In those days, it was common to hear tales of children being taken from orphanages, and it was then I resolved to bring my grandmother home from the care home.
Not a single neighbour or friend understood my decision. They all pointed their finger and whispered, Times are tough, and yet you take on such a burden! But deep down, I was certainno, I knewI was doing what was right.
Once, our household had been four: myself, my two daughters, and my own mother. Sadly, my mother passed away eight months ago, and then there were just the three of us. Over those months, my daughters and I discovered we still had plenty of spirit and time left to offer someone in need. There was a close friend of mine from school, Jonathan, who, at thirty, chose neither career nor family, but instead drank himself into ruin. Most heartbreaking was that he wasted his mothers pension on drink, and when she wouldnt give him more, he abandoned her in a care home, took her flat, and squandered everything on the bottle.
Id known his mother since I was a childjust as shed known me. Every month, my daughters and I would visit her, bringing little tins of biscuits and treats. When I shared my plan with my girls, they cheered the idea; the younger one, Elizabeth, who was just four and a half, positively shrieked with delight: Well have a granny again!
I cant begin to describe how happy she was when I proposed she come live with us! She wept tears of joy for so long, I had to gently comfort her. Now, nearly two months have passed since our grandmother has come to live with us. We all dote on her, and she on us.
Yet we still marvel at where Granny, now well into her seventies, finds such vigour. Every morning, shes up by six, and the house fills with the aroma of fresh pancakes or golden crumpets wafting from the kitchen.
