Days' End

A gently pretty sunset to signify the end of all of Granny C's days. And to indicate a shining light that has gone out in mine.

As a girl, my Granny had ambition: she was doing well at school, and had dreams to go to college, when a series of tragedies stuck in her family and her own mother died when she was 14 years old. As the only girl in a family of boys, she had to leave school and take care of her father and brothers. During the War, she met and married her first husband, who was killed in a railroad accident when she was only 24, and expecting her second child - my Mum. How she managed to rally, and cope with raising a toddler and a newborn, I've no idea, and gives a real indication of her backbone of steel. Six years later, she was remarried, and had two more children, and a long and happy marriage to my (step)Grandad, who died just before their Golden Wedding anniversary, nine years ago.

All of my life, she has been a warm and steady, benevolent and loving presence. Sharon and I used to go home to her house after school while our parents were working. Often there was delicious home-baking: my favourite was her tea-loaf, while Sharon adored her butterscotch tart. More recently, Daniel fell in love with her apple pies. She and my Grandad were keen gardeners, and were - for a long time - almost self-sufficient for fruit and veg. Until as recently as five years ago, I never left my Granny's house without booty of some sort - plums or peas, strawberries or tomatoes, homemade jams or chutneys. She taught me how to knit, to "hud my wheest" (or keep my own counsel for the sake of keeping the peace). She taught me the meaning of home and family life.

Yesterday, Granny took a sharp turn for the worse. By early afternoon, twelve members of her family (two daughters, two sons-in-law, five grandchildren, one granddaughter-in-law and two great-grandsons) were at her bedside. She was barely conscious, but as each new person came and took her hand, she opened her eyes briefly and smiled. She knew we were there. She barely managed to speak, but we made out the word "enough", and we knew what she meant. Ten minutes after I left with Sharon and her boys, she had slipped away.

She may have had ambitions to make "something" of her life, but today I was struck by how much I would measure success as how much you have loved and been loved. If - at the end of my life, whenever that should be - I have touched the lives and hearts of as many people as my Granny, I will know I have been a success. Twelve people to visit on your dying day? That's an achievement.

Goodnight, Granny. I'll always love you.