– Jennifer Nash
My ‘nanni’ turned 90 this week. She’s seen it all, she told me recently. I’m ready were her words, in fact. I winced – I wince still – and squeezed her hand. She draws my attention to its contours – to sagging skin and veins standing to attention. I attend: I see her hand lovely, whispering chronicles of mischief, creativity and labour. Of chapati-rolling. She sees tired and old-looking: she tells me so. I clasp tighter. I can’t remember what I said, or didn’t say. I didn’t and don’t want her to be floating solo in that space-time – and yet even my very best empathy – the one all my training was really for – is not up to this moment, this today. Continue reading “Beauty, loss and their ‘side-by-side-ness’”