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NANA 12/28/2013 10:48:19 AM
This was our first Christmas without the ancient mother-in-law. Doris Rosack Peters passed away at ninety-five on Thanksgiving morning, 2013.
Her granddaughter, Nicky Burke, made up two photographic books of 804 pictures of Nana/Doris with various family members, which Nicky gave at Christmas to her mother, Susan, and to her mother’s sister, Christine, who is my wife.
Doris was an exceptionally photographic woman; even at ninety-five she looked no older than fifty-five, which Nana was about the time, it seems, she came to live with Christine, Alex and me in Georgia.
She was married to Ben Peters at the time. In fact, they nearly bought a house in Atlanta, but it had never come to pass. Ben was in a traffic accident on his way to his nephew’s house for Thanksgiving Day dinner 1997; it eventually killed him.
All of us took Nana to Maine once. While waiting for the ferry to cross Lake Champlain, a seagull suddenly unloaded all over the pristine white blouse she was wearing; Doris just laughed and went on licking her vanilla ice cream cone. Most women would have opened the Gates of Hell and screamed in unrepentant wrath had such misfortune splattered them!
Doris merely giggled and said, Even nature calls upon creatures such a birds once in a while! No great matter!
As stated, Nana lived with Christine and me in Georgia for many years. Our daughter, Alex, was only a child at the time, and her Nana was a terrific influence on her. We probably could not have raised as much of a lady without Doris — at least, not as well.
Nana picked out the majority of her clothes and showed her how to wear them; she taught her proper manners; she emphatically decided on the boys she should go out with. Doris introduced her to Sts. Peter and Paul’s Episcopal Church, where Alex learned right from wrong.
It is safe to say that without Doris, Alex would never have snagged Phillip Faucette as her husband — and without Alex, Phillip would never become Dr. Phillip H. Faucette, the eventual renowned dentist of Nashville, Tennessee.
We all owe Nana a great deal. Not only was she the matriarch of this entire family, she ruled with an iron hand. Her sense of humor was boundless and her moral differential uncanny. There was never a person she disliked, nor who had a bad or unlikable quality — even if that person had such a sad personae, it was most generously overlooked by Doris as a temporary character flaw that would soon run its course.
We had two dogs, a black one named Max and, later on, a white one named Sam. Max had to be put down, and Nana was a rock for us during that awful time. We acquired Sam about the same date we acquired Doris.
Nana loved Sam — almost as much as she loved Sts. Peter and Paul’s Episcopal Church, if that were possible. If Christine had not spoiled the dog, Doris would have never said, Shush up, Sammy, barking will get you nothing!
Sam, Doris noted, had never knocked her down and never jumped on her; he had never knowing disobeyed her.
Nana joined the Alter Guild and had more friends at the church than the church had members. More people attended her funeral than filled the Sanctuary at Sunday services.
If I had 50˘ for each glass of ice water and unwrapped chocolate kisses and cookies Doris brought into the living room (without asking), I would be rich. If I had kept my mouth shut and never shouted at her or spoken unkindly, she would have died of old age while I was sulking in desperation.
I often put her to the test — so often, most would have abandoned me on the spot, or at least put me in my place, deservedly, many moons ago. I would often taunt her with ridiculous ideas and remarks seemingly of a belittling nature, and try my damndest to get her goat — but I was never successful. I often cursed when talking to her, and I wish I could somehow take that all back.
It was frustrating to make up stories and events that never went anywhere but the gutter from which I took them, while attempting to make Nana think differently about certain people, or the things they did that I thought made them evil.
The relatives, in-laws (outlaws) and friends who knew Doris best are very, very lucky people indeed — some might even say Blest.
They are certainly tolerant. (Tolerant of me and people like me.) There will never be another Doris Rosack Peters — and it is just as well.
A perfect human being, like Nana, once a lifetime is enough, thank you very much!
Robert A. Mills
Copyright. 2013, all rights reserved
