My Gran

When I was a little girl I lived a stereotypically northern working class life. My family was and is close and it came from having very little money that our family I believe remained a unit.
For us Sunday was sacred and our family would all convene to eat a delicious roast finished off with tinned peaches or the left over Yorkshire pudding simply reheated and served with sugar.
Always present were my grandmas, both amazing ladies in their own rights but poles apart in personality.
My Gran Taylor was the joker, she would give you her last pound (and had been known to do so on far more occasions than any of us would like to admit) and my Gran Boulton was the traditional cake baking, mint sucking and cardigan knitting Nan.
I lost my Gran Taylor 16 years ago, I still miss her, more so because she never got to meet my children, they would have adored her.
My Gran Boulton on the other hand has got to know my boys Tyde 11, and Evan 9.
Gran B and I have always had a close relationship, I would travel to hers every Tuesday from my high school and would always within moments of arriving be knee deep in the best stews I have ever tasted, followed by syrup sponge pudding and various treats. My father would often find me sprawled on her couch, sleeping off the feast when he arrived to pick me up.
She would spend patient hours trying to teach me to knit, I can thanks to her plain knit and knit one pearl one....I just can't actually cast on or off, so basically I can't knit if I am being completely honest!
One thing I did learn from her was baking, she would every birthday present me and my siblings with the most wonderful cakes. Aside from them tasting incredible, they looked unbelievable. From chess boards to log cabins, my Gran would always come good.
She recently gave me a pile of her baking equipment, I use them all the time and I feel that this is my legacy, to make sure that we always eat home cooked foods!
My Gran B also used to make a trifle that no other trifle has ever compared to, the way she made the perfect custard, blamanghe and sponge is anybody's guess? But what made my Gran B's trifle totally unique is that somehow, whilst making it, the unique smell of my Gran B's house somehow by some form of osmosis found it's way into the pudding? We called this 'Eau du Gran'. Oddly it never put us off eating it!!!!
When I was 17 (and very lost) I can remember sitting with my head in her lap crying large tears as we talked about life and how one day we all become whispers in other people's memories.
She talked of hoping to live another 10 years and I told her that to even imagine her not being here was totally impossible. I made her promise to live until she was 100; she wouldn't promise, but she said that she would try.
My Gran B had spent her life without her husband from the age of 61. Grandad was a fantastic human being, strong, clever, contained and kind, unfortunately his heart was poor and we lost him when he was 64.
My Gran B has spoken of missing him from the day he died. She adored him and taught me that love really can exist forever, even in different realms. I once asked her why she had never entertained another relationship, my Gran without hesitation said 'when you have had the best Emma, why settle for anything less'. I never needed any further reasoning.
My gran has remained a strong feature in my life, when my children were little we would visit all the time  running in her door, they would head straight to her bedroom, where by the side of her wardrobe they would discover an ever filled bag of sweets. My Gran B always ensured this ritual took place.
My boys have known and grown with this woman since their beginnings, she has taught them the respect of wisdom and the strength of character in the years where your body no longer reciprocates your will.
In the last ten years, I have become the Sunday home where family gathers.
 This Christmas when we were all sat feasting I looked at my Gran B,
almost 95 years of age. She was sat quietly eating her food, surrounded by a huge family squashed into my dining area, she the last remaining matriarch with her wisdom and stories and beauty.
My Uncle Derek raised a glass and toasted this amazing lady who had managed to watch her family grow into a space so large that there was little room to move.
My Gran B became ill earlier this week, her body has become frail of late and the spark in her eyes has faded. Her mobility has become impossible and whilst she has remained in her association housing for 71 years, it is due to the care from her two children that she has been able to remain where she spent her entire married and widowed life.
On Sunday night I was called to hospital by my mum, Gran had started to falter, her breathing was becoming shallow and it appeared she would not make the night.
My family all arrived and like at Christmas we struggled for space, this time around her hospital bed. We played her favourite music and we all told her how much we loved her, how much we will always love her and how much she has meant. We shared memories across the bed with each other, laughing as much if not more that we were crying.
My Gran didn't die on Sunday however, she held on and I couldn't help but wonder if she knew that there were more goodbyes that needed to occur.
My eldest son had been away with his best friend and was totally unaware that his Nan was so poorly.
My younger son had been able to see her Monday day and heartbreaking as it was he had cuddled her and told her that he loved her; he had been able to openly cry and watch others returning the feelings.
The moment my eldest son arrived home we all clambered in the car and set off to the hospital.
My Gran was sleeping heavily, she looked peaceful, small, content and ready. My boys, my man and my kids all spent a long time with her and we said are final goodbyes.
We placed my iPhone on her ear and we played her favourite songs, I like to think she was dancing with my grandad in her dreams.
When we left I took one last look at a woman who I have known and loved my entire life, a woman who has loved me without question in return. She has been present for every important event that my life has known. She has watched every terrible piece of television I have ever done and she has been proud of me, but no more proud than she has of my brother and sister.
My Gran died at 1.30am this morning. Mum, Dad and Uncle D were holding her hand as she ended this journey to begin her new adventure.
For me, I have a picture in my mind of my Grandad and her laughing, back together again after 34 years of silence. It's a brilliant picture.
I love you Gran, we all do. Until we meet again, dance, laugh, love and know that you will always be our Gran xxxx

Growing

This blog is a tiny beginning on a subject that has formed me. There is equal beauty and sorrow in watching my boys grow. As they walk towards independence, they begin degree by degree to turn their back upon me, something that will one day lead to a home filled only with the ghosts and shadows of the children they once were, as they journey boldly into their adult lives. I have been blessed as a mother In more ways than one. Firstly I am naturally unable to conceive; however due to the medical advances in fertility drugs I have become a mother to two amazing children. Secondly I had until the moment I held my first son never had a maternal bone in my body, in fact throughout my pregnancy I genuinely questioned why on earth I felt the need to breed. Moreover I didn't on reflection feel the need, I just thought that marriage demanded it. So when that tiny bundle (he was 5 pounds as I became magnificently ill at 4 months gestation and spent the rest of my pregnancy unable to eat and on a drip....though on a positive note I got straight back in my size 8 jeans!) was placed in my skinny arms, to say I was overwhelmed by the sudden and ferocious love that would challenge any love I had known before was an absolute understatement. In that micro second everything changed. I knew that firstly I would never live a day without worry again, secondly that my happiness was inextricably linked to my sons own and finally that it was time to get my head sorted and grow up. And I did, I allowed myself to accept my responsibilities, to ignite my ambition and to begin to at least try and live my dreams, because what I recognised in the immediacy of my sons first breath was the knowledge that I would be the most important relationship, example, role model, companion, confidante, that he would ever know...the fact that he hadn't even been given a choice in the matter increased the urgency to ensure I gave it a bloody good go. My boys made me who I am, I mean that in it's most messy of definitions; I am not perfect and I know that at some point both of my children will throw some particular memory at me that they feel messed them up. I am human, I am technicolor in my imperfections and I don't believe I am an amazing.....I am simply a mother. And tonight it is the mother within me that is feeling vulnerable. It is the part of me that is most sacred; the part amidst all the chaos that created the calm, the centre, and the core of me that feels the whisper of insecurity. I can see my craftsmanship as they laugh loudly with their friends; I relish their resilience as they throw themselves fearlessly and without question into new experiences. My heart swells as I watch both my boys spending long hours in the company of each other, planning their den building trips or discussing their lives. They are becoming the most beautiful creatures, compassionate, strong willed, creative, intelligent and so kind, but they are also becoming more capable in dealing with life and the emotional complexities that once I would have been called on to navigate. I am becoming less of their everything and it hurts. It is my job to fully enable them to continue their journey from me into the world. It is my intention as painful as it may be to smile as they shift away from my advice and guidance choosing others to guide them. They will one day fall in love and their hearts will be filled with another woman's scent (or indeed a mans as it may play out) and the space they save for me will be but a sliver. This is my duty, I just didn't realise how tough the knowledge would be? So, I shall end as I began, there is equal beauty and sorrow in watching my boys grow...but without question it's been the most appealing agony. Sent from my iPhone