My Indestructable Grandmother

My Nan, or 'Mamgu' as we call her (it being the Welsh for 'Grandma' - simple), is quite possibly the toughest person on the planet.

The SAS built their entire Survival Guide around her. She would easily win in a fight against Chuck Norris. AND Bruce Lee. In the event of a nuclear war, only two things would survive. Cockroaches, and Mamgu. I can just see her now, standing in the dust and rubble of what was humanity, blue rinse slightly frazzled, but still baking away another batch of Welsh Cakes, 'just in case'.

This woman has been through a World War. She's lived through so many changes to the world - political, behavioural, technological - the scale of which I doubt any other generation will see again. Despite being in her eighties, she still cooks four square meals a day, bakes whenever she's got a spare minute, and does the multitude of necessary things to keep a house in respectable order.

But, most amazingly of all, for the last month or so she has tirelessly helped care for her dying daughter.

Mum was diagnosed towards the start of the year. The sore throat and slight lump was enough of a warning, and the test results only confirmed what her nursing training had already led her to suspect. It was a shock when she told me, but even then I remember thinking, 'It'll be ok'.

That positive outlook was given further encouragement after a couple of months of radiotherapy seemed to be doing the trick. But that's exactly what it was. A trick. The disease was only migrating elsewhere. Another lump appeared on her leg. Then under her arm. Then behind the eye. Despite all this, I still thought there was hope. Even when she stopped telling me what treatment the doctors were recommending next, I still didn't, and maybe couldn't, believe that it was over. People would ask me in grave voices if I was doing ok. 'Yeah, fine', I'd say, thinking I meant it.

Looking back now, Mum lost her battle with cancer well before I accepted what was happening. I think she may have kept the seriousness of it all from me slightly, but it’s also much easier to hide from the truth when you're far enough away from it. Being on the end of the phone means someone can drop all the hints they like, but your mind fills in the blanks with what you want to hear.

But believe me, there's no way it can fool you in to thinking everything's ok when you see your dear Mum in tears and gasping for breath, because the physical act of lifting a mug of tea to her mouth is almost too much for her. Seeing her suffer rips my heart to shreds every single day. But it’s Mamgu I'm most concerned for.

I'm lucky in that I have the most incredible friends, who have done nothing but be there for me ever since this dreadful time began. Being an only child, I can only imagine what this is like for my uncles to see their big sister wasting away. But even if they don't talk about it openly, they do at least have each other to go down the pub with, and offer support in their own way. But this must be doubly hard for my Nan. I don't think its fair for anyone to out live their child, let alone have to help care for them and witness their final days first-hand.

None of us know how many of those days are left. But for now I've got to try and support my Mamgu, whether it’s with a hug, a helping hand with the dishes, or just being the one to eat all those bloody Welsh Cakes.