Nancy Gocke was born in Morgantown, West Virginia the daughter of a doctor. She was a proud West Virginian and a loyal WVU Mountaineers fan. In 1953 she was crowned Queen of the Mountain State Forest Festival. https://www.forestfestival.com/past-queens-1930-1954/
She graduated from University of Maryland Nursing School (class of ’55) and married a doctor, Stephen Barchet. In her first marriage she had 3 girls, the oldest is my mom Sheila. They divorced after his infidelity and as a single mom of 3 she moved to Annapolis, Maryland in the early 60’s for a fresh start. She met my grandfather, remarried, and they had 2 more kids. This only begins to describe her grit and determination.
As a nurse she did many jobs but most noteworthy were her years as a hospice nurse, nurse at the detention center, and nurse at a ballet school in Florida. She was a story teller so I remember lots of tales about putting the prisoners in their places and the young girls at the ballet school only eating popcorn after hours of workouts. She was well trained to spot the signs when I toed the line of an eating disorder in high school. She wasn’t a beat around the bush kind of woman. “Ange…are you barfing (pronounced a little more like ‘barthing’? Are you starving yourself? For Christ’s sake I can see your bones, eat something.” I remember my cousins and I playing with her stethoscope when we were little but I don’t remember realizing how important her work was or how she had been a trailblazer getting an advanced degree in the 50s.
I was her first grandchild, growing up she adored me and I knew it. There has been a lot of drama in my family but as the grandchild I was able to have a buffer from it. She spoke her mind, was unapologetic, opinionated, and blunt. She wasn’t afraid to tell you how she viewed a situation and how you screwed up. And it didn’t normally begin with: can I give you some advice? Haha! “What the hell were you thinking?” “Why aren’t you helping your mother more?” She made some comments that likely kept me in the closet for a few years longer than I stayed there. To know her was to love her and understand her; while she criticized fiercely but she loved just as fiercely.
We had a special relationship. She hand wrote letters to me when I was little, she was my first penpal. I adored the red hearts and gold stars that she put in the notes and I still remember how she signed her name. She often said, “Oh Ange, don’t ever change. If you do I’ll have to move out of the country”.
We used to plan ‘movie marathons’ at the local movie theaters. For those of you who always stay above board or follow all the rules you wouldn’t know about this so let me explain. Basically you buy a ticket to a movie you want to see and then plan out your next movie based on the duration. If you were good you could hit 3-4 in a day (on one ticket of course). It was one of her favorite things to do.
She once dragged (I say dragged because I think some of us were more willing than others) me & my cousins to WV to see where she came from. We spent hours in the car through the West Virginia mountains. When we arrived at the house where she grew up we knocked right on that door and asked if we could see inside. That about sums her up…don’t wait for an invite, take the bull by the horns.
When I got my tonsils out at 16 I left the hospital puking blood. Nana was not shy about yelling at the Doctors and Nurses as we were leaving the hospital for their audacity at releasing me under those conditions. She stayed with me for the next few nights to make sure I was well taken care of…my own personal nurse. One of those days she went back to her house to pick up some things and the sun had set by the time she was returning. She started driving the wrong way on Rt. 2 heading back to our house. I remember her telling the story with self deprecation and us having quite a laugh about her losing her marbles.
I still recall exactly where I was when she dropped the news on me that she had breast cancer. I was standing in the parking lot of Bates Field just after a high school soccer game when she told me about the diagnosis. I sobbed and hugged her and she assured me she planned to fight like hell and that she was too tough to go down without one. She was right of course, that cancer stayed in remission all of these years. I remember going to some of her follow up appointments in the first few years after her treatment. One day she made me peach pie and we sat in the lobby at University of Maryland and talked.
Another time she won tickets from a radio station to see the Rockets at Radio City Music Hall. My cousin, my grandfather, me, and Nana were on the train heading north before we could blink. It was one of the more memorable trips I’ve taken.
When my dad died very suddenly in 2002 she and my grandfather were at the hospital within minutes of hearing the news. It was another bond for us although I can tell you neither of us wanted it. She lost her dad at a young age too and I know it haunted her. She consistently said “you will never get over it”. She didn’t mean it in a dwelling on it sort of way, but in nod of respect for the weight of the grief.
She was the world’s worst present giver which had nothing to do with the actual gifts she gave and everything to do with the fact that she could never wait for the event (birthday, Christmas, etc…). “Hey, come back to my room, I want you to see something” and there she would give you the present she had for you, sometimes days ahead of time. The funny thing is I don’t remember what she gifted me many of those times. But I do remember the sports games she attended cheering me on all the way into college, I remember the way her house smelled, the way she was never on time for anything including picking us up from school, how she’d make up for it by stopping for a Rocco’s pizza at an unacceptable time before dinner. I remember loving to get my nails done but being too nervous to tell her she was squeezing my fingers too hard. I remember the contents of her purse…she always had an emory board, honey lemons (cough drops), and probably a small bottle of basic H in there. I remember how she loved a good meal, especially from Mama Lucia’s or Adam’s Ribs. I can still taste her banana bread and still don’t do it justice when I try to make it. I remember how much she loved holidays, especially St. Patty’s Day and Valentines Day, which she referred to as ‘Hearts Day’. All of this is just more validation for me that life is rarely about what you physically give others and way more about your presence in it and the memories you build.
About 5 years ago she had a very bad stroke. They operated on the clot on her brain but she was never the same. This vibrant German/Irish firecracker of a woman who literally never ran out of things to say or feedback to give could no longer communicate. She couldn’t call you out for being a ‘piece of work’ or say ‘oh, come on!’. She could no longer tell me how much she loved me or how wonderful my boys were. She was never able to meet Christian. My aunt Suzanne took care of her better than any of us could have ever done from before the stroke until she passed on Thursday night into Friday morning.
When they were living in Florida after her stroke I visited. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would ever see her again. The day my flight left I laid on the bed next to her and held her hand. I talked to her about life, which was one of her favorite past times. I played the saved voicemails I had from her…5 of them from 2012 until 2015 and told her how much I missed talking to her. She looked directly into my eyes and I could tell she heard me. I cried hard ugly tears. She never minded tears and always encouraged us to get them out because ‘tears were cleansing’.
I still have those voicemails and I sat and listened to them the other day after I learned that she had passed and the mourning came right back. I miss her voice and her pushy but always practical advice. I miss how she ended phone calls with “Love you, God Bless, Sweet Dreams” no matter what time of day it was. And after not being able to verbally communicate for years, those of us who knew her best know that Pop and my Dad are in for it because she’s gonna have a lot to say! I feel grateful to have had her as our matriarch for the years we did. I know for certain that I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without her influence and for the grit and determination that she passed to me I am forever grateful.
“Grief is love’s souvenir. It’s our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price” -Glennon Doyle
May 10, 1932 – October 9, 2020. Rest easy Nana, sweet dreams.
From my visit to Florida 
Nana & her father…reunited now 
The grandkids 
Her grandkids….her favorite 
Me in her wig giving her a hard time. 
Kids & Grandkids 
My grandfather & Nana 
Probably after I gave her a hard time about something 
