Wit Wit Woo on Remembering

Wit Wit Woo was jolly nice to me when we first met at the now infamous Cake Fest that was BlogCamp London. I followed her on twitter, where she is generally incredibly witty, which would be quite annoying if she weren’t bang on the money. And then there’s her inimitable style. She has so much fun with life, with her blog: it must be the red hair. I always thought Blondes were supposed to have the most fun.

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Remembrance

by Kate Sutton

 

Like most people, when I hear the word ‘Remembrance,’ I think of the soldiers who have lost their lives in each World War, and in every war since.  I think about the families affected forever because of those losses.  It’s so very, very sad.

 

Ever since my Mum died, loss and remembrance have been a big part of my own life.

 

As each year passes, and my children get older, the hurt doesn’t go away, it just morphs into something else.  It’s not so raw, but with each milestone in my childrens’ lives, the fact that she’s not here is like a sharp stab to the heart.  Every birthday, Christmas, school assembly … every parent’s evening, school report, girl kissed, picnic had, knee scraped … she’s missing everything.

 

I miss her for my sake … but more so for theirs.  For what they don’t have.  For what their children won’t have.

 

She’s left a legacy in her own way.  In my children and me, and it got me thinking about who I have left in my life.  In their lives.

 

I lost my own grandparents a long, long time ago.  My Mum’s Mum was an amazing woman and someone I still think a lot about.  Her name was Florence, but we called her ‘Little Nan.’

 

Little Nan was disabled.  She had had a stroke when she was in her late-50’s and lost the use of one arm and one leg.  She had to learn how to walk again at this late stage in her life and had to learn how to use her other hand for everything.  She’d lost my Granddad, Harry, when I was only three, so was used to being on her own but now everything was different again.

 

She was so independent.  She wore a caliper on her damaged leg and used a tripod walking aid … you’d hear her before you saw her.  I remember gently taking the mickey out of her walk as a young girl, and we’d limp around the house together, holding hands.

 

She was a brilliant cook.  She would bake teacakes, Mille-feuilles and profiteroles.  Totally where I got my sweet tooth from.  She even made her own elderflower wine.  That may say a lot about me too!

 

She loved to drink gin and orange squash together and whenever she went to the pub opposite her bungalow, she’d come home tipsy and ask for, “Just another whinskey.”  My brother and I were sharing her bedroom at the time as Dad was building our new house further up the road, and I remember us lying in bed, one eye open, giggling together.

 

She’d make purses out of newspapers with me – one handed.  Her eyesight was shocking but she always forgot her glasses were hanging around her neck.  Mum and I would take her shopping every Saturday in her wheelchair and she’d normally buy a jumper or nightgown in Marks & Spencers that she invariably rarely wore.  She just liked coming out shopping with us.

 

When she was 84, she had complete renal failure.  She then caught pneumonia and there was no recovering from that.  I think it was just her time.

 

I’d stayed at hospital with her for as long as I could … taking turns with my family to hold her hand.  Someone persuaded me to go home so that I could take my contact lenses out.  It made sense but I didn’t want to leave.

 

I said goodbye to her and she was just coherent enough to squeeze my hand.  She knew I was there.  I told her I’d be back.  That I just had to pop home quickly.   I forgot to tell her I loved her.

 

She died as soon as I left the hospital.  She’d held on as long as she could.

 

As I get older, I question why I am the way I am.  Was it borne out of experiences I’ve had or just genetics?  When I think about my Mum and her Mum, I realise it’s a bit of both.  Little Nan left a legacy that she passed on to her daughter, my Mum, and she passed her legacy on to me.  For better or worse, I’ll pass my legacy on to my children.

 

My Nan’s ashes were scattered under the very same Horse Chestnut tree as my Mums.  On 11^th November, I’ll go to the tree and I’ll think of those brave soldiers who have lost their lives protecting us.

 

But I’ll also think about the special people in my life that I’ve lost and just hope that when my time comes, I’ve done enough in my life to be remembered by the people I love.