As I mentioned I have a couple of hazy memories of my Granny who then passed away, I have no memories of either Grand Fathers who had also passed but there was at least my Father`s Mom, my Nan.
Growing up in the 1970`s she would of been in her late 70`s and was crippled with arthritis. Her movements were laboured and she would hold on to doors and furniture as she passed by to support herself, this never stopped her cooking or keeping a tidy house though. I loved her so much, she was the closest thing to a Mother figure I had. She was very hard of hearing though and despite wearing a hearing aid, which often omitted a high pitched whistle deafening us all but unheard by her, it was difficult to have much of a conversation so we communicated more with lots of warm smiles.
My Lovely Nan
I didn`t see that much of her, my Father was kept on a tight leash where visits to his family were concerned. Narcissistic Mother was master at isolation, triangulation and gaslighting so when she occasionally, begrudgingly let him pop over for a fleeting visit I was always eager to go to see Nan and also my Uncle, Nan`s unmarried son who lived with her and as the years passed by took great care of her as she aged, he was a lovely man too.
I have two particularly treasured memories.
My Mother was neither skilled or taken with domesticity. Her cooking was ill-timed and rushed which made her very irritable so it was best to stay out of the way when she was trying to cobble some burnt offering together. Where as my Nan loved to be in the kitchen. And often on my visits she would make me buttered crumpets. I`m teary just thinking this through to type as it was such a treat....not the crumpets as such, though they were delicious, but having her time and company.
She would slowly make her way to the kitchen, the doors would creak as she hung on the high 1930`s door knobs to support herself. Firstly she would strike a match and light the gas grill which was high above the stove, the gas would splutter and pop and burst into a warm glow, I used to love the smell of a spent match, sadly I have no sense of smell now since having chemo 5 years ago. So often smells can trigger wonderful memories.
When the grill was warm she would pop some crumpets under to toast. Real butter {not spread !} would be on the stove top to soften and she would mash it down with a knife. I would reach her some plates, always bone china and floral, tea would be made too.
Her hands were stiff and bent with the arthritis and her aged skin was fragile and opalescent, she would make soft little gasps and moans as she worked, from the effort and the pain of movement but she always had such a soft smile and glanced at me regularly and her eyes twinkled with love and tenderness. She worked slowly and carefully, the gas warming the kitchen, watching the crumpets closely to flip them over at the right time. I took in every movement and stood as close to her as possible, sometimes too close I`m sure. The making of the crumpets was so special and significant to me....here was someone, who despite it being painful and a struggle, still wanted to do this task of providing and nurturing for me, it was never too much trouble and it was always done with tenderness and love. Finally she would carefully butter the toasted crumpets and place them on the plates for me to carry through to the sitting room. It was in those precious few moments in the kitchen with my Nan that I felt truly loved, that I was worth the effort she was going to and I was not an inconvenience and there would be no price to pay later. Crumbs of love that led me through a difficult childhood, making things just about bearable and giving me hope for better things to come. There was just the two of us, crumpets and unconditional love.
Me and My Nan, I was 16
And then there were the precious few moments, when on warm days I would carry a chair out onto the little lawn at the side of the house, close to the Anderson shelter left over from the war and Nan would struggle over the step and come sit with me. There on the grass I would pick daisies from the lawn and she would teach me to make daisy chains. I would make a necklace and bracelet with mine and wear them home, trying to keep them intact as long as possible.
When I battled cancer, I prayed to my Nan to send me her love and strength and as my veins collapsed from the both the blood cancer and the treatment and the cannula took longer and longer to find a vein still sturdy enough to take it, I wore my daisy chain bracelet and hoped it would bring me luck. One time after hours of pain, frustration and a few tears, we reached the 6th attempt and the 4th chemo nurse, this will have to be the last try and then we will need to look at having a line to your artery put in I was told, as this was the last but one dose of chemo I really didn`t want that.
Come on Nan I thought, help me please, and in it went, it didn't blow the vein and held strong while the drugs were pumped into me. A fat, bald, 50 year old woman, I told the nurse I had been praying to my Nan...she smiled softly and whispered
`Well it did the trick`...
Her hands were stiff and bent with the arthritis and her aged skin was fragile and opalescent, she would make soft little gasps and moans as she worked, from the effort and the pain of movement but she always had such a soft smile and glanced at me regularly and her eyes twinkled with love and tenderness. She worked slowly and carefully, the gas warming the kitchen, watching the crumpets closely to flip them over at the right time. I took in every movement and stood as close to her as possible, sometimes too close I`m sure. The making of the crumpets was so special and significant to me....here was someone, who despite it being painful and a struggle, still wanted to do this task of providing and nurturing for me, it was never too much trouble and it was always done with tenderness and love. Finally she would carefully butter the toasted crumpets and place them on the plates for me to carry through to the sitting room. It was in those precious few moments in the kitchen with my Nan that I felt truly loved, that I was worth the effort she was going to and I was not an inconvenience and there would be no price to pay later. Crumbs of love that led me through a difficult childhood, making things just about bearable and giving me hope for better things to come. There was just the two of us, crumpets and unconditional love.
And then there were the precious few moments, when on warm days I would carry a chair out onto the little lawn at the side of the house, close to the Anderson shelter left over from the war and Nan would struggle over the step and come sit with me. There on the grass I would pick daisies from the lawn and she would teach me to make daisy chains. I would make a necklace and bracelet with mine and wear them home, trying to keep them intact as long as possible.
When I battled cancer, I prayed to my Nan to send me her love and strength and as my veins collapsed from the both the blood cancer and the treatment and the cannula took longer and longer to find a vein still sturdy enough to take it, I wore my daisy chain bracelet and hoped it would bring me luck. One time after hours of pain, frustration and a few tears, we reached the 6th attempt and the 4th chemo nurse, this will have to be the last try and then we will need to look at having a line to your artery put in I was told, as this was the last but one dose of chemo I really didn`t want that.
Come on Nan I thought, help me please, and in it went, it didn't blow the vein and held strong while the drugs were pumped into me. A fat, bald, 50 year old woman, I told the nurse I had been praying to my Nan...she smiled softly and whispered
`Well it did the trick`...
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| Chemo in my Daisy Chain bracelet |
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