My grandma

I called her Nammi.

I don’t know that anyone quite knows what I meant to say.

Her mom was Nanny, so I guess in my brain, naturally, a Nanny’s daughter is a Nammi.

In my eulogy to her I described her like a grandma, a mom, and a best friend all in one, and maybe that’s what I knew she would be from the first time I said it.

But it feels like I am doing our relationship a great disservice, like I am stabbing myself in the heart, like she is yelling at me from above when I tell people “My grandma died.” Because she didn’t. But also she did, but so did my best friend, but so did a mom, and so did a piece of my own mom, and so did a piece of my self.

But that’s all too much to say to my coworker when they ask why I’ll be out tomorrow. So instead I just tell them “My grandma died.”