I fondly remember my weekends as a child with my grandparents – mums parents. Idyllic, comforting and adventures always ready to be had. Liquorice Allsorts a coffee table staple, milky drinks, competitions to make the best face with a stick in a cowpat and trying to not be the last person on the human chain to get the electric shock from the fence. Then there’s baby baths full of Christmas cake mixtures, the old toys laying around, feeling like you were the only person in the world that mattered, always. The craft cupboard of dreams and homemade chips you’d sell your kidney for.
It was either Countdown or the Snooker on television and a variety of pearlescent pink nail varnishes to choose from, the white noise of an emery board on her beautiful nails and surrounded by the most perfectly clean and manicured home.
Now I’m sat here reminiscing my unexpected and too short trip back to the UK to visit Granny in hospital. A surprise visit to brighten her spirits, batch cook for Grandad, stare lovingly at her beautiful face, pluck those long chin hairs and wishing I’d spent more time with her.
She loves a chat, to quickly call out why someone shouldn’t be wearing that same outfit again and to make sure I always know what so and so’s sister’s husband said. I never follow it properly but will always re-affirm that I do. What I wouldn’t do right now to be sitting right next to her, painting her nails, countdown on, listening to her stories and her being nothing but interested in my family and being proud as punch.
I hate hearing about her gently slipping away, Cancer of the stomach is slowly taking her away from us. In her dreams she is driving a tractor and then the engine falls out, in reality she refers to herself as that tractor and her stomach is the engine. Fuck you cancer.
But cancer can never take my memories or what part of my DNA is hers, I’ll always think about the times I spent with her and just wished there had been more. I selfishly want her here forever, for me, my dear Grandad, and my beautiful Mum. But for some fucked up reason she’s not been able to eat fish, chips and mushy peas for ages, her absolute favourite and for that I’ll always be truly resentful towards those bunch of cells that chose my beautiful Granny.
I feel lucky that I’ve gotten to 34 before being faced with the passing of a grandparent. I’m able to appreciate their true value, the huge part they have played and do play in my life.
Granny Pearl is a bonus mum, How good is that?
She never says ‘Bye’ and when I do she gets annoyed instead,
Au Revoir
x
dusty summers 