Nanu Nancy

In the city recreation department where I worked years ago, we were a misfit group of aquatic professionals at different junctions in our lives, who meshed. We were a special group. Murphy recognized it first. He was our number one patron, and while he came to swim--riding his bike from home--for exercise, he came to check up on us more often than not. He lent an ear, kept us entertained, and was a father figure, even to those of us who had one already. A mediator in the court system, he used those skills to help us work through our issues, and when the topic strayed too far out of his comfort zone, he'd tell us: 

Murph: "Talk to Nancy."

While I doubt she had a choice, Murph's wife went with the flow when it came to his strays. He collected strangers like she did shells, and she opened her door wide to us. Nancy was one of my water-walkers, and like her husband, she listened to my woes and my stories, and if I asked, she gave her opinion. We've been friends for over thirty years.

Three years ago, Tom and I celebrated Nancy's 90th birthday with a room full of her friends and family, and afterward, I blogged the event, but never posted it. It sat in my draft pile until too many months had passed because I wasn't satisfied--the post didn't convey enough how deeply her friendship--and Murph's--means/meant to me.

We mingled that day in the beginning, with everyone I met wanting to know about my relationship. How did I know Nancy? The question stumped me. Here were her family, her co-workers, her childhood friends, her neighbors, and me. Those from out of town didn't get the reference to the pool. Those who knew it didn't understand the connection. I finally just started telling people I knew Nancy through her husband. 

Ah. They'd nod with a knowing look in their eye.

But that was the thing. My friendship with Nancy is more than the one I had with her husband. Back in the day, she offered a different perspective, cheered us on silently, and told her own incredible stories. I filed away things she mentioned, information that helped me navigate married life and raising my children. She humbled me, never taking me too seriously, but I knew, if I ever needed something, Nancy was a phone call away.

We sat at the table with her school friends, where I learned a little more about her as a young woman through their stories. The pics in the slide presentation made me smile, laugh aloud, and shed a tear. While I knew her children and her grandchildren were number one in her life, it was interesting to hear how vital Nancy was to all of them. She let Murph shine, but we all knew who backlit him. 

Murph: "Nancy's the boss. Whatever Nanu says, I listen and do. She knows best."

I thought about all of that through the celebration. How blessed I'd been with the friends I collected through that pool job. How we don't see one another daily, but how we know they are there. How lucky I'd been to have Nancy as part of my story. 

I don't think I've seen Nancy since that celebration, but she reads my blog. We've talked on the phone. Recently, Nancy called me to come over to show her some water aerobic moves so she could stay active in her backyard pool. I'm afraid I talked non-stop the entire time, catching her up on my personal life and those lives of everyone I knew. Some things never change! Sorry about that, Nancy.

But thank you for sharing your life, your husband, your home, and thank you for the years of friendship. Here's to many more, and I promise not to talk to your ear off the next time we're together.