Family Jewish Stuff Memoir

Lessons From Nan, Who Passed On June 16, 2004

Nan (Tilly Epstein) & Pop (Irving Schuls)

My grandmother’s name was Tilly. As a child, I wrote her name on envelopes and birthday cards and doodled it on pictures. I never questioned the authenticity of my grandmother’s name because no one had ever said anything about it. And frankly, her name didn’t much matter to me because I called my grandmother Nanny, or sometimes Nan for short.

In 6th grade, my social studies class did a genealogy project, and I sat down with Nan to ask her about her siblings, about her childhood, about her memories, how she met my Pop – all kinds of questions. It was during this interview that Nan told me that her name wasn’t really “Tilly.” She informed me that her real name was Telia, which she thought was a pretty name, but that no one had ever called her by that name so she just went by Tilly, the nickname that was given to her by her parents and siblings. To me, this story is emblematic of the grandmother I knew all my life.

Nan didn’t complain. She didn’t pick fights or confront. She didn’t sweat the small stuff. Unless someone had really wronged her (or flirted with Pop), in general, Nan just kind of accepted things. She found in my grandfather a soulmate and, while they would never be rich in dollars, she was satisfied to be rich in love.

When we four grandchildren were young, we would run down to Nan and Pop’s apartment after a lazy day of swimming in the pool located in the middle of their apartment complex and demand drinks and snacks and candy and cartoons. Nan always opened the door with a smile, ushered us in, and quietly delivered the goods. When her french-fried potatoes became our summertime obsession, she dutifully peeled and sliced and fried those potatoes to golden perfection – sometimes in a very hot apartment – and we would devour them hungrily, asking for seconds and thirds and sometimes probably even forgetting to thank her for her efforts.

Nan never asked for thanks or looked for recognition. And while some people spend their lives dissatisfied or longing for things they do not have, Nan truly had the ability to appreciate life’s simple gifts: the gift of good health and the gift of a loving family.

Nan was intimately connected to her family. She somehow managed to keep both of her children close to her. While she never learned to drive, Nan always found a way to get what she needed. She was resourceful. Nan was not cocky, but she was proud: proud, first, of her children, then her grandchildren and, finally, proud of her great-grandchildren.

While moving Nan’s belongings into a nursing home, I was amazed to find a small wicker basket filled with hundreds of scraps of papers inside of it. Each scrap bore an address of someone Nan had cared about. At the very bottom, there was a calling card bearing the address of the house she and Pop had lived in on Ranier Avenue, a street lost long ago. She had kept my various college and graduate school addresses, though I hadn’t lived in any of those places for decades. She had my brother’s addresses in Ithaca, NY and Charleston, South Carolina, my cousins’ addresses at Oneonta, and other names I didn’t know attached to addresses I didn’t recognize – little scraps of paper with numbers and letters representing much more to Nan.

Nan was home-loving and intensely private. She was unobtrusive, but involved. A tiny woman, who seemed to grow shorter each year, Nan was truly a matriarch. When her husband, my Pop, died in 1990, Nan swore she’d never leave her apartment again: never return to the Jewish Community Center, or to shul, or to the grocery store – but eventually, she did all of these things. Though she appeared frail, she was strong and – when feeling good – had a hearty appetite that never ceased to amaze us. And, even in the end, when she suffered a broken pelvis and arthritis and weakening knees, she went to physical therapy and strove to walk independently. Nan possessed an inner fortitude that is indicative of a great strength.

I will always remember Nan, wearing a snazzy pair of purple pants, sitting on the gold couch in my parents’ living room. Just sitting quietly, patiently, watching my brother and me as we made up games or put on little shows. Many years later, she would sit in the same place, dozing off and on, awaking with an almost apologetic smile.

Agatha Christie once said, “I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable . . . but through it all, I know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” I believe Nan knew this, too.

Seven years and six months later, I still think about her.

Who do you miss and what did they teach you?

19 thoughts on “Lessons From Nan, Who Passed On June 16, 2004

  1. After coming from Sicily with her husband when she was 17, my mother’s mother had it very rough. Gramma’s husband died 8 years later leaving her with 7 children. She raised these kids as a seamstress in the dress factory, scrubbing the floors of other people, and washing their laundry. Gramma died 27 years ago and 4 hours later, my daughter was born.

  2. I like your grandma. I like your writing.
    That was a different generation. They knew real deprivation and hardship. I don’t think they make them like that any more. My mother was much the same.

    1. She was a tough cookie. Even when she broke her hip, she barely complained. She said, “Um, I think I may have hurt myself…” I w=knew something enormous was wrong. That woman never complained! And I agree; they don’t make ’em like that anymore.

      I intend to whine and complain. Loudly. At. All. Times. 😉

  3. Really nice Renee. I’m not surprised anymore at similarities between us at this point, but yesterday was the 7th anniversary of my grandfather’s death, so I spent a lot of the day thinking about him and even considered writing something although I’m not going to anytime soon.

    At the beginning of my classes I always ask how many students hate history. When a few inevitably say that yes they do hate history I ask them if they have a personal history and a family one. Of course they start to think of their families. We can all find some sweetness in that past.

  4. Renee, I loved what you wrote about Nan. Very well done. I think about her her often and miss her and Pop a lot. love…Aunt Sondra

  5. Renee, I enjoyed reading this beautiful written blog. You captured Nanny Tilly perfectly. Your description of her and kindness says it all. Our family was lucky to have her for 90 years. She would “qvell” over this blog because YOU, her grandaughter, wrote it. Thank G-d for good memories. Amen.


  6. Lovely stories.
    Me? It’s the same. My Granny who died about four months ago. I received a prayer card with her picture on it in the post the other day. I’m happy to have it in my wallet.

  7. Recognize me; I want drama; I am whining; I consume to the limit; I conflict with my family. We’ve got enough of those! What your Nan didn’t do made her an asset, a gem. The Agatha Christie quote is a good frame for the portrayal of this special person. Your grandmother had the essence of life. It is true, many – not all – in her generation did have sterling character. I like her style as you’ve written about her. Privacy is underrated.

    Who do I miss? My father and mother. I miss them terribly.
    What did they teach me? It’s taken a good ten years to figure it out and I’m still working on their silent lessons.

    One lesson which I work on is to keep my mind out of all the many proverbial gutters. I don’t mean snubbing low brow entertainment, avoiding harmless gossip or lusting a little for James Franco. I recognize my personal gutters. Keeping my mind as clean as I can is a method I learned from my parents which aids me to rise above pettiness and bitterness.

    1. Annette: Thank you for these words. Nothin’ wrong with a little James Franco, but – you are right, it’s hard to keep our minds out of the proverbial gutters when we are surrounded by so many damn gutters. 😉 Your parents would be proud, no doubt, of your mindfulness.

  8. R- Did you ever see the movie “Peggy Sue got married?” There is a scene when the main character goes back in time and is a teenager in her house (even though she is a grown-up). While home, the phone rings, she answers it and it is her grandmother (who has since passed away). It is such a touching moment and one I think of often. Imagine if they could call you on the phone? What a treat THAT would be…

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