A giant made small, time pressing her down and compressing whilst stretching me tall, then taller, a giant beside her.
Hair coated in plastic, bouncing back from any assault. Skirt, blouse and cardigan almost like a uniform, appearing with a smile and a hug.
Holidays, weekends, evenings of my childhood. Sleep overs, emergency deliveries. “Grandma I’ve forgotten to bring…” and, “Grandma I don’t feel well; can I come to yours?”
Forts made of pillows, watching the same three videos on repeat. Tarzan bumper stickers and an innocent view, “why does everything have a double meaning!”
Walks on the Chevin or up to the woods. “No Grandma, let’s go this way.” Off to the Abbey for picnic or down to the river for a play in the park.
Oaty biscuits that melt in the mouth. Gravy so thick that it passes for soup. Cakes on your birthday; decorated to perfection. Snacks and sweets and good things to eat.
Then later, “Grandma I like this girl,” or, “Grandma, we broke up.”
An ear, a shoulder, a hug, a kiss on the cheek. A light in the dark, a bulwark against pain, an ally – unreservedly. Always there, never too busy.