Letting Go

December

Gran came to live with us last week. Mum said she nearly set her house on fire and can’t manage on her own anymore. Gran said rubbish, the gas jumped up and bit the bottom out of the kettle. She said she was only moving in with us to prove Mum wrong. I said wouldn’t staying at home have proved that and Gran said children should be seen and not heard. She said if people were like trees, the old ones would be revered, like senescent oaks. Mum rolled her eyes and pulled her give me strength face. She said Gran’s senescence was quite big enough without being the size of the flaming Major Oak. Gran ignored her after that. Mum tutted and muttered about selective hearing. Gran tapped her fingers on the chair arm and winked. I could tell by the rhythm she was streaming that soppy Neil Sedaka through her hearing aids again.  
 

January

The Christmas truce is over. Mum and Gran do nothing but squabble. Mum says children squabble, adults discuss. This morning, she just about shook the door off its’ hinges after their latest discussion. Gran said beware a person with red hair. I said didn’t you have red hair and she said children these days are feral. After Mum went out to do the shopping, Gran turned her Bluetooth off because it was dusty. I tried to tell her that Bluetooth can’t get dusty but she just shook her head pityingly and said Springfield.    

“Fancy a game of rummy?” she said, pulling a pack of cards out of her pocket.

“Alright,” I said cautiously, “but not for money.”  

Last time, she won ten pounds. A whole weeks’ pocket money! She slipped it back in my coat a couple of days later. She thought I wasn’t looking, like the time I when was little and she tried to slip a pound coin under my pillow because the tooth fairy forgot to come. Mum said subtlety is not her strong suit.  
 

February

Tuesday was Gran’s line dancing class. Mum said line dancing was a mortifying spectacle of mass stupidity and refused to take her. Gran said she was just jealous because she couldn’t do a grapevine or a shuffle to save her life. I could see their discussion was going to go on, so I got my coat and went with her on the bus. I hope I never get as grumpy as Mum. Gran said it’s because people sometimes forget how to play when they’re grown up. They think life is all about mortgages and money and keeping up appearances. Some people are really old before they remember how to play again. Look at the Queen, she said, she was ninety-six before she had tea with Paddington and she never looked happier and fancy her carrying marmalade sandwiches around in that handbag all those years. She said when I’m old enough to leave home, I’m not to waste time being serious and trying to play it cool. I should have fun and think of her.  
 

March

Mum decided to take Gran to the garden centre to look at the spring plants. She said that was a suitable outing for an old person. Gran insisted I go too. She said we’d go for tea and cake after. When we got to the café there was a long queue and Gran started singing A Nice Cup of Tea. People said Aw, bless and let her move up the line. Mum went bright red and made me take her to a table. Gran was delighted with herself. She said everyone blesses you when you’ve got white hair and Mum’s always so po-faced, she enjoys embarrassing her a bit. She said when Mum was born, the only other baby in the maternity ward was a little black boy, otherwise she’d have sworn they’d given her the wrong child.

“Although come to think of it,” she said, looking thoughtful.

“Look, here’s Mum with the cake now,” I said quickly.  
 

April

Gran said getting old is not for the faint hearted. Things don’t work as well as they used to. I said I’d rather wait to find out for myself. She said true, best not to know what lies ahead. Enjoy your youth while you can. Don’t be like your mother, she said, born middle aged. There was a big queue when we got to the chemist. Gran got upset because she was desperate for a wee and didn’t think she could hold on much longer. People said Aw, bless and the queue parted like the Red Sea. Gran grabbed her prescription and trotted out the door. We turned towards the public toilets but she said never mind she’d lost the urge now. Mum said she’d lost something.
 

May

The doctor said Gran’s got dementia. Gran said that just means being a bit forgetful when you’re old. We’ve been learning about the human body in biology class. I asked Mr. Morris what dementia is. He looked at the ceiling like the answer was up there and said,

“Dementia is the loss of cognition; the distillation of a person’s character until only the essence is left.”  

He wrote it on the whiteboard and stood back looking pleased.

I had no idea what he was on about. I copied it down and when I got home, I read it out to Gran. She snorted and said he sounds like an arse. I said he’s definitely up his own arse and we laughed until I had to help her to the toilet. Gran loves to laugh. She said Mum’s such a prude because she’s trying not to be like her. She said she’s not surprised Mum only had one child.  

“I’ll go and put the kettle on,” I said quickly.  
 

June

Gran passed away in her sleep. I can’t believe she’s gone. I miss her so much. Mum hasn’t stopped crying, which is strange because they didn’t seem to like each other. Mum said you don’t always like the people you love. Gran used to say that life is a lesson in letting go. She said I must let her go when the time comes. I didn’t think it would be so soon. I’ve thought a lot about the things Gran said. We had to write an essay in biology about ageing. I wrote that old age is a time to play, like a reward for a lifetime of work. Mr. Morris said my essay was insightful. I said I learned it from my Gran. He said she sounded like a wise woman.  

“She said you sounded like an arse,” I said.

He said it was a pity it was the end of term, because he’d have banned me from his class for using that sort of language. I wish Gran were here. She would have laughed.