Many summers were spent running up and down the creaky wooden deck that surrounded the double-wide that had become my second home. My brother, sister, and I would chase after each other, unaware, or perhaps, uncaring of the sweltering Texas Sun that hung above us. Our laughter, bright and infectious, bounced off of the aluminum side paneling as we played our children’s games. Those were simpler days—Days where we would often run back inside, exhausted and thirsty beyond belief, in search of Nana who had surely made a fresh batch of lemonade.

We would find her sitting at the kitchen table with a deck of cards spread out in front of her; Nana loved her Solitaire. But upon seeing us, she always put it to the side before heading over to the refrigerator. We scrambled into the chairs as we told her, often talking over one another, about the adventures of the day. Yusuf found a snapping turtle out by the driveway; he swore that it nearly bit his index finger off. Sarah scraped her knee after tripping over a wire, but, like the big girl she was, she didn’t’ cry. And I had stepped on a couple pricklers that I had to pull out of my foot all by myself.

Nana would smile and provide the obligatory, “Did you really?” every so often. After a few minutes, she would bring over our drinks with a plate of cookies that she made the day before. We’d continue talking enthusiastically about whatever struck us as interesting while she continued to work on her game. I always found it impressive that she could listen and respond to three hyperactive children while focusing on her game, all at the same time.

I figured that grandmothers were just made special that way, and, of course, I thought that Nana was in a class of her own. She was a loving, kind, woman. Religious too. Every year, she had a Christian themed calendar tacked up on the wall behind the kitchen table, right next to a wooden cross. I didn’t think much of it as a child. My understanding of religion back then was limited, but I figured that it couldn’t be all that bad since Nana seemed to enjoy it. Besides, I sort of liked the idea of God watching over my family as if He were the ultimate protector, somehow like the superheroes that I watched every Saturday morning with my siblings.

Those were simpler days—Days that, now, feel as though they were lived a lifetime ago. As the years rolled on, our summer excursions to our favorite childhood home away from home became less frequent. Nana seemed to look a little grayer every time we visited, just a little frailer each time we gave her a hug. We never thought that meant anything.

Nana gave into sickness just as summer gives into fall.