This one's for you, Nan

As forewarning, this post is not specifically intended for the regulars who browse this blog. But, of course, all are encouraged to venture on down, as this is a small piece of a truly amazing story.

Eileen Nash George, circa 1947.

The family, that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor in our innermost hearts ever quite wish to.

That's a quote from the 1938 play by Dodie Smith. My family recites it during traditional gatherings as we light candles for those of us who couldn't be there. On Nov. 19, 2006, we lost a major centrepiece of our family whose candle now burns eternally.

Eileen Nash George, or Nan, as the grandchildren always called her, was the most courageous fighter I will ever meet. She destroyed all odds with every medical ailment that came her way, forcing doctors who predicted her demise to see her as the great miracle she was. She commanded the attention of everyone she touched with her strength and her iron will. And we all looked to her for example, for inspiration and for courage to venture on no matter the obstacle that lay ahead. I often wondered where the fight in me came from. But now I've come to the realization.

Just a few hours after I arrived in Kingston last Sunday, I learned of her peaceful passing. After a few phone calls, and securing the understanding of the good people at The Whig-Standard, I got on a bus headed to a town just outside Ottawa to grieve and be with the family. We were joined by members from PEI, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Toronto and Ottawa. Dear Octopus, indeed.

We all emerged out of that painful but incredible week stronger and more united than ever before. In life and in death she brought us together.

She was quite the lady - a looker too. She disliked my grandfather at first. They were both actuaries in training at an insurance firm in Britain. When they first met, they worked together on a deal with a South African company that was apparently quite complicated. He had a little more experience and education than her and when she came back to ask more questions he snapped at her. Her diary apparently then started flooding with angry passages about that "silly George boy." Some time later, Dan's then-girlfriend wasn't available for a date to the theatre, so he asked Eileen. Though she severely disliked that mean old George boy, she accepted his offer to spite the girl who sat next to her and had a crush on him. During that date, the pair realized that they had a lot in common and shared a love for the theatre. The rest, of course, is history. They celebrated their 55th anniversary this fall.

I heard a lot of stories like that over the past week. The living memory of my family's history is a vast vault kept closed only by the nuances of daily routine. Once it's opened, jaws drop and eyes focus in.

It was a really hard week, though, and the grieving process still isn't over. I suppose it'll get easier over time, but in a way, I really don't want it to. I learned more about myself, where I came from, and what my family is capable of by living with that pain. My grandfather is an amazing man. Imagine. 55 years. He looked loss in the eye with a straight back and unwavering focus, even as the rest of us were collapsing. He is truly a remarkable man and a great role model. He's coming to visit me in Kingston some time soon for dinner, and I think I'll pay him a visit or two over the weekends.

The rest of that dear octopus is, as discussed, strong and bold. The good fight rages inside every one of them and She lives on. As I continue my internship and the first part of my, one would hope, promising career, I dedicate every effort to my Nan, my mentor who lives and speaks through us all. This one's for you, Nan. Well, they're all for you.