By Tomie dePaola
Four-year-old Tommy spends every Sunday with his grandmother in the kitchen and his ninety-four-year-old great-grandmother up in her bed, until first one and then the other dies, and he learns to keep them both in his memory.
Every Sunday, Tommy runs into the house to find Nana Downstairs, his grandmother, who is always in the kitchen. Then he climbs the back stairs to Nana Upstairs, his great-grandmother, who is ninety-four and stays in her bedroom. She has to be tied into her chair so she won't fall out, and Tommy loves her so much he asks to be tied into his chair too, and the two of them sit together eating candy from her sewing box. Then one morning his mother tells him Nana Upstairs has died in the night. Tommy goes to look at the empty bed and asks whether she'll come back. His mother says only in his memory. A few nights later he sees a falling star out his window, and his mother wonders aloud if it was a kiss from Nana Upstairs. Years pass, Tommy grows up, and Nana Downstairs dies too. He sees another falling star, and thinks that now they are both Nana Upstairs.
This one really happened. Tomie dePaola was Tommy, and you can feel it — the candy, the sewing box, the two chairs feel remembered rather than made up. It's the book I'd reach for when a child has loved a very old, very frail grandparent, because it doesn't smooth that away: Nana Upstairs is ninety-four and tied into her chair and wonderful. And it doesn't dress up how death reaches a small child. Nobody offers a grand explanation. His mother tells him she won't come back except in his memory, and Tommy goes on living. Then, decades later, Nana Downstairs dies too, and that second goodbye is the part that has stayed with me.