One
ability I have always held in high regard is the ability to tell a good story.
Few people know the magical combination that gives a story meaning; a rich
tapestry of experience, genuine emotion and a way with words that is both
poignant and uplifting. Storytellers are not born, but made; carved by years of
trials and instances that leave a lasting imprint on their lives. My
Grandmother was a woman with a life that lent itself well to telling stories.
When I visited her for the last time in November, I remember she sat in her
armchair in her pink dressing gown; small, but with such an undeniably
commanding presence that it felt only natural to sit at her feet and wait for
her to speak. Her voice was calm as she told me story after story; about her
life, and the pain she had suffered, and the people she had lost. Not a trace
of sadness was in her voice; she simply told me what had happened, accepting
that life can often be painful and that in order to love others, we must be
prepared to lose them. Grandma Lydia is one of the first people in my life who
I have loved and lost; and while knowing that she is gone leaves an ache in my
heart, having the opportunity to love her was well worth the pain of loss.
I
first met my Grandmother when I was less than a month old. My mother, Julia,
brought me to Oldham to meet her and Grandmother Lydia later repaid the favor
by visiting us in London. There is one photo of our meeting. I am tiny and
swaddled in a blanket, and my Grandmother holds me like a woman well-practiced
at holding newborn children; four of her own, and countless others who called
her their grandmother, great grandmother and even their great-great
grandmother. It is oddly wonderful that this woman, who lost her own family at
such a young age, became connected to the lives of so many. This was not
without hardship. My Grandmother frequently reminded me that she started out
with absolutely nothing. Born into poverty, she was forced to leave her family
and flee to a foreign country; utterly alone in a place where no one spoke her
language. She spoke often of how many of her brothers and sisters perished in
her childhood; a particularly heart-breaking example being her little sister,
who sat up early one morning, cried for her mother and then quietly passed
away. They wrapped her in a shroud; made from some material Grandmother Lydia
had been saving to make a new dress. She had begged for the material from one
of her relatives and never got to do anything with it, as the material went
with her little sister into her grave.
There
are so many more stories Grandmother Lydia had, each one of which were capable
of breaking your heart in two, but this one in particular stuck out to me. This
one gave a glimpse into my grandmother’s life as a young girl; a girl who
wanted so little, and throughout her life would never have much. However, this
never made her bitter. My Grandmother took each hurdle in her life with a grace
and serenity rarely seen in our impatient human race. What she experienced
would be enough to send an ordinary person reeling; but instead, she
internalized any pain she felt and kept on going. Through countless periods of
grief, hurt and difficulty, she worked three jobs to feed her family; using
every last reserve of her energy to keep them fed and clothed. She sacrificed
her time and energy to make others happy, and in her old age, was finally given
an opportunity to be looked after by the ones who loved her so dearly. This may
have been the only time in my grandmother’s life where she was given a chance
to rest. For a woman who gave up so much to give to other people, it is only
fitting that we all gave her something back; a loving family, who she treasured
above all else.
If
you ever needed proof of how much Grandma Lydia loved us all, you would only
need to go to her home and look at the many pictures on her walls. In her
living room there are countless smiling, familiar faces; the faces of the
people who were dear to her, right until the very end. Whenever I visited, we
would go through more photos together; kept in old boxes on top of her
wardrobe. Pictures of my mother’s first wedding, of my Auntie Linda and Uncle
Tony in their early twenties, of Alan in his Boy George phase and countless
photos of her grandchildren, sent to her by their loving parents. That she
still went through those photos after having them for so many years says a lot
about how important we were to her; as does the way she always told me to take
care of my mother and father, or how she ended every phone call with “God
bless”. For Lydia, nothing was more important than her family, and it is only
right that now she is gone, we have come together to celebrate her life.
Grandmother
Lydia was a woman of great strength; and without that strength, so many of us
would not be here. There were many times in her life where she faced horrors
that are too great to be imagined; but she survived against all odds and made a
new life for herself. My Grandmother began her life surrounded by death, but
rose above the pain and desperation, waging her own private war with the world
beginning at the tender age of ten. It is only fitting that she passed away
surrounded by life, leaving peacefully in the midst of a group of people that
loved her dearly.
There
is one lesson Grandma Lydia imparted upon me with her countless stories;
something that should never be forgotten, because it is crucially important to
living a life that is good and whole. That lesson is that no matter what a
person may suffer, they should strive to love the ones around them unconditionally
and without bitterness. My Grandmother, despite how much she suffered, tried to
see the good in everyone. She never judged, or spoke to me in anger. She simply
let me know that I was loved, and I’m sure she did the same to everyone around
her. If more people could approach life and love with the same grace and
dignity as my grandmother, the world would be a much brighter, understanding
place. She was a perfect human being and
the centre of our family, and although it breaks my heart that she’s gone, her
love will never leave me.
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