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My Nonna, my best friend growing up, smiled at me.
The smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“What shall we sing, my Nipotina?” Nonna asked.
“Over the Rainbow,” I suggested.
Nonna caught my hand, and then we started singing.
We sang until Nonna got too tired.
And even then, I kept singing.
Maybe if I didn’t stop, the world wouldn’t intrude.
I like to refer to myself as a free spirit because it sounds better than ‘out of control.’
—Shayne to Ande
SHAYNE
1 year later
It took her twelve months to die.
The stubborn, beautiful, best Nonna in the world suffered greatly every day before that, too, defying all odds that had been set against her.
Each day felt like a piece of my soul had left my body.
“Sing.”
I looked down at my Nonna’s face, so pale and so utterly at peace with herself.
“What do you want me to sing?” I asked her.
This was our thing.
We sang.
From the first memory I had of the two of us, that’s what we did.
We sang her favorite songs, and as I grew up, mine.
We’d call each other, and we’d sing.
Hell, there were a few times we’d even roped in Quinn and Costas.
Quinn could actually carry a tune.
Costas was a lost cause.
“You know what.” She smiled. Or tried to.
She didn’t have the strength to do that anymore.
I sang “Hey Jude” for her, then “Sugar, Sugar.”
Somewhere in between the lyrics of “Sugar, Sugar,” her hand went limp in mine.
