Thanks to
the utter shambles that is South West Trains I’ve just missed my connecting
train from Reading to Southampton by about 2 seconds (cheers for the 5 minute
delay from Wokingham you useless pricks). Usually I wouldn’t burst into tears
on the platform, but I seem to be navigating my way through one of the
shittiest weeks since I can remember and I’m not handling the pressure well.
And as I pulled my laptop out of my bag to write this I noticed my full 2L
water bottle was empty, deciding to leak all over my Filofax and last remaining
(expensive) business cards. Today stinks.
Nomo has
kindly reminded me that I’ve made it to day 71 with no booze, but if there ever
was a time to be craving a large glass of 13%+ wine – now would be it. It’s
8.50 a.m. on a Tuesday.
But I didn’t
cry because I missed the train. I cried out of sheer frustration for my Nan,
who is rapidly declining in a care home in Ascot as she battles colon, lung and
liver cancer. My brother and I went to visit her on Sunday and she’s got
increasingly worse since we saw her the week before. My Nan has always been a
very proud and regal woman, dripping in beautiful antique jewellery which flawlessly
accessorised her cashmere jumpers and fluffy blow dries. You could rely on my Nan for great conversation too. She was always so fascinated by our work, home renovations,
social life. She had a glow and warmth that failed to dim even well into her
eighties.
But within a
matter of months cancer has taken her, and the Nan I saw on Sunday was
completely out of it on morphine and rambling about multi-story car parks. I
can see her fighting the drugs, as every now and again she’d focus on me, smile
and be back in the room. But then she’d drift away again and shut down. I’m
cross, so so cross by the whole situation. But mostly mad at myself for letting
booze rob me of what was ultimately my last normal weekend with her.
In May,
roughly three weeks before I gave up drinking, Rob and I were invited to a
wedding reception but I decided to visit my Nan instead. Given her recent
health issues (we knew she was poorly but not cancer poorly) I felt that my
time would be better spent with her, at her cosy home in Ross-on-Wye. My
argument to Rob was that I wanted to spend quality time with her as opposed to
attending a wedding with people I didn’t really know, which he fully supported
and encouraged me to do.
But as
lovely as the weekend was, and evidently the last weekend my Nan would be at home
before taking a fall in the kitchen and being transported to hospital (where
she’d then spend eight awful weeks before being transferred to Ascot to live
out her final days) I can’t remember any of it.
I arrived on
the Saturday – about 45 minutes late – to see my Nan perched at her kitchen
back door waving at me as I pulled up onto the grassy verge to park. She has a
very cute old stable door which she keeps open to enjoy the sounds of the birds
while cooking and is always ready and waiting to welcome guests as they park up
on the parish green behind her house.
I walked
through the gate and enjoyed the standard hello – a huge bear hug and kisses on
the cheek which would stain from her pearlescent lippy. Today it was pink to
match her raspberry chinos – I remember that much. She's such a glam.
I dumped my stuff
at the kitchen door and handed a plastic bag of clinking wine bottles to my
grandpa. I know it’s polite to gift your host a little something upon arrival
but these bottles were to ease my conscience. Not only would I spend the day
raiding their booze cabinet to ‘make the visit more bearable’, but as I arrived
with wine I’d feel more qualified to suggest we open a bottle with lunch as it
would be ‘rude not to!’ Good thinking Em. A tried and tested tactic from when I
last visited (almost a year ago).
My Nan has
always been a spectacular cook but her ‘slowing down’ as she called it (which
was ultimately a very aggressive form of lung cancer) meant she could only
muster a honey glazed ham, oven-baked spuds and salad for lunch. The spread was
accompanied by crisp white napkins in polished holders and her finest silverware.
This was my Nan going ‘low-key’. As I said, a woman of pure class.
I started to
drink at lunchtime and remember being cross at my Nan’s wine glasses. They were
always too teeny to accommodate my huge portion sizes and if I wasn’t careful
I’d hoover the glass up within three glugs. So making a glass of wine last was
always a very painful thing to do. After lunch I cleared the table and ushered
my Nan to sit down as I’d noticed her mobility had rapidly declined. She refused
to give in so was using the kitchen work surface to prop herself up with every
other step. ‘I’m fine Emmy, don’t worry about me.’
So I didn’t
that day. I just worried about me and where the next drink was going to come
from and how I was going to get it without my Nan and Grandpa noticing I was
racing through the vino. I did bring two bottles though so there was plenty to
see me through.
By 6.00 p.m.
I settled down enough to make a glass last almost 15 minutes but I made sure I’d be the one
facilitating top ups (and sneaking myself secret ones en route to the toilet etc.). My Nan was on the Becks Blue and my Grandpa was joining
me in the odd glass of wine but I was up and down regularly topping my glass,
taking two huge gulps in the kitchen out of eye-sight and then topping it up
some more so I’d feel more at ease. By 7.30 p.m. I was opening the next bottle.
I can’t tell
you anything we talked about but I can recall my only focus – wine. How fucking
sad is that? So as I said, turns out this was my Nan’s final weekend at home as
the following week she went dizzy and couldn’t pull herself up from the floor.
If I would have known her illness was set to nose dive I would have listened
more, laughed more, held her hand more, and just generally been with her more
as opposed to being a booze-hungry piece of shit.
And I know
it’s easy to reflect now, as a sober person, and blame alcohol for ruining the
final weekend I had with my Nan at her fairy-tale-esque cottage – but I am
genuinely grieving for the loss of me on that day.
Alcohol has
regularly robbed me of memory, togetherness, good make-up and general composure
– but on this particular weekend it robbed me of enjoying my beautiful Nan and
for that I will be eternally sad.
I almost
feel obliged to apologise to her for maybe seeming too pre-occupied by my glass
as opposed to her, but I know she’d tell me to ‘shush’ and stop being so silly.
We did have a lovely weekend but it could have been so much more.
I hate you
alcohol. So, so much.
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