How family history is made up of magical moments, big and small

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My grandmother, whom I always called Nana, is the most incredible woman I will ever know.

Born on January 19th, 1922, she had a rough childhood. Her mother left the family, which was unheard of back then. So, Nana and her siblings were left to fend for themselves. She went to work as a maid for room and board. She was 9 years old.

Nana used to tell me stories and I learned to listen, not just “hear” what she said, but really LISTEN. I spent most of my childhood at her house; there was a special bond between us.

One of my favorite memories was from a summer overnight stay. One of those light transformers exploded, right down the street. Of course, everyone was scared. But Nana came in and said not to worry.

We went outside; everyone in the neighborhood was out. I was about 6 years old.

It was a hot summer night and Nana lived next to an Italian Deli. The owner started handing out lemon Italian ice to us kids. I brought mine back to Nana’s house and sat next to her on the front porch swing. It was pitch black.

At that very moment, she pointed and told me to look up. “At what?” I replied.

She said, “The Moon…do you see it? Look really close. You can see the Man on the Moon if you look hard.” And I swear, I saw it. It felt like the most amazing thing for a kid to witness.

Last year I got a tattoo on my inside forearm that says, “To The Moon And Back” because of Nana. ~shared by @_jenn_41671_

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