Nana

1935–2022

Mom. Carol.

Or as she liked to introduce herself every time I took her for an appointment, Carol Marie Bernadette Scheper Sargent.

Many of you remember that Nana lived with Ben and me for a year, from February 2021 to February 2022. She needed someone to help her with the basics, and there we were.

She loved playing cards and would play as long as anyone would sit with her. One time her sister and nephew came to visit and they sat at the table playing pinochle literally all weekend. I fed them between hands.

She loved her great-grandchildren and would read them stories until she was hoarse.

Ping was her favorite.

She loved food and told everyone I was a great cook (except the vegetables—she was veggie-averse). She thanked me all the time for taking such good care of her.

I would take her pills in and wake her up at 8 am. She always did a little whining at this. Then one morning I went in with my usual sing-songy “Good morning!” and she surprised me by singing “Good morning” right back at me. When I raised my eyebrows, she said, “I decided not to be a whiny baby today!”

Sometimes she would come out for breakfast right away; sometimes she would go back to sleep for another hour or more. She loved her sleep almost as much as her food. Breakfast always started with “caw-fee” with half & half and one ice cube, no sugar. Tuesdays were blueberry pancake days, her favorite.

She got her newspaper every day, reading the comics to me while I made her breakfast. She always did the crossword puzzle.

She loved The Andy Griffith Show and reading, plowing through 81 books in the year she was with us.

When she’d been with us just a few weeks, she fell into the bathtub one morning. I rushed in when I heard the crash and found her there, sitting in the tub with her legs hanging out over the edge. I had no idea how I was going to get her out and she said very matter-of-factly, “Call the rescue squad,” as if she were accustomed to this.

I did, and they came and got her out. A trip to the ER showed she had a bad UTI, which was the cause of the fall. Nana spent 3 days in the hospital and another 10 in rehab.

When they were about to take her to rehab, I explained that because of Covid we would not be allowed to visit, but they would take good care of her there and then she could come home. We couldn’t call her because she’d suddenly gone almost completely deaf and could only hear if you stood right in front of her yelling.

On the day I went to bring her home, this happened:

I reminded her I had explained why we couldn’t come visit and she sheepishly said, “Oh, I forgot.” I should have written it down for her.

After rehab, she had a list of exercises she was supposed to do on certain days and she hated doing them. That was a point of contention between us because I knew how necessary they were to keeping her mobile. I learned not to bring her newspaper in on exercise days until she was done with them. Everybody is motivated by something, right?

She was also supposed to drink 3 tall glasses of water a day and boy did we butt heads on that. She didn’t want to drink water because then she’d have to go to the bathroom more, and that meant another trip to the far end of the house.

She tried to scam the water thing all the time. It wasn’t cold enough or it was so cold it bothered her stomach. She was too full and had to let her meal settle. Then one day I found actual mushrooms growing in the aloe plant by her place at the table and knew she’d been dumping her water there, so we switched her to the other side of the table.

One day she dumped half a glass into the remains of her coffee. When I asked why, she looked confused and said, “I don’t know but I can’t drink that.” Outwardly I was scolding her, but inwardly I was impressed by her ingenuity and perseverance.

Some mornings she would come to the table singing a snippet of an old song. So I would Google the lyrics and find the song on YouTube for her to listen to. She loved that and would tell me stories about going dancing.

She loved watching the birds at the feeder I hung outside the dining room window, and occasionally made up stories about a pair she supposed were “married.” She loved Hank too, and when he’d start barking she would say, “You know you’re going to get in trouble. You better stop.” They enjoyed a lot of naps together.

Nana had her first-ever Crunchwrap from Taco Bell with us. As she ate it she alternately giggled and moaned.

She referred to my son Elijah as “that handsome man” even though he always called her Nana. She couldn’t quite make the connection that my son was her grandson. But she knew exactly who Zola and Titus were. I finally had the idea to explain that Elijah was their daddy, and that seemed to make sense to her.

Nana loved to go for rides in the car, and it didn’t matter where we went. One day I took her to Liberty Mountain in Lynchburg, up near the monogram. As we were driving up the gravel road, we came across three deer right next to the road. We pulled up alongside them and they just stood there, looking in her open window, about 6 feet from her. She loved that.

Nana kept a notebook in which she wrote what she ate for all her meals and anything special that happened that day. I figured out that was her memory on paper. She knew she would forget if she didn’t write it down. Right there with you, Nan. She would write song lyrics and nursery rhymes she remembered in it, and always the meals.

My kids didn’t get to spend a lot of time with Nana because we always lived far away. But one of their fondest memories of her was the time she was babysitting them while Ben and I went to a wedding. She took them outside to play and actually rolled down the hill with them. That’s a pretty cool grandmother.

She was the maker of Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls and the giver of Hess trucks back when that was a thing. She crocheted them all sweaters with matching hats and mittens.

She was the baker of mocha nut butter balls and peanut blossoms, which we still make every year at Christmas.

Nana, you were one of a kind and I loved you. We had our issues, but we had more laughs than fights and that’s what I’ll remember.

I’m glad you knew Jesus.

Until we see you again …