My Idol

Life for the older generation meant marrying out of school and having a horde of kids. In this day and age four kids is considered a big family, but for my grandmother at least, twelve was a nice round number. Once one of them had flown the coop, another arrived.

My grandmother is some woman. At 93 years old, she has unfortunately outlived one of her sons. It killed her the day he was buried. She still wanders the house looking for him, dementia is setting in.

I remember her to be such a strong woman, a force of nature some would say. She was lucky in the sense that when it was time to give birth for the fifth time, the older four were able to help out. The responsibilities were drizzled down amongst them, none of whom knew how to be idle.

She ran a bed and breakfast for years every summer to help to pay for school books and shoes. That money was about the only thing keeping them afloat. She was lucky that they lived in a popular seaside destination. Business every year was booming, not a bed free the whole summer. Whilst the business was at its peak, the kids who still lived at home were forced to give up their bedrooms and ended up living on top of each other in the converted attic. You may think that they were at loggerheads with each other more often than not, and you would be right, but that closeness created the bond they have to this day.

I don’t remember much of the old house as I was five when my grandfather sadly passed. What I do remember is going to feed the ducks every morning to keep me out of mischief as the guests ate their breakfast. It was a time where the key was tied to an old shoelace and all you had to do was put your hand through the letter box to retrieve it to gain entry to the house. I look at the photographs of the old house, always taken on the front steps, and can do nothing but smile back at the young faces of my grandmother and her brood.

The poor woman didn’t have the heart to stay in the big house once her beloved left us. She decided to downsize to three-bedroom semi-detached house six doors down from my uncle and across the field from my aunt. At the time, there were only two still living at home so everything worked out perfectly.

When I was younger, I remember nothing but happy times every time I went to visit. I spent most of my summers there, kicking one of my aunts out of her bedroom, forcing her to share with the other. As the cousins kept popping out, it was like a day care as it was the house everybody congregated to get ready to go to the beach. My grandmother was in heaven, her house full of kids running in every direction again. She was and will always be a second mother to me.

Every Christmas, the house was thronged, but that was just how my grandmother liked it. I cannot figure out the physics of how that many people were able to stay in such a relatively small house. She welcomed everybody with open arms and said goodbye with tears in her eyes.

Now she is 93, she can hold her head up high and say to herself that she raised 12 kids, 25 grandkids and 23, soon to be 24 great grandkids. Her love and warmth as a mother is still there, but it is a testament to her that her kids have her at home and look after her themselves rather than farming her out to a nursing home. Since my uncle, who used to live with her, died, she hasn’t spent one night alone. Not many people her age can say that.

My grandmothers house can be like grand central station there are that many people coming and going at all times. She is hardly ever alone, but has a panic alarm button – that regularly goes missing – around her wrist for the times she is.

Her dementia is at the stage that all of the kids are unable to meet her needs and, over zoom, they have decided to get someone in during the day to take the worry off whoever was rostered on that particular day.

Its very hard to watch a woman, who is your second mother, deteriorate before your eyes. My way of thinking is that there was the younger part of her and the older part of her. I think of them as two separate entities. Yes, the younger her is brought out quite often. I smile when I think of how I can still make her laugh. But then the older part would come to the fore and she would put the phone in the dishwasher. It’s all about parking the memories of old, and creating new ones of the person she has become…...either way, she is still my grandmother and I love her.

I believe that she had all of those wonderful kids, who gave her the grandkids, and the great grandkids for a reason. She has led a full and, most of the time, happy life. She was destined to be each and every one of their mothers. It was fate that pooled them all together in the bed and breakfast, helping out with the patrons. Without that, they wouldn’t have all worked so hard to get to where they have gotten. When they were conceived, they were destined to be her guardian angels and look after her in her time of need. Life has turned full circle. She gave birth to them and nursed them and changed their dirty nappies. Now it is their turn to return the favour, which they are doing gallantly.

This woman was created to be my grandmother, my inspiration, my role model, my friend. I was destined to be her granddaughter. She has blessed my life in so many ways, both parts of her equally. I love her cheeky grin when she does something to provoke laughter. She is my idol.