My beloved Nana died from dementia in June, less than two weeks before she would have turned 99. Her last five years had seen her lose the use of her legs, motor skills and voice – and finally, fatally, her ability to swallow food and drink.
Although I'd had years to come to terms with the fact she was dying, I was floored and depressed by her death. My favorite member of my family, she'd been kind and loving with a hilarious sense of humor. She had been around for my whole life, and I couldn't process the fact that she wasn't anymore.
Of Iranian-Indian heritage, Nana had been stunning – a beauty queen in her hometown of Nairobi, Kenya. Last year, on her 98th birthday, my aunt had baked an amazing cake with a topper featuring a photograph of Nana in her prime. She had been so beautiful in an elegant off-the-shoulder 1950s dress, yet 70 years on she stared blankly at the walls of the care home, unable to focus on the photograph.
