I finally packed away our ski gear and our bedroom is once again sparse and in order, just the way I very much like it.
The (attempted) transition to wavy hair is driving me crazy. I finally bought a hairdryer with a diffuser attachment. It’s made a difference with frizz control, but not much. They say the transition can take up to 12 months. I don’t think I’m going to be able to last that long.
Nanna had another innocuous fall today that has landed her in hospital with fractures in her hip socket (I think). They are reducing her pain medication today. I hope she fares as well as can be hoped for. She may be 98 but she still seems to have much life left in her.
Miss E read Master E many stories tonight, too many (it was getting very late), and I came in and cut them short. Master E was livid, shouting at the top of his lungs –
“But I want to read the shark book!” followed by an incredible amount of shouting, crying and rage-full nonsense.
“The shark book will be waiting for you in the morning” I reason, “You can read it then”.
“I never want to have lunch. I never want to have dinner. I never want to do anything again!”, he screamed.
I (stupidly) attempt distraction: “Can you hear those frogs outside? They sound happy because of all the rain”.
“Frogs are never happy about anything” is the shouted reply.
So I back away quietly, leaving him shouting, before he soon falls asleep, clutching the shark egg he found on the beach last holidays. Maybe he will dream about befriending sharks who will exact revenge on unsympathetic and uncaring parents.
Because of all the pain medication (well, in part, at least), Nanna’s kidneys and liver began to fail. We raced over from Parkes to see her and it was intensely beautiful to see her for the last time. So ordinary and so beautiful. She asked Miss E and Master J, in turn, how school was going, how their music lessons were going, and even made a joke about being able to hear James playing the drums from heaven. And after they left the room to go and keep their younger brother occupied, she asked me – “Do you think they will remember me when they grow up?”
I sat on the edge of her hospital bed and held her soft hand. She chatted on and on about finally seeing Jesus face to face, about “knowing fully”, about going to her “heavenly home”, about being ready – “I’m ready. I’m just waiting…” she said, pausing, seeming to be searching for the right phrase, “…waiting to hear him call me”.
She seemed so peaceful. Not a word of complaint, marvelling at the prospect of seeing her husband and her son again. So frail compared to a few weeks earlier when we celebrated her 98th birthday in the sunroom of her villa. We had cups of tea and biscuits and chatted about all our news. And when we parted she hugged me tight (this was something she did more and more, the older she got, the hugs getting tighter and tighter with each passing year), she whispered in my ear – “I love our phone calls” – and I was quite taken aback. Not one for compliments and such (far more prone to gentle critiques), Nanna had never said anything quite like this to me before.
During our last phone chat a few months earlier, before she had had her fall, she had asked me about various things; church goings on, the children, and then she asked – “And how are you? How are you within yourself?”. I will never forget the thought and care wrapped up in that simple question. It was lovely beyond words.
My isle of serenity 
So beautiful, Bron. I’m sorry about the passing of your Nannas death. What a beautiful question she asked you – how are you within yourself? I’m going to hold onto that one xx
Thankyou Celia. It was such a wonderful question to be asked (and a tricky one to answer too!) xo