LOVE A LOT

A short story about love and loss...

She was not your typical granny.

Her favourite coat was electric blue fur and her lippy was fuchsia pink,

She invented elaborate excuses to drink Champagne,

And danced on the patio when the sun came out.

She was once featured on the cover of the local rag,

For figure skating on the pond during a freak freeze.

She dined out on that story for decades to come,

Not in a show-off way,

Just because the memory brought back the sweeping freedom of it all,

And she wanted to share it.

In fact she wanted to share everything.

She had a basket that she kept at the bottom of her stairs,

Where she’d amass the most random collection of items.

Muscle stretchers encircling a box of rhubarb tea,

A novelty dish brush wedged between bags of homemade confetti.

Then she’d drive around London at break-neck speed,

Dropping off these items for those in need.

It was a whole-day palaver that cost her more in petrol than her gifts were worth.

Yet she always returned home charged by the joy of other people’s smiles.

It was magical for me to discover a true friend in an unexpected place.

So I struggled when she got sick.

The world didn’t make sense anymore.

How could a lady so full of kindness get her basket ritual ripped away?

I’d walk through the city listening to the pointless conversations,

People bitching about their work colleagues in the coffee queue,

Or arguing over the last seat on the tube,

Everyone running on a treadmill of more and more.

The infernal juggle was so loud it was deafening.

Then I’d visit her in her hospital room,

Where the quiet seemed to ring,

As the plastic clock ticked and the bed vibrated so she wouldn’t get sores.

I watched her daughter put on her lippy,

Her son help her drink through a straw,

Her husband rub her back while she coughed.

Her brother joke about that time they got lost.

While her basket sat empty in the corner.

One day, I was left alone with her.

And as I rubbed her hand, I found myself looking at her basket and crying,

Until she looked me right in the eye and shook her head.

I had to strain to hear her over the buzzing of the bed,

‘Love a lot, darling girl,' she said. 'Love a lot.’

And I realised that it didn’t matter that her basket was now empty,

Because the love she’d delivered would be here when she was gone,

Now I needed to pick up her basket,

And ensure the deliveries lived on.

Because every problem could be solved,

And every question could be answered,

With her simple, unspoken words,

‘Love a lot, darling girl. Love a lot.’