Feeling sad

Last Monday night I got a call to say my 90-year old grandmother had been taken into hospital with an aortic aneurysm, and wasn’t expected to last the night. I drove back to Wales the next morning to find that she was still hanging-on, despite the doctors having given her only an hour or two to live. Although dosed up with drugs, she had quite a few lucid moments, and was able to say goodbye to the family gathered at her bedside, even managing to make a few jokes. In the end she lasted until Thursday evening — in some ways it came as a relief when she finally passed away, as we didn’t want her to suffer any more (as she put it at one point, “I just wish there was a big departure button…”).

My gran had had a pretty goood innings really — 90’s a decent age in anyone’s book — and thankfully she retained her dignity and self-respect right up to the end; she still had all her marbles about her, and was able to look after herself, in her own home. And when she died, it was relatively painless and quick, with her family around her. So although I’m very sad, I guess that’s far better than a long, drawn-out, painful illness or years of suffering from senile dementia.

When I think back on my gran’s life, it makes me realise how remarkable she was, and how lucky I was to have had her for a grandmother. Like most people of her generation, she certainly didn’t have it easy — her mother died when she was 12, and she had to leave home to work at 14 to help her father support her numerous younger siblings. Later in her life, she became a Justice of the Peace, and also divorced her abusive husband, at a time when that was still pretty taboo. She took me and my mum in when my parents split up, and was happy to care for me when my mum was working. When gran developed skin cancer about ten years ago, she had to have about 70 stitches in her forehead after having a triangle of skin removed (the doctors put it down to her love of cycling when she was younger), but took it in her stride — I remember visiting her in hospital, and she was far more interested telling me about the fellow patient who’d had his thumb replaced by his big toe!

Despite the lack of a formal education, my gran had one of the sharpest minds of anyone I’ve known, and was extremely knowledgeable and well-read (she put me on to many good books); I spent hours conversing with her over the years, on all sorts of subjects, and I learnt so much. I could talk to her about anything — she never rushed to judge, only to help. Her views on philosophy, politics and society were all injected with the same kindness and compassion that she exhibited to people throughout her life. And she was an evil Scrabble player.

I’ll miss my gran so much, as will all her children and grandchildren, but with the life she’s had, I think she’s earned a rest. Bless her.

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