Goodbye, Granny Ina
Yesterday, as I write this (on Friday 19 April), I heard the news: Granny Ina had died. She had been suffering from cancer and its associated degradations for a long time and we knew she was near the end, so it was not entirely unexpected, but I had been planning to drive through to visit her tomorrow (Saturday 20 April). The last time I saw her, less than two weeks ago (Saturday 6 April), she was in hospital. A few days later (Thursday 11 April), she was sent home, and spent a week there in a hospital bed, attended to by medical professionals and kept company by family, until she died yesterday, 18 April 2024.
I wish I had gone to see her sooner, and now I never will see her again. There was a kiss and a hug goodbye at the hospital, so that will have to do.
This is my first major (human) loss since my dad died in 2013. It feels different this time. I was 17 then, 28 now. Dad’s loss was shattering to my child self in a way that I hope never to experience again. But this loss is still horrific: another huge chunk of my childhood, of my life, is gone forever. Let’s try for a metaphor: life as an iceberg. Love and family and friendship are the tiny, fragile tip; despair is the submerged bulk. Two great chunks have been torn off the tip of my iceberg now. New structures (new loves, new family, new friendships) can accrue to the tip all the time, of course. But those that are shorn off—shorn off by life, by time—those unique, irreplaceable structures—well, they disappear into the freezing wastes of the sea forever. And they are irrecoverable.
Granny Ina was not my biological grandmother. She was my great aunt—my biological grandmother’s sister. But I saw her as another gran because we lived nearer her and I was essentially raised with her as a grandmother. An extra gran—how lucky I was! (My paternal gran died when I was very young. So I suppose, like everyone else, I still only had two grans—but still, I was lucky in the two I had. Only one remains, now.)
My cousin and I spent many of our childhood weekends at sleepovers at Granny Ina’s: fish suppers, pickled onions, Casualty, scary movies, McCain’s Micro Chips (my cousin invented ‘chip balls’ out of these: bite the ends off of the chips, mash them all together into a blob, add salt, and enjoy, perhaps occasionally dipping the ball into tomato sauce or dragging it across some extra salt), Irn Bru (or supermarket own brand Iron Brew), laughter, fun. Life.
So many memories: at least those remain. One more, one which has perhaps shaped me more deeply than I realised. Granny Ina enjoyed cigarettes and whisky mixed with Irn Bru/Iron Brew (though later she preferred vodka), and she would often set herself up in the kitchen with these essential accoutrements, whereupon I would join her to engage in debate. One of our debates was about God (I remember brandishing The God Delusion; some things never change). Perhaps this made me the quarrelsome person I am, or perhaps it merely nurtured that pre-existing tendency, but it has certainly left its mark, and I am thankful for it. I have also been known to enjoy a smoke and a drink…
Granny Ina died at home, surrounded by family, in relative peace and comfort. This is about all anyone can ever ask for.
Goodbye, Granny Ina. I’ll raise another glass of whisky to you tonight.
