She hated attention, so do I. I remember always thinking she was so cool. She had full, gorgeous, shiny, straight hair - I was a little girl who looked a mix between Shirley Temple and a Bad News Bear. Her nails were always long, and pointy, and when she was seated, having conversations, she'd always run her index finger down the center of her nose, tapping the tip occasionally. Her favorite perfume was Knowing, by Estee Lauder, and I remember that smell so vividly. She spanked me with a hair brush, on more than one occasion, when trying to brush out my knotted curls. She wore a big, sapphire and diamond ring. She bought me a smaller, matching one. She always wore beautiful, trendy clothes. She called me "Jilly" or "Jilliana". She had a beautiful voice, but never sang in public. She loved dogs. She wore a brown fur coat that was always cold when she hugged me. She held her lips a funny way when she laughed. She was left-handed and wrote so beautifully. She was a nervous, anxiety-riddled person. So am I. When i was older, we'd sit at her kitchen table, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. She shared her secrets with me. We laughed together. We cried together. We sat in silence together. We stopped talking. She was stubborn. So am I. It's "crazy" to say, but 2 days before I got the phone call saying she was gone, I had the strongest urge to call her. But I was putting the boys to bed, and I didn't. It doesn't feel possible. It doesn't feel real. I've told myself that my Nana Gilda was waiting for her, with open arms...that after 47 years, she finally got to hug her mom again. I imagine she's sitting at the table, with my grandmother, my great grandparents, and my aunts and uncles, having wine, eating feasts, and catching up. I imagine her heart is finally healed and at peace. But I can't say "so am I"...
