On the 2nd September 2012 my granny passed away
following a long battle with dementia. The trickle of brain cells that were
switching off finally resulted in her losing the reflex to swallow, and she eventually
died peacefully in her sleep.
I wanted to write something about this wonderful lady and
the impact she’s had on my life. Now that she’s gone I finally feel I’m allowed
to remember her as she was, rather than the shadow of herself residing in a
nursing home who I would always feel guilty for not wanting to visit when I went
home.
My granny was the most wonderful grandmother anyone could ever
hope for. As a child my brother and I would go to their house after school
until my mum would collect us after work. Dinner (always at 5pm) would invariably be
alphabites, turkey drummers and peas followed by one of those 10 for £1 ice creams
in a plastic tub – or a variant on this formula. She would help us spell things
out with the alphabites, and if the right letters weren’t available she’d get a
knife and turn E’s into C’s, L’s into I’s or X’s into V’s. Her attention to and
interest in people was phenomenal, and I only realise it now. If she was busy she'd tell me I'd have to wait for her attention, but it was always worth it when I got it as it would be undivided, and full of praise for my mediocre achievements. As kids we must
have been a right handful but I don’t ever remember being seriously told off by
her – she managed us so well.
I won’t list all the memories I have, as the list of things I
did with her is so long: painting, sewing, gardening, cooking, icing the Christmas
cake… thinking about it now she gave so much time to me. It gave me
confidence I didn’t get from anywhere else. And it gave me green fingers, for
which I can only thank her profusely.
Yesterday I helped clear out her wardrobe and
drawers. In some ways it was very sad because so many of her possessions had
been lost or damaged as a result of her decline with the disease (clothes and
books ‘altered’, items discarded for reasons I imagine she neither processed at
the time nor remembered afterwards). Some of the things I most closely
associated with her, and really wanted (her pot of face powder with its
‘grown up’ smell – bewitching as a child) were nowhere to be found.
It was however massively rewarding though, as the main item I have salvaged was a badge I made her when I was
about 7: it is 1 inch in diameter with a yellow background, and the word SUNDAY
and some stars across the middle in those black transfer letters I struggled so
hard to use when I was small. Whilst I don’t remember giving it to her, I do
distinctly remember her wearing it the next Sunday at church and me being really,
really proud. On being reunited with it I was struck by not only how it had survived,
but also how utterly DREADFUL it is. At the time I obviously thought I’d done a
good job at transferring the letters (I hadn’t – there are corners missing
everywhere) and decorating it with the stars (I hadn’t – there’s about 3
randomly flung around the place). It is naff. It really looks like a
child made it. But because I was so proud of it she wore it with pride,
and that only bolstered my confidence.
Dementia is a vile disease, and I really hope that by the
time I get to that age developments have been made that will make it an easier
journey for me and my family around me, assuming I get the genetic short straw. I spent a lot of time with my
grandparents around the time my granny was first diagnosed, and in recent years
I have occasionally wondered where my career would be had I decided to go for a
job in London after graduation rather than stay in my home town working in a
less than ideal job so I could visit my grandparents several times each week. Maybe
I’d have completed a PhD and be doing work ‘proper’ by now… who knows? But I wouldn’t
change it for anything.
My mum worried years ago that by having such a close
relationship with my granny it would be harder for me when she did finally die,
but she’s so completely wrong. Yes, it aches like hell, but I have absolutely
no regrets now she has gone – just lots of wonderful memories. Everyone has to
go sometime, and I’m just glad I got so much out of the relationship when I had
the chance.
When I was 6 she obligingly wrote in my autograph book (from
when I was meeting just SO many celebrities!), and what she wrote will stay
with me forever:
The kiss of the sun
for pardon,
The song of the birth
for mirth,
One is nearer to God
in the garden,
Than anywhere else on
earth.
…So get weeding!
I promise I will. I miss you granny.
No comments:
Post a Comment