The Mended Grandad: How a Grandson Restored His Grandma’s Will to Live
Clarissa and Paul drove with their son Victor to the countryside to visit Clarissa’s mother and leave the boy with his grandmother for the holidays. On the way, they stocked up on groceries—sausages, Mum’s favourite cake, everything she loved. But Theresa Dennison greeted them without much enthusiasm. At the table, there was only tea, no treats. Though they filled the fridge to bursting, she barely touched a thing. She looked exhausted—straight to the sofa she went.
Outside, droplets fell—snow melting under the sun. Spring. Clarissa stood by the window, squinting in the bright light. “How lovely!” she thought, remembering her father, who had passed a couple of years ago. He always welcomed spring with joy: “We’ve made it through winter!” His cheerfulness, his jokes, his hugs… And Mum—strict but lively, able to smile through her grumbling. They’d truly loved each other. Now Theresa seemed faded. Since her husband’s death, she’d been lost.
Her sister Phyllis called, voice trembling:
“Clarissa, Mum’s in a bad way. Says she’s tired of living. Nothing brings her joy anymore—just wants to be with Dad…”
“Paul and I will come this weekend, definitely,” Clarissa promised. But her heart ached. Maybe they should bring Mum home? She wasn’t coping alone.
And home was no picnic either. Their eldest, Dorothy, had a temper, clashed with her dad, declared she’d leave as soon as she turned 18—sick of the “pressure.” Meanwhile, young Victor was glued to his phone day and night.
“Let’s visit your mother, and take Victor with us. A break from screens,” Paul suggested.
Victor rolled his eyes:
“And what am I supposed to do there?!”
“Relax!” Dorothy snapped. “And give us a break too…”
That weekend, laden with groceries, they set off. Mum met them again, but she looked dull. Paul winked at Clarissa—”putting it on.” Still, she seemed worn out, refused food, only tea. When Clarissa asked if Victor could stay, Theresa just waved: “Leave him.”
Victor, sulking, remained. Grandma retreated to her room and… wept. Then she remembered meeting her Arthur—awkward, shy, tiptoeing closer. How her aunt had introduced them… All of it in spring. And now—spring again. But he wasn’t here.
Suddenly—a yell. Grandma jumped. Victor! He’d pinched his finger. Stood there, cross and pitiful.
“Why so grumpy, Vic? Hungry?” she asked softly.
“Your food makes my stomach hurt… Not eating it,” he muttered. “You should make your milk noodles. The sweet ones, with butter.”
Her heart twinged. Arthur had loved those noodles. Asked for them when he was low. And so, groaning, she got up.
“Only if you eat with me, alright? I’m bored,” Victor added.
And so they settled into life together. Clarissa called daily. At first, Grandma was curt. Then the complaints began:
“Won’t wipe his feet! Claims his stomach hurts. So I fixed him—no sweets, and suddenly he’s fine. Stopped tracking mud in, too. Learning!”
Paul chuckled:
“Good! Someone to grumble at—life’s back on track!”
A week later, they returned for Victor. But he refused to leave! Grandma fought back tears.
“Spitting image of Arthur… Stubborn, sweet, and sly!”
“Don’t cry, Gran. I’ll be back soon,” Victor vowed.
“I’ll hold you to it, Vic. We’ve got loads—the garden, the gate, everything. You promised to help!”
“’Course I will, Gran. Promise!”
Theresa smiled through her tears.
“And he’ll ring me, so give him back his phone!” she ordered the parents.
“Brilliant, how you fixed them!” Clarissa laughed at home.
“Fight fire with fire! Our Vic could rouse anyone. Even Mum off the sofa. And she was halfway to the next world…”
Now she’s got someone to live for again. Because Victor’s the spitting image of Grandad. And Gran knows how to raise them right—look at the wife she raised for me!” Paul added.
They laughed. Life, it seemed, was mending.
