Today marks a bittersweet anniversary for me, as I remember the day my beloved Nana and PawPaw left this world, ironically at the same time and day, across town from each other in different homes. March 11, 2000, was a tough day for me, especially because Nana and I shared an incredibly close bond.
I have countless memories of Nana, from picking her up from dialysis every day to taking her grocery shopping and running errands. We shared countless moments together, especially sitting on the porch, enjoying her delicious broccoli casserole, and having heartfelt conversations about everything under the sun.
Nana was not just a grandmother to me; she was a source of strength and support. She believed in me and my music, no matter how loud it got, and even gifted me my first car, a clean Caprice Classic. Her guidance and encouragement helped shape me into the strong man I am today.
I remember a particular moment from my childhood when, in fourth grade, I approached her for money for Valentine’s Day, as I had a crush on a girl named Chante. Nana, with her signature calmness, muted her show on Cinemax, took a sip of her cranberry and vodka, and said, “You tell that girl to get you something for Valentine’s. You are a Jenkins!” Her words, though humorous, reflected her firm belief in traditional gender roles and her superstitions, like insisting I enter the house first because I was a man.
Today, as we commemorate this anniversary, I want to express my deepest gratitude for the profound impact Nana had on my life. Her memory will forever be cherished, and I am grateful for the countless lessons she imparted and the love she showered upon me. I pray her legacy continue to inspire and guide us all.
