When we received the telegram that my grandmother was on her deathbead, her daughter, my mother, consequently threw stuff into suitcases. I asked her [my mother] what to give to my grandmother. My mother (a no nonsense person) told me that the only gift worth giving that which we ourselves do not wish to part from. My mother’s word being my gospel I parted with that which was most dear to me. Not that it saved my grandmother.
I was very lucky. Am very lucky. I had two mothers. My grandmother and my mother. Spoilt? Sure. Depends how you define “spoilt”. It’s been decades – yet still cry over a woman who was everything to me.
There is that Carol I only listen to judiciously, loosely translated as “Christmas, Christmas, I am at home, under my (grand)mother’s tree…” And, as the song goes, I am indeed home on Christmas Eve. Candles.