It’s almost St. Patrick’s Day. Which for me isn’t about wearing green or watching a parade. It’s not even about eating a green bagel or green cookie. It’s about Nanny’s birthday. Because that was on March 17th. She would have been 100 years old this year. I’m still not used to the fact that she’s not here. But in a way she is here. Because now I’m Nanny. I have two beautiful grandchildren who call me Nanny. And the crazy thing is when I talk to them I sound like her. I hear her in my own voice, in the way I speak to them. “Come here, my angel,” I hear her say. But it’s not her voice I hear, it’s my voice. But it is her voice. And when I am taking so much pleasure in just sitting on the floor playing with them, I feel like she is sitting there too. I see her sitting with my son, her great grandson, and I see how she would help him learn. She was a natural teacher. She knew how to make every child feel important. And smart. And loved. So, even though she isn’t here, she is with me whenever I am being Nanny. Which means she never really left me.