It had always been a standing joke in our family that my grandmother, Nannie Vasta, had a direct line to God. She was a devout catholic who carried her rosary with her at all times, because 'you never know' as she would say. She had medals of various saints pinned everywhere, in her purse (a patron saint of pocketbooks?), on the visor of their car (St Christopher, of course), her wallet, inside her jackets and coats; she had herself covered against any and all eventualities. She had her little book of novenas in her purse at all times, and when she promised the novena, she read it, every 15 minutes no matter where we were. We'd pull the car over and put the flashers on and Nannie would do her version of text messaging God; in the mall there was always a handy bench or the chair outside the dressing room in a pinch.
I had occasion to talk to Nannie today, (as I have done all my life), to ask her to put a word in for my newborn granddaughter, Hayden. One day old and she is having a serious enough issue to land her in the NICU for 48 hours. Her heartbroken parents have to go home without her and we are all worried although we have been assured that it is just a precaution. All life is precious, but this one is especially precious to me, hence my silent plea to my dear Nannie, gone these past 22 years. This baby may not be of my blood, but she is of my heart and I need her to be well. I can sleep knowing that Nannie is already on it.