This week I was back in New Zealand for my Nana, Frances May Haywood, funeral. At 91 she’d passed away quietly in her arm chair after breakfast one morning. We were lucky enough to visit her while we were over at Christmas where I silently said my goodbye knowing that it would probably be the last time we’d see each other.
When I think of Franny, I think of the ocean. When I close my eyes I can see her walking along the path towards the beach with a cuppa in hand and her outside slippers on. We’re being trailed by at least 3 to 4 dogs of varying sizes but everyone knows the well worn path, through the pinetrees.
Whomever was around would join in the pilgrimage out to Lindsay’s Place where we’d discuss the news of the day. When I was younger, before I appreciated how important these conversations with my elders were, I’d continue along the beach to discover what the sea had washed up that day, if the dogs didn’t get there first.
Visiting Amberley Beach was always an adventure. We’d spill out of the car after the long, hot drive down from Picton into Nana's warm embrace. She’d always greet us at the back door with her pinny on, arms opened wide, ready for a hug - like she’d been waiting for us all afternoon. She always made it feel special that we were there.
Her house always smelt like baking and I can still hear her chiming clock ticking quietly away. The tupperware was always filled but as kids we were more interested in the lolly jar and her endless supply of icy lollies which had been fully stocked in anticipation for our arrival.
Holidays at Nana’s were exactly what school holidays should be. They were fun, adventurous and just slightly dangerous. There were motor bikes, quad bikes and push bikes with kilometres of coastline to explore.
When all the whanau gathered there were sporting competitions which always included Franny out on the field. Perhaps she’ll be remembered more as a passionate spectator than a player. Anyone who had ever watched an All Blacks game with Franny would agree. For the entire 80 minutes she would transform from our sweet Franny into the rowdiest and most raucous crowd member you’d ever seen.
Franny was cheeky. Even at 91 she was still flirting with the staff who looked after her. As someone who has never taken life too seriously, she gave me permission to not to. You don’t have to grow out of being mischievous. In fact, it’s a powerful asset being able to see the lighter side of life.
In the quieter moments I remember Nana and Grandad sitting in their matching lazyboys in an overcrowded lounge. I can almost feel the warmth of the sun streaming down on me through the sliding door as I sit on the floor, probably with a dog as I watch them laughing together.
Nana and Grandad were two souls who truly enjoyed life side by side. Whether they were teasing each other or sharing a laugh, it was clear they found great joy in simply being together.
Their love for life is the Haywood legacy.
As their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren it is now our responsibility to continue to live with full hearts. To love wholly and not underestimate the power of small gestures like always having a full lolly jar or saving a bit of cookie dough - just for eating.
Franny’s love continues to ripple through our lives, in the stories we tell, the kindness we share, and the moments we treasure as a family.
Farewell, Franny. Thank you for your love, your warmth, your baking and the joy you carried with you always.
Say hi to Grandad (Lindsay) and Auntie Barb from us.
