So last week, on August 6th 2014, my grandmother died. She was 91.
She was of sound mind but sadly very frail and had been battling
numerous ailments for many years.
My phone rang at
around 7:30 in the morning just as I was getting ready to leave to get
my passport renewed. It was my mother. I knew straightaway with a
horrible bluntness what she was calling to tell me and for a few
precious seconds I refused to answer, holding on to the reality that I
still lived in a world where my grandma was still with me. When I picked
up, Mum spoke and that was that. I don't remember sitting down, I don't
remember what I said in reply, I just remember that at some point I
started crying and then my husband was holding me as I cried in a way I
haven't cried since I was little.
You see, Grandma
didn't WANT to die. When elderly people die, we speak of the 'relief' or
'it was time' or 'it's for the best.' Despite her pain, none of that
really applied to Grandma. She emphatically wanted to hang around and Have Adventures. Whenever I spoke about holidays, or my life in London,
or my work, she would talk like she fancied having a go, as if
tomorrow, I'd find her on my doorstep ready to come along for the ride. She wanted to squeeze so much out of this life, despite her health problems.
She flirted. Watched movies. Read bodice-ripper novels. Loved to reminisce
about her travels all over the world. Drank bottles of wine all to
herself. (She didn't have a problem with alcohol, but towards the end I
think she just kind of thought... sod it!) Basically, she was like any
other woman on the inside, but old and ailing on the outside and I think
her refusal to accept that, the way she gripped life by the scruff of the neck and told death to bugger off, is what gave us more time with her.
On her 90th birthday,
aware that her time was rapidly running out, we hit the races in Thirsk to celebrate. We had a private box with a delicious
buffet and the wine/gin/beer was flowing. There was a betting kiosk right outside
our box so we were all running back and forth to lay bets. Grandma had a
good start, and I remember one horse won her a decent chunk of change-
I think about £30- so of course she wanted to claim her money and get the next
bet placed. She cheered and laughed along with the rest of us and fairly skipped to
the kiosk to lay the bet. But, of course, thanks to her fraility she couldn't ACTUALLY skip and it was
only thanks to the helping hand of my Dad that she didn't going flying
over the step that led to the Kiosk. She was so full of joy, and fun,
and yet her body nearly stopped play. If she had tripped that would have been a hospital trip, for sure. I later made a joke about how she'd
become a drunken gambler and that she'd be chatting up the jockeys if we
didn't keep an eye on her. She fixed me with a cheeky stare and told me
she loved me. (Her words were something like, it's a good job I love
you.)
She really did love me. And how. I honestly think
that Grandma believed I could do anything I wanted. If I'd said to her
that I wanted to be a supermodel, a doctor, Prime Minister, she would
have 100% supported me and probably genuinely believed I'd do it. How
amazing is it to be loved that way? And what do you do when that gets
taken away from you? She gave me the answer in Christmas 2013, when her
husband, my Granddad, was in the last weeks of his life. He was very ill
with dementia, and for the past year had been a shadow of his former self, with very little awareness and sadly increasingly less dignity. She spoke of how cruel old
age can be and then she grabbed my arm (she had quite a grip...!) and said
'That's why, in this life, you've just got to go for it!' And she really
meant it. I think found it all a bit intense for Christmas Day, so I sort of laughed and shrugged, and went 'yeah, yeah.'
Then carried on as normal.
I could write forever about
my favourite memories of Margaret Harrison, but there are too many moments to mention. But I want to reassure
her (and I know she's watching) that I have taken her words to heart,
that I will definitely 'Go For It', because one day, when I'm facing the
end of my days, I don't want to fret about all the things I haven't
done, I just want to remember the ride I took to get me there.
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