She kept track of promotions.
She asked about assignments.
When I couldn’t come home for a holiday, she mailed me a card with a handwritten note tucked inside.
One Christmas, she included a photograph of herself standing beside me on the day I received my commission.
On the back, she’d written:
The day you found your calling. I knew you would.
I kept it in my desk.
I still have it.
Nana also noticed what happened at family gatherings.
She saw my father interrupt me.
She saw my mother redirect every conversation toward my brother.
She saw me eventually stop volunteering information about my life.
One Thanksgiving, Dad spent almost an hour discussing a business venture my brother wanted to start.
He expected Nana to contribute money.
My brother had prepared projections.
Dad had prepared arguments.
Mom had prepared the usual gentle encouragement.
I sat at the end of the table cutting my turkey into small pieces.
