Abandoned but Not Alone: How Gran Has Been My Rock for 26 Years
Parents Who Are Absent
It wouldn’t be fair to say I don’t have a family. My parents are alive, living their own lives far from me. They’re probably happy, building their careers, exploring new places, perhaps even in love with one another. Maybe they’re unfaithful, or perhaps they’ve just grown used to each other. I really don’t know.
The one thing I’ve always known is that it was only Gran who was there.
Everyone knows her as Mary Smith, but to me, she’s just Gran Mary.
She took me in when I was just six months old. After Mum stopped breastfeeding me, Gran took over all care. I’m 26 now, and she’s still by my side.
Saying I love her is an understatement. She is more than just my family; she’s my friend, my advisor, the one true constant in my life. We can sit in the kitchen late into the night, share a cigarette in silence, talk about everything or nothing, and sometimes just pour a glass of whiskey when my heart aches.
Gran is the one thing I’m truly grateful for in life.
She Taught Me Everything
Gran Mary didn’t spoil me, but she wasn’t harsh either. She knew I needed to learn to stand on my own.
She taught me how to sew on buttons, darn socks, hem jeans. I can make soups, bake pies, fry potatoes, and prepare meals on a gas stove when the power’s out.
She taught me not to complain. If it’s cold, it’s time to bundle up. If there’s no money, you find a way. If someone leaves your life, it just wasn’t meant to be.
But most of all, she taught me a love for books.
Every occasion—be it a birthday, Christmas, or just a good day—she’d gift me a book. Over time, I gathered an entire bookshelf, and even though most people read e-books now, I still love the smell of paper. It’s the scent of the real world, of life.
Gran taught me how a home should smell.
A real home smells like fresh-baked bread, milk, cinnamon.
A real home is a place where someone waits for you.
My friends would come home from school to empty houses, eat cold leftovers, and do their homework alone. I came home to warmth, a pot of hot stew on the stove, with Gran sitting by the window, waiting for me.
I’m grateful for that.
My Dream
I always had one dream— to open a small bookshop.
I can picture it all: wooden shelves, cozy armchairs, the aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. People will come, sit, flip through books, drink tea or cocoa.
I’ll have a few tables and prepare the most delicious pies for my guests, using Gran’s recipes.
I know I can do it.
Because Gran always told me, “The key is to do everything with heart.”
She’s happy I finished university and found a good job. I’m a teacher, sharing knowledge with kids, but I have other dreams.
Gran wishes to see me married with children. She wants to babysit my kids, just as she once did me.
But first, my dream.
I haven’t told Gran, but I found out recently that my father sold the family land and kept his share, leaving nothing for me.
But his brother, my uncle, a man with hands of gold, promised to help. He wants to invest in my bookshop, assist with renovations, and provide the furniture.
Gran always treated him like a son. Maybe that’s why he decided to help me.
I want to make her happy.
I want her to be proud of me.
I want her to walk into my bookshop and say, “My grandson made this.”
