Grandma's House — Story Time

My grandma was the most petite and elegant lady I have met. She was the definition of grace. Standing at five foot tall, she always dressed impeccably and her dedication to wearing stiletto heels every day earned her the beloved family nickname of Granny Stilletos.

I have fond memories of spending time at Grandma’s house with her. Pink, skinless, boiled sausages for dinner after school. Endless hours of card games played together. She used to have an African Grey parrot named Basil Parrot, who was an absolute legend. My Granddad died 30 years ago, so she and the parrot would whistle and chat away to one another, each providing the other with company in solitude.

In more recent years, she and I would sit in her conservatory drinking tea. Her asking me about holidays and work, and me asking about the feathered visitors she’d had to the garden.

3 years ago, dementia took hold of Grandma and our chats became more of a struggle. The conversations had a five-minute arc before restarting again. During my last visit to her in in her house, I went to the kitchen to make tea, in which time she forgot that I was still in the house. I returned, smiling, with cups in hand, and overheard her talking to herself. ‘Has she gone now? Oh good. Why do people feel the need to disturb my peace and quiet? I just want to be alone’. I quietly backed out of the room, pouring the tea down the kitchen sink and slipped unnoticed through the front door. I now know she didn’t mean it, it was the dementia talking, but I made excuses not to visit her for a few months after that.

The next time I saw her was during her final weeks. Her condition had deteriorated rapidly and she was in a dementia care home. Any unkind thoughts or words were forgiven and we shared some special moments as her life came to an end. Grandma died in November 2019 at the grand age of 92.

A few months later and I’m moving back home to Hastings after 10 years in London. I need short-term accommodation. “Grandmas’s house is empty, why don’t you move in there for a bit?” My mum suggested. I scoffed! Absolutely not! That would be… weird! As the weeks progressed and Covid 19 cost me my new job, the idea of living at Grandma’s cost-free for a while became more appealing. Surely the house isn’t haunted? Even if it is haunted, what will her ghost do to me? Offer me sweets in the night? The day after Boris announced the national lockdown, my brother Gareth arrived at my London flat with a rented van. He helped move me and my life back down to Hastings and into Grandma’s house.

I entered Grandma’s house for the first time since she passed away. It smells exactly as it did before and memories come flooding back. I peer into her candy pink bedroom with her single bed. She swapped her marital double bed for a single one the day after my Granddad died, residing herself to single life for the rest of her time. It’s too creepy to sleep in her room, so I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom.

The house is just as she left it and it is chintz as fuck. I love it. There’s a bar in London actually decked out in the style of your Nan’s house and charging £15 for a cocktail. I can pour myself a gin and tonic and go and sit in the lounge! It’s delightful and a fraction of the price.

They do say humans adapt quickly to their surroundings. I’m now in my fourth week of isolating at Grandma’s house and find myself enjoying the things she also took pleasure in. I’m taking great interest in the birds that visit the garden; I revel in delight when a wood pigeon bathes in the birdbath! I’ve become a curtain twitcher! There’s a surprising amount of human traffic on this quiet cul-de-sac. I’ve also found myself napping in her best chair in the conservatory. It really is delightful behind the glass when the sun is shining! I even attempted some gardening, much to the hilarity of my close friends. ‘Who even are you?’ they laugh. The polarities between my lifestyle in London and my current set-up are remarkable. Next I’ll be treading the shag-pile carpet in a pair of stilettos.

Grandma’s house is now sold and in a few weeks a new family will move in. They’ll make their own memories in this house and life will go on.

This year hasn’t quite gone to plan but, do you know what? I feel happier than I have in a long time. I think it’s down to the space that Grandma’s house has allowed me, both mentally and physically, to reset, reconnect and remember what really matters in life. Every day I go out into her garden, her favourite place, and raise a glass to Grandma to thank her for letting me stay. I’m very grateful.

Grandma, you just might have saved me. Thank you.