I was sitting at the kitchen table in my little terraced house in Yorkshire, sipping a cuppa, when my daughter Lucy burst out at me like shed seen a ghost.
Mum, have you lost your mind? she shouted, eyes wide. Youre falling in love? At your age?
I could barely believe what I was hearing. Not because I was shocked, but because I hadnt expected such a fierce reaction.
I dont get it, I said calmly. Youre an adult, you have a husband and kids. I thought youd be happy that Im not alone any more.
Happy?! she snapped. You want to go on dates, hold hands in the street, maybe even spend the night with a bloke? Mum, youre a grandmother, not some TikTok teen!
It hurt more than I thought it would.
Id imagined this chat going a lot more gently. I thought Id invite her for tea, wed sit down like two grown women and Id tell her Id been seeing someone for a few months. That Id met Edward a widower, a kind and warm chap and weve been going to the cinema, taking walks, and sometimes just grabbing a coffee and chatting about everything.
Instead of support I got shame and a verdict.
The grandchildren are asking where Grandmums been hiding herself. The neighbours are whispering about you, Lucy said.
Maybe Im just finally living? I asked, hearing my own voice for the first time.
At your age? Get a grip, she hissed.
All I could think was: Do I really deserve to be shamed just because I dared to love again?
For a few days I moved around the house like a shadow. I watered the roses, boiled a pot of chicken soup, read my books, but nothing tasted the same. Lucys words echoed in my head: Grandmothers shouldnt fall in love. Its embarrassing.
But I wasnt doing anything wrong. I hadnt taken anyones place, I hadnt forgotten the grandkids, I hadnt abandoned my duties. Id simply, for the first time in years, felt seen as a woman, not just as Mum, Grandmum, or Mrs. Thompson from the flat upstairs. I was a fleshandblood person.
Id met Edward by chance in the local library when he picked up the book Id dropped. He smiled and said, Sometimes fates better at matchmaking than Amazon. He made me laugh, and what started as a chat about the novel turned into a coffee at the nearby bakery.
It wasnt love at first sight. First there was curiosity, then a cosy feeling, then that strange flutter I hadnt felt in ages. It was as if Id found a reason to get out of the house again.
Lucy claimed Id gone daft, that I should be looking after the grandkids, crocheting, or tending the garden. But does being a grandmother really mean giving up yourself, your feelings, your touch?
Edward never pushed. When I told him about the row with Lucy, he took my hand and said, Im not here to come between you and your family. If you feel you need to step back, Ill understand.
I looked at his wrinkles, his kind steady eyes, and thought: Why does the world make it so hard to love when you finally know what love feels like?
I didnt answer him straight away. I asked for a few days to think, to get some distance. Yet every day a new feeling grew inside me not longing, not anger, but pride. Pride that, despite my late husbands death, the lonely years and everyones expectations, I could still love. And I wasnt about to give that up.
I love my grandkids. I love Lucy. But I didnt spend sixtyodd years just to lock myself away and wait for someone else to give me permission to feel.
Thats my life now, and Im not apologising for it any longer.
On Sunday I invited Lucy over for dinner. She arrived with the kids, punctual as always, a tight line around her mouth and a chilly tone. We hadnt spoken since that kitchen incident. The grandkids ran around the flat while we sat at the table, each of us lost in our plates.
When dessert came, I said calmly, Im still seeing Edward. And Im not going to hide it.
Lucy stared at me, disbelief in her eyes.
So youre going to keep at it?
Yes, I replied. Because for the first time in a long while I actually feel happy.
What will people say? Neighbours, friends, the kids?
Maybe the same thing I say when I see my own mother finally stop being scared of life.
She fell silent. She didnt expect me to answer without hesitation.
Im just embarrassed, Mum, she whispered. I never pictured you like this when you get old.
And I never imagined an old age where I wasnt allowed to love, I said back.
She left a little earlier than usual, no drama, no tears, just the same coolness shed come in with.
That evening I went for a walk with Edward. He held my hand as we passed the neighbours; some glanced, some smiled, some turned away. But for the first time I didnt care.
If love shows up after youre sixtysomething, it isnt there for you to be ashamed of its there so you can finally appreciate it.
