it enamors me every time I hear it spilling off her tongue. Before settling on “I’m so proud of you,” she stops herself. She pauses and continues with a specifically mulled over words, as if saying she’s proud doesn’t suffice, and just at her pauses in saying so alone I am humbled and baffled at her love. After taking a moment of contemplating, she says “Darling, but proud isn’t the word. It’s not pride, because that sounds so vain of me… it’s happiness. I’m so happy for you. Because you did it all on your own.”

Little does she know I didn’t do any of this on my own. I owe almost all of it to her. She’s encouraging, supportive, humble, beautiful, and so much more and all of it is wrapped in that one ‘goodbye’ that’s the same every time we click off the phone.