The whole family got together to pack up Gran.
No hiding it, honestlythey told her straight up how fed up they were with her. And how, at last, spring had arrived and shed be off to the cottage in the country till late autumn. The grandchildren were rather cold towards her, the daughter-in-law didnt care for her one bit, and her son was forever off on work trips. Even when he was home, he was no better than the rest in the way he treated his mother.
Gran was a burden, and she knew it. She understood everything and bore it all, year after year, hanging on for springtime like it was the best, truest thing she hadher bit of hope.
Spring came early that year. Gran would often sit outside by the front door and watch the warm spring sky, soaking up the sun. She looked like a scruffy sparrowthin, dressed in old worn clothes, battered shoes with overshoes pulled over them.
Despite her own familys indifference, the neighbours treated her kindly. They always greeted her, asked after her health, and lent a hand getting her up to the fifth floor. The local boys sometimes carried her shopping bag when they saw her trudging back from the shops after school.
Even at her age, Gran still did all the chores. She cooked, did the laundry, tidied upher list of duties. The daughter-in-law hardly ever bothered with any of it.
Well, if youre sitting at home all day, you can do it all, the daughter-in-law said, bold as brass, dropping her shoes in the hallway after work.
The grandchildren never spoke to Gran. When their friends came round, she stayed in her room, ever since one of them once told her she embarrassed them with her looks.
Gran never argued. She mostly stayed quiet. And in the evenings, when everyone else was asleep, shed quietly cry in her little room over the hand life had dealt her.
They sent her off to the station in a taxino fussing with buses. Her luggage was light just an old bag and a small bundle of bits and bobs. Leaning on her walking stick, she hobbled along the platform. She stopped at a bench and sat for a while. When the train came, she boarded and watched out the window, her expression gentle and hopeful. When the train started moving, she took a crumpled photo from her bagher son, grandchildren, and daughter-in-law smiling up at her. Lately, their smiles showed up only in photographs. She kissed the photo and tucked it away carefully.
When she got to her station, she slowly made her way towards the village. Someone gave her a lift almost all the way home. She opened the gate, walked down the muddy path to the cottage. Everything there was familiar, hers. Here, she was neededeven if it was just by the old walls, the wobbly fence, and the sagging porch. Here, someone was waiting for her.
The village meant everything to Gran. She was born there, her children were born there, her husband had died there. Shed lived there nearly half her lifelost her eldest son, too, who hadnt made it this far.
She opened the window shutters, lit the fireplace. Sitting by the window on the bench, she reflected. Her children had once sat on that bench, eaten at that table, slept in those beds, ran across that floor, and gazed out those same windows. Children’s voices echoed in her mind. Back then, she was Mumthe most needed, the dearest.
The sun shined through the window just as it had so many springs before, happy and bustling, spent within those walls. Gran smiled, welcoming the friendly village spring
***
In the morning, she didnt wake up. She stayed forever on her own land. On the table lay a heap of old photographs, and one newercrumpledthe very one where yesterday her loved ones smiled at her.
While were alive, we can still do so much.
We can say sorry, give thanks, share how we feel. While were here, we shouldnt put off these things till tomorrow. When someone is gone, they never returnand the burdens left in our hearts are heavy to carry.
We should live with faith and honesty, and do good from our hearts. Love and wait, value other peoples feelings, and remember those who gave us life and helped us find our feet.
