one more step

Yesterday I posted this photo as my Silent Sunday.

I have taken part in Silent Sunday for ages now, but I think that this week my photo has the most meaning behind it. To me, anyway.

I had several comments on yesterday’s post, mostly asking where the steps lead. I usually try to reply to everyone who takes the time to comment on my blog. But yesterday? I couldn’t. I found I couldn’t really convey what I needed to say, and how important this photo is to me in just a couple of lines. For those of you that did comment, I hope that the following explains why I couldn’t reply to you individually.

You see, those steps are the steps that lead down to my Granny’s front door. I have walked up and down those steps hundreds, if not thousands of times in my thirty something years.

Last week I took this photo as I was sat on her front door step waiting to be let in. Not by my Granny, but by my mum. My Granny hasn’t lived there since April. For health reasons she has had to move into a care home. Her four bedroom house, where she has lived for forty years, is full to bursting with 82 years worth of memories. I spent three days with my mum, sorting, clearing, recycling things that we found. Next weekend the entire family is going down to help finish it off. There is still a lot to do.

I love those steps. So many memories.

I am sad that we are having to do what we are doing. I always knew we would have to sort her house one day, but even just a year ago my Granny was planning to go to New Zealand in the spring. Then things happened, and she has gone from the feisty, intrepid strong woman that she has always been to an old lady. I know she’s eighty two, but she’s never been old before.

It’s sad. It’s sad for my Granny, who has lost her independence and va va voom. It’s sad and incredibly stressful for my mum and aunty who are having to deal with the daily issues and the responsibility of making decisions for their mum. It’s sad for me to witness my Granny in decline. She comes alive when she sees her great grand-children (of which she has 4, number 5 due in November). It makes me sad that we don’t (and can’t) see her on a regular basis. Sometimes living away from your family sucks. Mostly it’s fine, but at times like this 80 miles feels like 8,000.

I ummed and ahhed about writing this post. It’s not the kind of thing that I would normally write, but I’m finding it hard to write anything else if I’m honest. My mind is kind of elsewhere.

Sorry about that.






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