Visited my Gran last night, and having not seen her for a couple of weeks, I was again slightly taken aback at how.. well.. small she has become.

My Gran has been a big part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, my Mum was in and out of hospital a lot, so I spent many weekends staying at my Gran’s. In addition to that, my Grandpa had several strokes until he was eventually hospitalised, which meant that every weekend we would go and pick up my Gran to take her to the nursing home. I think looking after my Grandpa kept my Gran going. I can only vaguely remember a time when my Grandpa wasn’t in a wheelchair, so my Gran had to do everything for him.

Since my Grandpa passed away, and Gran moved out of their family home, she has slowed down as old age has crept in. She was knocked over by a reversing taxi a few years ago, and ever since then she has suddenly become an ‘old’ woman. She’s not the Gran I remember, or want to remember. I know it’s part of life’s natural progression, but I’m going to hold onto the Gran I knew when I was eight. The Gran that would play football with me, make me mince-n-tatties (when everyone else was having roast beef), the Gran who still likes to spoil me and my sister whenever she can.

She’s still sharp though, when she’s hears what you said… and she still remembers my name, eventually… (Andrew, Nigel, Ian, David… GORDON… pass me the salt will you…).

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Long time blogger, Father of Jack, geek of many things, random photographer and writer of nonsense.

Doing my best to find a balance.

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